Now smooth’d to polish due with pumice dryWhereto this lively booklet now give I?To thee (Cornelius!); for wast ever fainTo deem my trifles somewhat boon contain;E’en when thou single ’mongst Italians foundDaredst all periods in three Scripts expoundLearned (by Jupiter!) elaborately.Then take thee whatso in this booklet be,Such as it is, whereto O Patron MaidTo live down Ages lend thou lasting aid!
Cui dono lepidum novum libellumarido modo pumice expolitum?Corneli, tibi; namque tu solebasmeas esse aliquid putare nugas,iam tum cum ausus es unus Italorumomne aevum tribus explicare chartis,doctis, Iuppiter, et laboriosis!quare habe tibi quidquid hoc libelliqualecumque, quod, o patrona virgo,plus uno maneat perenne saeclo.
Sparrow! my pet’s delicious joy,Wherewith in bosom nurst to toyShe loves, and gives her finger-tipFor sharp-nib’d greedingneb to nip,Were she who my desire withstoodTo seek some pet of merry mood,As crumb o’ comfort for her grief,Methinks her burning lowe’s relief:Could I, as plays she, play with thee,That mind might win from misery free!…To me t’were grateful (as they say),Gold codling was to fleet-foot May,Whose long-bound zone it loosed for aye.
Passer, deliciae meae puellae,quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere,cui primum digitum dare adpetentiet acris solet incitare morsus,cum desiderio meo nitenticarum nescio quid libet iocari(et solaciolum sui doloris,credo, ut tum gravis adquiescat ardor),tecum ludere sicut ipsa possemet tristis animi levare curas!…Tam gratum est mihi quam ferunt puellaepernici aureolum fuisse malum,quod zonam solvit diu ligatam.
Weep every Venus, and all Cupids wail,And men whose gentler spirits still prevail.Dead is the Sparrow of my girl, the joy,Sparrow, my sweeting’s most delicious toy,Whom loved she dearer than her very eyes;For he was honeyed-pet and anywiseKnew her, as even she her mother knew;Ne’er from her bosom’s harbourage he flewBut ’round her hopping here, there, everywhere,Piped he to none but her his lady fair.Now must he wander o’er the darkling wayThither, whence life-return the Fates denay.But ah! beshrew you, evil Shadows low’ringIn Orcus ever loveliest things devouring:Who bore so pretty a Sparrow fro’ her ta’en.(Oh hapless birdie and Oh deed of bane!)Now by your wanton work my girl appearsWith turgid eyelids tinted rose by tears.
Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesqueet quantum est hominum venustiorum!passer mortuus est meae puellae,passer, deliciae meae puellae,quem plus illa oculis suis amabat;nam mellitus erat, suamque noratipsa tam bene quam puella matrem,nec sese a gremio illius movebat,sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illucad solam dominam usque pipiabat.qui nunc it per iter tenebricosumilluc unde negant redire quemquam.at vobis male sit, malae tenebraeOrci, quae omnia bella devoratis;tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis.o factum male! o miselle passer!tua nunc opera meae puellaeflendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.
Yonder Pinnace ye (my guests!) beholdSaith she was erstwhile fleetest-fleet of crafts,Nor could by swiftness of aught plank that swims,Be she outstripped, whether paddle plied,Or fared she scudding under canvas-sail.Eke she defieth threat’ning Adrian shore,Dare not denay her, insular Cyclades,And noble Rhodos and ferocious Thrace,Propontis too and blustering Pontic bight.Where she (my Pinnace now) in times before,Was leafy woodling on Cytórean ChineFor ever loquent lisping with her leaves.Pontic Amastris! Box-tree-clad Cytórus!Cognisant were ye, and you weet full well(So saith my Pinnace) how from earliest ageUpon your highmost-spiring peak she stood,How in your waters first her sculls were dipt,And thence thro’ many and many an important straitShe bore her owner whether left or right,Where breezes bade her fare, or Jupiter deignedAt once propitious strike the sail full square;Nor to the sea-shore gods was aught of vowBy her deemed needful, when from Ocean’s bourneExtreme she voyaged for this limpid lake.Yet were such things whilome: now she retiredIn quiet age devotes herself to thee(O twin-born Castor) twain with Castor’s twin.
