Satires of Juvenal and Persius

This one has left Sicyon, this one Amidon,
This one Andros, that one Samos, this one Tralles, or Alabanda,
They seek the Esquiline, and the hill named from the osier the Viminal Hill,
The vitals of great houses, and future masters.
Quick wit, shameless audacity, speech
prompt, and more torrent-like than Isaeus. Tell me what you
think he is? He has brought every man with him to us;
grammarian, rhetorician, geometer, painter, masseur,
augur, tightrope walker, doctor, magician; the hungry
little Greek knows everything; if you order him to go to heaven, he will go.
In sum, it was not a Moor, nor a Sarmatian, nor a Thracian
who took up wings, but one born in the middle of Athens.
Shall I not flee the purple robes of these men? Shall he sign before me?
And lie down supported on a better couch,
he who was brought to Rome by the same wind that brought plums and figs?
Is it nothing at all that my childhood inhaled the air
of the Aventine, nourished by the Sabine berry?
What if the race, most skilled in flattering, praises
the speech of the uneducated, the face of a deformed friend,
and equates the long neck of the weakling to the shoulders
of Hercules, holding Antaeus far from the ground.
He admires the narrow voice, which sounds no worse
than that with which a hen is bitten by her mate.
We might be allowed to praise these things too, but it is believed
when they do it. Or is he better when he plays Thais, or when
the actor plays a wife, or Doris without any
cloak? Indeed, the woman herself seems
to speak, not the persona; you would say everything is empty and flat
below the belly, and the parts are separated by a thin slit.
Nor yet will Antiochus be miraculous there