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Name: Unknown
Date: 3rd century CE
Region: Perusia [modern Italy]
Citation: CIL 6.37965
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To the Shade of Allia Potestas, freed slave of Allius:
Here lies the lady of Perusia.
No other woman is as precious as this one is.
Out of the multitude of women,
Maybe one or two could be better than her.
Such a busy lady held in such a tiny urn!
Persephone, cruel and harsh mistress of fate,
Why do you take away good people and leave the bad
ones alone?
Everybody asks about her, and
I’m tired of telling them of her death;
Their tears are evidence of her good heart.
She was strong.
She was pious.
She was courageous.
She was faultless.
She was the most faithful housewife,
Efficient at home,
Efficient enough in public,
Well loved by everybody.
She was the only one who could meet any challenge.
She kept her mouth shut and stayed blameless.
She was the first one out of bed;
She was the last one to go to bed;
And only when everything was done.
She kept her hands busy with her wool-working,
Never putting it off with an excuse.
No one surpassed her in character and work ethic.
She never got cocky, never took time for herself to
relax.
She was pretty—so pretty to look at—with golden
hair,
The ivory-smoothness of her face remained ‘till the
end,
The kind that they say doesn’t happen among mortal
women…
What about her legs?
She looked like an actor playing Atalanta [1]
She didn’t worry about her beauty,
But Mother Nature was kind to her body.
Perhaps you could criticize her rough hands,
But she wasn’t satisfied unless she did the work
herself.
She wasn’t an extrovert,
But thought her own company was enough.
No one really talked about her, because
She didn’t do anything to bring attention to
herself.
As long as she lived,
She lived with her two lovers in such a way
That they were like the relationship of Pylades and Orestes [2]
They shared a single home
And a single heart.
But after her death,
They have grown apart,
And now they grow old apart.
What one woman has built, was destroyed in a brief
moment.
Look at the example of Troy [3],
to see what a woman can do!
Let this big example showcase a smaller one.
Your patron, who has ever kept you in his heart,
Gives this poem in never-ending tears
As a gift to the deceased woman,
Who will appreciate this gift.
Now that you’re gone,
Your patron will never find another woman pleasing;
He lives without you, and now suffers a living
death.
He carries your name, carved in gold,
And looks to it often, as much as he can,
Preserving Ability[4] in gold.
As long as my influence lasts,
You will live on in my words.
I hold your image as a comfort for my grief,
Which I treasure, and adorn it with wreaths,
And whenever I visit your tomb, I will bring it with
me.
But, overcome in such misery,
Can I properly grieve you with the proper ceremony?
If I can find another to entrust this ceremony,
Perhaps I can be happy in this one thing after
losing you.
Oh no! You have won! My fate has become yours.
If someone is capable of harming this
memorial,
They are also capable of harming holy ground.
Believe that this tomb also contains a god.
Here Lies Allia Potestas
DM
Alliae A. L.
Potestatis
Hic Perusina sita
est, qua non pretiosior ulla
femina de multis vix
una aut altera, visa.
Sedula seriola parva
tam magna teneris.
Crudelis fati rector
duraque Persiphone,
quid bona diripitis
exuperantque mala?
Quaeritur a cunctis,
iam respondere fatigor:
dant lacrimas animi
signa benigna sui.
Prima toro delapsa
fuit, eadem ultima lecto
se tulit ad quietem
positis ex ordine rebus,
lana cui manibus
numquam sine causa recessit,
opsequioque prior
nulla moresque salubres.
Haec sibi non
placuit, numquam sibi libera visa.
Candida, luminibus
pulchris, aurata capillis,
Fortis sancta, tenax, insons, fidissima custos,
munda domi, sat munda foras, notissima volgo,
sola erat ut posset factis occurrere cunctis.
Exiguo sermone inreprehensa manebat.
et nitor in facie permansit eburneus illae,
qualem mortalem
nullam habuisse ferunt...[1]
Quid crura? Atalantes
status illi comicus ipse.
Anxia non mansit, sed
corpore pulchra benigno
levia membra
tulit…Quod manibus duris fuerit, culpabere forsan;
nil illi placuit nisi
quod per se sibi fecerat ipsa.
Nosse fuit nullum
studium, sibi se satis esse putabat.
Mansit et infamis,
quia nil admiserat umquam.
Haec duo dum vixit
iuvenes ita rexit amantes,
exemplo ut fierent similes Pyladisque et Orestae;
una domus capiebat
eos unusque et spiritus illis.
Post hanc nunc idem
diversi sibi quisq. senescunt;
femina quod struxit
talis, nunc puncta lacessunt.
Aspicite ad Troiam,
quid femina fecerit olim!
Sit precor hoc
iustum, exemplis in parvo grandibus uti.
Hos tibi dat versus
lacrimans sine fine patronus
muneris
amissae, cui nuncquam es pectore adempta,
quae putat amissis
munera grata dari,
nulla cui post te
femina visa proba est:
qui sine te vivit, cernit sua funera vivos.
Auro tuum nomen fert
ille refertque lacerto
qua retinere potest:
auro conlata potestas.
Quantumcumque tamen
praeconia nostra valebunt,
versiculis vives
quandiucuque meis.
Effigiem pro te teneo
solacia nostri,
qua colimus sancte
sertaque ulta datur,
cumque at te veniam,
mecum comitata sequetur.
Sed tamen infelix cui
tam sollemnia mandem?
Si tamen extiterit,
cui tantum credere possim,
hoc unum felix amissa
te mihi forsan ero.
Ei Mihi! Vicisti:
sors mea facta tua est.
Laedere qui hoc
poterit, ausus quoque laedere divos.
Haec titulo insignis
credite numen habet.