Phasellus ille, quem videtis, hospites,ait fuisse navium celerrimus,neque ullius natantis impetum trabisnequisse praeterire, sive palmulisopus foret volare sive linteo.et hoc negat minacis Hadriaticinegare litus insulasve CycladasRhodumque nobilem horridamque ThraciamPropontida trucemve Ponticum sinum,ubi iste post phasellus antea fuitcomata silva: nam Cytorio in iugoloquente saepe sibilum edidit coma.Amastri Pontica et Cytore buxifer,tibi haec fuisse et esse cognitissimaait phasellus; ultima ex originetuo stetisse dicit in cacumine,tuo imbuisse palmulas in aequore,et inde tot per impotentia fretaerum tulisse, laeva sive dexteravocaret aura, sive utrumque Iuppitersimul secundus incidisset in pedem;neque ulla vota litoralibus diissibi esse facta, cum veniret a marinovissimo hunc ad usque limpidum lacum.sed haec prius fuere: nunc reconditasenet quiete seque dedicat tibi,gemelle Castor et gemelle Castoris.
Love we (my Lesbia!) and live we our day,While all stern sayings crabbed sages say,At one doit’s value let us price and prize!The Suns can westward sink again to riseBut we, extinguished once our tiny light,Perforce shall slumber through one lasting night!Kiss me a thousand times, then hundred more,Then thousand others, then a new five-score,Still other thousand other hundred store.Last when the sums to many thousands grow,The tale let’s trouble till no more we know,Nor envious wight despiteful shall misween usKnowing how many kisses have been kissed between us.
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,rumoresque senum severiorumomnes unius aestimemus assis.soles occidere et redire possunt:nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux,nox est perpetua una dormienda.da mi basia mille, deinde centum,dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum,dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,aut ne quis malus invidere possit,cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.
Thy Charmer (Flavius!) to Catullus’ earWere she not manner’d mean and worst in witPerforce thou hadst praised nor couldst silence keep.But some enfevered jade, I wot-not-what,Some piece thou lovest, blushing this to own.For, nowise ’customed widower nights to lieThou ’rt ever summoned by no silent bedWith flow’r-wreaths fragrant and with Syrian oil,By mattress, bolsters, here, there, everywhereDeep-dinted, and by quaking, shaking couchAll crepitation and mobility.Explain! none whoredoms (no!) shall close my lips.Why? such outfuttered flank thou ne’er wouldst showHad not some fulsome work by thee been wrought.Then what thou holdest, boon or bane be pleasedDisclose! For thee and thy beloved fain would IUpraise to Heaven with my liveliest lay.
Flavi, delicias tuas Catullo,ni sint inlepidae atque inelegantes,velles dicere, nec tacere posses.verum nescio quid febriculosiscorti diligis: hoc pudet fateri.nam te non viduas iacere noctesnequiquam tacitum cubile clamatsertis ac Syrio fragrans olivo,pulvinusque peraeque et hic et illeattritus, tremulique quassa lectiargutatio inambulatioque.nam nil stupra valet, nihil, tacere.cur? non tam latera ecfututa pandas,ni tu quid facias ineptiarum.quare, quidquid habes boni malique,dic nobis: volo te ac tuos amoresad caelum lepido vocare versu.
Thou ask’st How many kissing bouts I boreFrom thee (my Lesbia!) or be enough or more?I say what mighty sum of Lybian-sandsConfine Cyrene’s Laserpitium-lands’Twixt Oracle of Jove the SweltererAnd olden Battus’ holy Sepulchre,Or stars innumerate through night-stillness kenThe stolen Love-delights of mortal men,For that to kiss thee with unending kissesFor mad Catullus enough and more be this,Risses nor curious wight shall count their tale,Nor to bewitch us evil tongue avail.
Quaeris quot mihi basiationestuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque.quam magnus numerus Libyssae harenaelaserpiciferis iacet Cyrenis,oraclum Iovis inter aestuosiet Batti veteris sacrum sepulcrum,aut quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox,furtivos hominum vident amores,tam te basia multa basiarevesano satis et super Catullo est,quae nec pernumerare curiosipossint nec mala fascinare lingua.
Woe-full Catullus! cease to play the foolAnd what thou seest dead as dead regard!Whilòme the sheeniest suns for thee did shineWhen oft-a-tripping whither led the girlBy us beloved, as shall none be loved.There all so merry doings then were doneAfter thy liking, nor the girl was loath.Then certès sheeniest suns for thee did shine.Now she’s unwilling: thou too (hapless!) willHer flight to follow, and sad life to live:Endure with stubborn soul and still obdure.Damsel, adieu! Catullus obdurate grownNor seeks thee, neither asks of thine unwill;Yet shalt thou sorrow when none woos thee more;Reprobate! Woe to thee! What life remains?Who now shall love thee? Who’ll think thee fair?Whom now shalt ever love? Whose wilt be called?To whom shalt kisses give? whose liplets nip?But thou (Catullus!) destiny-doomed obdure.
Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire,et quod vides perisse perditum ducas.fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles,cum ventitabas quo puella ducebatamata nobis quantum amabitur nulla.ibi illa multa tum iocosa fiebant,quae tu volebas nec puella nolebat.fulsere vere candidi tibi soles.nunc iam illa non vult: tu quoque, impotens, noli,nec quae fugit sectare, nec miser vive,sed obstinata mente perfer, obdura.vale, puella! iam Catullus obdurat,nec te requiret nec rogabit invitam:at tu dolebis, cum rogaberis nulla.scelesta, vae te! quae tibi manet vita!quis nunc te adibit? cui videberis bella?quem nunc amabis? cuius esse diceris?quem basiabis? cui labella mordebis?at tu, Catulle, destinatus obdura.
Veranius! over every friend of meForestanding, owned I hundred thousands three,Home to Penates and to single-soul’dBrethren, returned art thou and mother old?Yes, thou art come. Oh, winsome news come well!Now shall I see thee, safely hear thee tellOf sites Iberian, deeds and nations ’spied,(As be thy wont) and neck-a-neck appliedI’ll greet with kisses thy glad lips and eyne.Oh! Of all mortal men beatifiedWhose joy and gladness greater be than mine?
Verani, omnibus e meis amicisantistans mihi milibus trecentis,venistine domum ad tuos penatesfratresque unanimos anumque matrem?venisti! o mihi nuntii beati!visam te incolumem audiamque Hiberumnarrantem loca, facta, nationes,ut mos est tuus, applicansque collumiucundum os oculosque saviabor.o, quantum est hominum beatiorum,quid me laetius est beatiusve?
Led me my Varus to his flame,As I from Forum idling came.Forthright some whorelet judged I itNor lacking looks nor wanting wit,When hied we thither, mid us threeFell various talk, as how might beBithynia now, and how it fared,And if some coin I made or spared.“There was no cause” (I soothly said)“The Praetors or the Cohort made”“Thence to return with oilier head;”“The more when ruled by … ”“Praetor, as pile the Cohort rating.”Quoth they, “But certes as ’twas there”“The custom rose, some men to bear”“Litter thou boughtest?” I to herTo seem but richer, wealthier,Cry, “Nay, with me ’twas not so ill”“That, given the Province suffered, still”“Eight stiff-backed loons I could not buy.”(Withal none here nor there owned IWho broken leg of Couch outwornOn nape of neck had ever borne!)Then she, as pathic piece became,“Prithee Catullus mine, those same”“Lend me, Serapis-wards I’d hie.” …“Easy, on no-wise, no,” quoth I,“Whate’er was mine, I lately said”“Is some mistake, my camarade”“One Cinna-Gaius-bought the lot,”“But his or mine, it matters what?”“I use it freely as though bought,”“Yet thou, pert troubler, most absurd,”“None suffer’st speak an idle word.”
Varus me meus ad suos amoresvisum duxerat e foro otiosum,scortillum, ut mihi tunc repente visum est,non sane inlepidum neque invenustum.huc ut venimus, incidere nobissermones varii, in quibus, quid essetiam Bithynia, quo modo se haberet,ecquonam mihi profuisset aere.respondi id quod erat, nihil neque ipsisnec praetoribus esse nec cohorti,cur quisquam caput unctius referret,praesertim quibus esset irrumatorpraetor nec faceret pili cohortem.“at certe tamen,” inquiunt, “quod illic”“natum dicitur esse comparasti,”“ad lecticam homines.” ego, ut puellaeunum me facerem beatiorem,“non,” inquam, “mihi tam fuit maligne,”“ut, provincia quod mala incidisset,”“non possem octo homines parare rectos.”at mi nullus erat neque hic neque illicfractum qui veteris pedem grabatiin collo sibi conlocare posset.hic illa, ut decuit cinaediorem,“quaeso,” inquit, “mihi, mi Catulle, paulum”“istos commoda: nam volo ad Sarapim”“deferri.”“Mane,” inquii puellae,“istud quod modo dixeram, me habere,”“fugit me ratio: meus sodalis”“Cinna est Gaius; is sibi paravit.”“verum, utrum illius an mei, quid ad me?”“utor tam bene quam mihi pararim.”“sed tu insulsa male et molesta vivis,”“per quam non licet esse neglegentem.”
Furius and Aurelius, Catullus’ friends,Whether extremest Indian shore he brave,Strands where far-resounding billow rendsThe shattered wave,Or ’mid Hyrcanians dwell he, Arabs soft and wild,Sacis and Parthians of the arrow fain,Or where the Seven-mouth’d Nilus mud-defiledTinges the Main,Or climb he lofty Alpine Crest and noteWorks monumental, Caesar’s grandeur telling,Rhine Gallic, horrid Ocean and remoteBritons low-dwelling;All these (whatever shall the will designOf Heaven-homed Gods) Oh ye prepared to tempt;Announce your briefest to that damsel mineIn words unkempt:—Live she and love she wenchers several,Embrace three hundred wi’ the like requitals,None truly loving and withal of allBursting the vitals:My love regard she not, my love of yore,Which fell through fault of her, as falls the fairLast meadow-floret whenas passed it o’ertouch of the share.
Furi et Aureli, comites Catulli,sive in extremos penetrabit Indos,litus ut longe resonante Eoatunditur unda,sive in Hyrcanos Arabasve molles,seu Sacas sagittiferosve Parthos,sive quae septemgeminus colorataequora Nilus,sive trans altas gradietur AlpesCaesaris visens monimenta magni,Gallicum Rhenum, horribile aequor, ulti-mosque Britannos,omnia haec, quaecumque feret voluntascaelitum, temptare simul parati,pauca nuntiate meae puellaenon bona dicta.cum suis vivat valeatque moechis,quos simul complexa tenet trecentos,nullum amans vere, sed identidem omniumilia rumpens;nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem,qui illius culpa cecidit velut pratiultimi flos, praetereunte postquamtactus aratro est.
Marrúcinus Asinius! ill thou usestThat hand sinistral in thy wit and wineFilching the napkins of more heedless hosts.Dost find this funny? Fool it passeth theeHow ’tis a sordid deed, a sorry jest.Dost misbelieve me? Trust to Pollio,Thy brother, ready to compound such theftsE’en at a talent’s cost; for he’s a youthIn speech past master and in fair pleasantries.Of hendecasyllabics hundreds threeTherefore expect thou, or return forthrightLinens whose loss affects me not for worthBut as mementoes of a comrade mine.For napkins Saetaban from Ebro-landFabúllus ent me a free giftie givenAlso Veránius: these perforce I loveE’en as my Veraniólus and Fabúllus.
Marrucine Asini, manu sinistranon belle uteris in ioco atque vino:tollis lintea neglegentiorum.hoc salsum esse putas? fugit te, inepte!quamvis sordida res et invenusta estnon credis mihi?crede Pollionifratri, qui tua furta vel talentomutari velit; est enim leporumdisertus puer ac facetiarum.quare aut hendecasyllabos trecentosexspecta, aut mihi linteum remitte,quod me non movet aestimatione,verum est mnemosynum mei sodalis.nam sudaria Saetaba ex Hiberismiserunt mihi muneri Fabulluset Veranius: haec amem necesse estet Veraniolum meum et Fabullum.
Thou’lt sup right well with me, Fabúllus mine,In days few-numbered an the Gods design,An great and goodly meal thou bring wi’ theeNowise forgetting damsel bright o’ blee,With wine, and salty wit and laughs all-gay.An these my bonny man, thou bring, I sayThou’lt sup right well, for thy Catullus’ purseSave web of spider nothing does imburse.But thou in countergift more loves shalt takeOr aught of sweeter taste or fairer make:I’ll give thee unguent lent my girl to scentBy every Venus and all Cupids sent,Which, as thou savour, pray Gods interposeAnd thee, Fabúllus, make a Naught-but-nose.
Cenabis bene, mi Fabulle, apud mepaucis, si tibi di favent, diebus,si tecum attuleris bonam atque magnamcenam, non sine candida puellaet vino et sale et omnibus cachinnis.haec si, inquam, attuleris, venuste nostercenabis bene; nam tui Catulliplenus sacculus est aranearum.sed contra accipies meros amoresseu quid suavius elegantiusve est:nam unguentum dabo, quod meae puellaedonarunt Veneres Cupidinesque,quod tu cum olfacies, deos rogabistotum ut te faciant, Fabulle, nasum.
Did I not liefer love thee than my eyes(Winsomest Calvus!), for that gift of thineCertès I’d hate thee with Vatinian hate.Say me, how came I, or by word or deed,To cause thee plague me with so many a bard?The Gods deal many an ill to such a client,Who sent of impious wights to thee such crowd.But if (as guess I) this choice boon new-foundTo thee from “Commentator” Sulla come,None ill I hold it—well and welcome ’tis,For that thy labours ne’er to death be doom’d.Great Gods! What horrid booklet damnableUnto thine own Catullus thou (perdie!)Did send, that ever day by day die heIn Saturnalia, first of festivals.No! No! thus shall’t not pass wi’ thee, sweet wag,For I at dawning day will scour the boothsOf bibliopoles, Aquinii, Caesii andSuffenus, gather all their poison-trashAnd with such torments pay thee for thy pains.Now for the present hence, adieu! begoneThither, whence came ye, brought by luckless feet,Pests of the Century, ye pernicious Poets.
Ni te plus oculis meis amarem,iucundissime Calve, munere istoodissem te odio Vatiniano:nam quid feci ego quidve sum locutus,cur me tot male perderes poetis?isti di mala multa dent clientiqui tantum tibi misit impiorum.quod si, ut suspicor, hoc novum ac repertummunus dat tibi Sulla litterator,non est mi male, sed bene ac beate,quod non dispereunt tui labores.di magni, horribilem et sacrum libellum,quem tu scilicet ad tuum Catullummisti, continuo ut die periret,Saturnalibus, optimo dierum!non, non hoc tibi, false, sic abibit:nam, si luxerit, ad librariorumcurram scrinia, Caesios, Aquinos,Suffenum, omnia colligam venena,ac te his suppliciis remunerabor.vos hinc interea valete, abiteilluc unde malum pedem attulistis,saecli incommoda, pessimi poetae.
An of my trifles peradventure chanceYou to be readers, and the hands of youWithout a shudder unto us be offer’d…
Si qui forte mearum ineptiarumlectores eritis manusque vestrasnon horrebitis admovere nobis,…
To thee I trust my loves and me,(Aurelius!) craving modesty.That (if in mind didst ever longTo win aught chaste unknowing wrong)Then guard my boy in purest way.From folk I say not: naught affrayThe crowds wont here and there to runThrough street-squares, busied every one;But thee I dread nor less thy penisFair or foul, younglings’ foe I ween is!Wag it as wish thou, at its will,When out of doors its hope fulfil;Him bar I, modestly, methinks.But should ill-mind or lust’s high jinksThee (Sinner!), drive to sin so dread,That durst ensnare our dearling’s head,Ah! woe’s thee (wretch!) and evil fate,Mullet and radish shall pierce and grate,When feet-bound, haled through yawning gate.
Commendo tibi me ac meos amores,Aureli. Veniam peto pudentem,ut, si quicquam animo tuo cupistiquod castum expeteres et integellum,conserves puerum mihi pudice,non dico a populo: nihil veremuristos qui in platea modo huc modo illucin re praetereunt sua occupati;verum a te metuo tuoque peneinfesto pueris bonis malisque.quem tu qua libet, ut libet movetoquantum vis, ubi erit foris paratum:hunc unum excipio, ut puto, pudenter.quod si te mala mens furorque vecorsin tantam impulerit, sceleste, culpam,ut nostrum insidiis caput lacessas,ah tum te miserum malique fati,quem attractis pedibus patente portapercurrent raphanique mugilesque.
I’ll … you twain and …Pathic Aurelius! Fúrius, libertines!Who durst determine from my versiclesWhich seem o’er softy, that I’m scant of shame.For pious poet it behoves be chasteHimself; no chastity his verses need;Nay, gain they finally more salt of witWhen over softy and of scanty shame,Apt for exciting somewhat prurient,In boys, I say not, but in bearded menWho fail of movements in their hardened loins.Ye who so many thousand kisses sungHave read, deny male masculant I be?You twain I’ll … and …
Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.nam castum esse decet pium poetamipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est,qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,si sunt molliculi ac parum pudiciet quod pruriat incitare possunt,non dico pueris, sed his pilosis,qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.vos quod milia multa basiorumlegistis, male me marem putatis?pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.
Colony! fain to display thy games on length of thy town-bridge!There, too, ready to dance, though fearing the shaking of crazyLogs of the Bridgelet propt on pier-piles newly renewèd,Lest supine all sink deep-merged in the marish’s hollow,So may the bridge hold good when builded after thy pleasureWhere Salisúbulus’ rites with solemn function are sacred,As thou (Colony!) grant me boon of mightiest laughter.Certain a townsman mine I’d lief see thrown from thy gangwayHurlèd head over heels precipitous whelmed in the quagmire,Where the lake and the boglands are most rotten and stinking,Deepest and lividest lie, the swallow of hollow voracious.Witless surely the wight whose sense is less than of boy-babeTwo-year-old and a-sleep on trembling forearm of father.He though, wedded to girl in greenest bloom of her youth-tide,(Bride-wife daintier bred than ever was delicate kidlet,Worthier diligent watch than grape-bunch blackest and ripest)Suffers her sport as she please nor rates her even at hair’s worth,Nowise ’stirring himself, but lying log-like as alderFelled and o’er floating the fosse of safe Ligurian woodsman,Feeling withal, as though such spouse he never had own’d;So this marvel o’ mine sees naught, and nothing can hear he,What he himself, an he be or not be, wholly unknowing.Now would I willingly pitch such wight head first fro’ thy bridge,Better a-sudden t’arouse that numskull’s stolid old senses,Or in the sluggish mud his soul supine to depositEven as she-mule casts iron shoe where quagmire is stiffest.This grove to thee devote I give, Priapus!Who home be Lampsacus and holt, Priapus!For thee in cities worship most the shoresOf Hellespont the richest oystery strand.This place, O youths, I protect, nor less this turfbuilded cottage,Roofed with its osier-twigs and thatched with its bundles of sedges;I from the dried oak hewn and fashioned with rustical hatchet,Guarding them year by year while more are they evermore thriving.For here be owners twain who greet and worship my Godship,He of the poor hut lord and his son, the pair of them peasants:This with assiduous toil aye works the thicketty herbageAnd the coarse water-grass to clear afar from my chapel:That with his open hand ever brings me offerings humble.Hung up in honour mine are flowery firstlings of spring-tide,Wreaths with their ears still soft the tender stalklets a-crowning;Violets pale are mine by side of the poppy-head pallid;With the dull yellow gourd and apples sweetest of savour;Lastly the blushing grape disposed in shade of the vine-tree.Anon mine altar (this same) with blood (but you will be silent!)Bearded kid and anon some horny-hoofed nanny shall sprinkle.Wherefore Priapus is bound to requite such honours by service,Doing his duty to guard both vineyard and garth of his lordling.Here then, O lads, refrain from ill-mannered picking and stealing:Rich be the neighbour-hind and negligent eke his Priapus:Take what be his: this path hence leadeth straight to his ownings.I thuswise fashionèd by rustic artAnd from dried poplar-trunk (O traveller!) hewn,This fieldlet, leftwards as thy glances fall,And my lord’s cottage with his pauper garthProtect, repelling thieves’ rapacious hands.In spring with vari-coloured wreaths I’m crown’d,In fervid summer with the glowing grain,Then with green vine-shoot and the luscious bunch,And glaucous olive-tree in bitter cold.The dainty she-goat from my pasture bearsHer milk-distended udders to the town:Out of my sheep-cotes ta’en the fatted lambSends home with silver right-hand heavily charged;And, while its mother lows, the tender calfBefore the temples of the Gods must bleed.Hence of such Godhead, (traveller!) stand in awe,Best it befits thee off to keep thy hands.Thy cross is ready, shaped as artless yard;“I’m willing,’faith” (thou say’st) but ’faith here comesThe boor, and plucking forth with bended armMakes of this tool a club for doughty hand.Aurelius, father of the famisht crew,Not sole of starvelings now, but wretches whoWere, are, or shall be in the years to come,My love, my dearling, fain art thou to strum.Nor privately; for nigh thou com’st and jestestAnd to his side close-sticking all things questest.’Tis vain: while lay’st thou snares for me the worst,By … I will teach thee first.An food-full thus do thou, my peace I’d keep:But what (ah me! ah me!) compels me weepAre thirst and famine to my dearling fated.Cease thou so doing while as modest rated,Lest to thy will thou win—but …Varus, yon wight Suffenus known to theeFairly for wit, free talk, urbanity,The same who scribbles verse in amplest store—Methinks he fathers thousands ten or moreIndited not as wont on palimpsest,But paper-royal, brand-new boards, and bestFresh bosses, crimson ribbands, sheets with leadRuled, and with pumice-powder all well polished.These as thou readest, seem that fine, urbaneSuffenus, goat-herd mere, or ditcher-swainOnce more, such horrid change is there, so vile.What must we wot thereof? a Droll erst while,Or (if aught) cleverer, he with converse meets,He now in dullness, dullest villain beatsForthright on handling verse, nor is the wightEver so happy as when verse he write:So self admires he with so full delight.In sooth, we all thus err, nor man there beBut in some matter a Suffenus seeThou canst: his lache allotted none shall lackYet spy we nothing of our back-borne pack.
O Colonia, quae cupis ponte ludere longo,et salire paratum habes, sed vereris ineptacrura ponticuli assulis stantis in redivivis,ne supinus eat cavaque in palude recumbat,sic tibi bonus ex tua pons libidine fiat,in quo vel Salisubsili sacra suscipiantur,munus hoc mihi maximi da, Colonia, risus.quendam municipem meum de tuo volo ponteire praecipitem in lutum per caputque pedesque,verum totius ut lacus putidaeque paludislividissima maximeque est profunda vorago.insulsissimus est homo, nec sapit pueri instarbimuli tremula patris dormientis in ulna:cui cum sit viridissimo nupta flore puella(et puella tenellulo delicatior haedo,adservanda nigerrimis diligentius uvis),ludere hanc sinit ut libet, nec pili facit uni,nec se sublevat ex sua parte, sed velut alnusin fossa Liguri iacet suppernata securi,tantundem omnia sentiens quam si nulla sit usquamtalis iste meus stupor nil videt, nihil audit,ipse qui sit, utrum sit an non sit, id quoque nescit.nunc eum volo de tuo ponte mittere pronum,si pote stolidum repente excitare veternumet supinum animum in gravi derelinquere caeno,ferream ut soleam tenaci in voragine mula.Aureli, pater esuritionum,non harum modo, sed quot aut fueruntaut sunt aut aliis erunt in annis,pedicare cupis meos amores.nec clam: nam simul es, iocaris una,haerens ad latus omnia experiris.frustra: nam insidias mihi instruentemtangam te prior irrumatione.atque id si faceres satur, tacerem:nunc ipsum id doleo, quod esurire,ah me me, puer et sitire discet.quare desine, dum licet pudico,ne finem facias, sed irrumatus.Suffenus iste, Vare, quem probe nosti,homo est venustus et dicax et urbanus,idemque longe plurimos facit versus.puto esse ego illi milia aut decem aut pluraperscripta, nec sic, ut fit, in palimpsestorelata: chartae regiae, novi libri,novi umbilici, lora, rubra membrana,derecta plumbo et pumice omnia aequata.haec cum legas tu, bellus ille et urbanusSuffenus unus caprimulgus aut fossorrursus videtur: tantum abhorret ac mutat.hoc quid putemus esse? Qui modo scurraaut si quid hac re tritius videbatur,idem infaceto est infacetior ruresimul poemata attigit, neque idem unquamaeque est beatus ac poema cum scribit:tam gaudet in se tamque se ipse miratur.nimirum idem omnes fallimur, neque est quisquamquem non in aliqua re videre Suffenumpossis. Suus cuique attributus est error,sed non videmus manticae quod in tergo est.
Furius! Nor chest, nor slaves can claim,Bug, Spider, nor e’e n hearth aflame,Yet thine a sire and step-dame whoWi’ tooth can ever flint-food chew!So thou, and pleasant happy lifeLead wi’ thy parents wooden wife.Nor be this marvel: hale are all,Well ye digest; no fears appalFor household-arsons, heavy ruin,Plunderings impious, poison-brewin’Or other parlous case forlorn.Your frames are hard and dried like horn,Or if more arid aught ye knowBy suns and frosts and hunger-throe.Then why not happy as thou’rt hale?Sweat’s strange to thee, spit fails, and failPhlegm and foul snivel from the nose.Add cleanness that aye cleanlier showsA bum than salt-pot cleanlier,Nor ten times cack’st in total year,And harder ’tis than pebble or beanWhich rubbed in hand or crumbled, e’enOn finger ne’er shall make unclean.Such blessings (Furius!) such a prizeNever belittle nor despise;Hundred sesterces seek no moreWith wonted prayer—enow’s thy store!
Furi, cui neque servus est neque arcanec cimex neque araneus neque ignis,verum est et pater et noverca, quorumdentes vel silicem comesse possunt,est pulchre tibi cum tuo parenteet cum coniuge lignea parentis.nec mirum: bene nam valetis omnes,pulchre concoquitis, nihil timetis,non incendia, non graves ruinas,non furta impia, non dolos veneni,non casus alios periculorum.atqui corpora sicciora cornuaut si quid magis aridum est habetissole et frigore et esuritione.quare non tibi sit bene ac beate?a te sudor abest, abest saliva,mucusque et mala pituita nasi.hanc ad munditiem adde mundiorem,quod culus tibi purior salillo est,nec toto decies cacas in anno;atque id durius est faba et lapillis,quod tu si manibus teras fricesque,non unquam digitum inquinare possis.haec tu commoda tam beata, Furi,noli spernere nec putare parvi,et sestertia quae soles precaricentum desine: nam satis beatu's.
O of Juventian youths the flowret fairNot of these only, but of all that wereOr shall be, coming in the coming years,Better waste Midas’ wealth (to me appears)On him that owns nor slave nor money-chestThan thou shouldst suffer by his love possest.“What! is he vile or not fair?”“Yes!” I attest,“Yet owns this man so comely neither slaves nor chest”“My words disdain thou or accept at best”“Yet neither slave he owns nor money-chest.”
O qui flosculus es Iuventiorum,non horum modo, sed quot aut fueruntaut posthac aliis erunt in annis,mallem divitias Midae dedissesisti cui neque servus est neque arca,quam sic te sineres ab illo amari.“quid? Non est homo bellus?” inquies. est:sed bello huic neque servus est neque arca.hoc tu quam libet abice elevaque:nec servum tamen ille habet neque arcam.
Thou bardache Thallus! more than Coney’s robeSoft, or goose-marrow or ear’s lowmost lobe,Or Age’s languid yard and cobweb’d part,Same Thallus greedier than the gale thou art,When the Kite-goddess shows thee Gulls agape,Return my muffler thou hast dared to rape,Saetaban napkins, tablets of Thynos, allWhich (Fool!) ancestral heirlooms thou didst call.These now unglueing from thy claws restore,Lest thy soft hands, and floss-like flanklets scoreThe burning scourges, basely signed and lined,And thou unwonted toss like wee barque tyned’Mid vasty Ocean vexed by madding wind!
Cinaede Thalle, mollior cuniculi capillovel anseris medullula vel imula auricillavel pene languido senis situque araneoso,idemque Thalle turbida rapacior procella,cum † diva mulier aries ostendit oscitantes,remitte pallium mihi meum quod involastisudariumque Saetabum catagraphosque Thynos,inepte, quae palam soles habere tanquam avita.quae nunc tuis ab unguibus reglutina et remitte,ne laneum latusculum manusque mollicellasinusta turpiter tibi flagella conscribillent,et insolenter aestues velut minuta magnodeprensa navis in mari vesaniente vento.
Furius! our Villa never Austral forceBroke, neither set thereon Favonius’ course,Nor savage Boreas, nor Epeliot’s strain,But fifteen thousand crowns and hundreds twainWreckt it, —Oh ruinous by-wind, breezy bane!
Furi, villula vestra non ad Austriflatus opposita est neque ad Favoninec saevi Boreae aut Apeliotae,verum ad milia quindecim et ducentos.o ventum horribilem atque pestilentem!
Thou youngling drawer of Falernian oldCrown me the goblets with a bitterer wineAs was Postumia’s law that rules the feastThan ebriate grape-stone more inebriate.But ye fare whither please ye (water-nymphs!)To wine pernicious, and to sober folkMigrate ye: mere Thyonian juice be here!
Minister vetuli puer Falerniinger mi calices amariores,ut lex Postumiae iubet magistrae,ebrioso acino ebriosioris.at vos quo libet hinc abite, lymphae,vini pernicies, et ad severosmigrate: hic merus est Thyonianus.
Followers of Piso, empty bandWith your light budgets packt to hand,Veránius best! Fabúllus mine!What do ye? Bore ye enough, in fineOf frost and famine with yon sot?What loss or gain have haply gotYour tablets? so, whenas I rangedWith Praetor, gains for loss were changed.“O Memmius! thou did’st long and late”“… me supine slow and … ”But (truly see I) in such caseDiddled you were by wight as baseSans mercy. Noble friends go claim!Now god and goddess give you grameDisgrace of Romulus! Remus’ shame!
Pisonis comites, cohors inanisaptis sarcinulis et expeditis,Verani optime tuque mi Fabulle,quid rerum geritis? Satisne cum istovappa frigoraque et famem tulistis?ecquidnam in tabulis patet lucelliexpensum, ut mihi, qui meum secutuspraetorem refero datum lucello,“o Memmi, bene me ac diu supinum”“tota ista trabe lentus irrumasti.”sed, quantum video, pari fuistiscasu: nam nihilo minore verpafarti estis. pete nobiles amicos.at vobis mala multa di deaequedent, opprobria Romuli Remique.
Who e’er could witness this (who could endureExcept the lewdling, dicer, greedy-gut)That should Mamurra get what hairy GaulAnd all that farthest Britons held whilòme?(Thou bardache Romulus!) this wilt see and bear?Then art a lewdling, dicer, greedy-gut!He now superb with pride superfluousShall go perambulate the bedrooms allLike white-robed dovelet or Adonis-love.Romulus thou bardache! this wilt see and bear?Then art a lewdling, dicer, greedy-gut!Is’t for such like name, sole Emperor thou!Thou soughtest extreme Occidental Isle?That this your … MentulaMillions and Milliards might at will absorb?What is’t but Liberality misplaced?What trifles wasted he, small heirlooms spent?First his paternal goods were clean dispersed;Second went Pontus’ spoils and for the third,—Ebro-land,—weets it well gold-rolling Tage.Fear him the Gallias? Him the Britons’ fear?Why cherish this ill-wight? what ’vails he do?Save fat paternal heritage devour?Lost ye for such a name, o puissant pair(Father and Son-in-law), our all-in-all?
Quis hoc potest videre, quis potest pati,nisi impudicus et vorax et aleo,Mamurram habere quod comata Galliahabebat ante et ultima Britannia?Cinaede Romule, haec videbis et feres?et ille nunc superbus et superfluensperambulabit omnium cubiliaut albulus columbus aut Adoneus?cinaede Romule, haec videbis et feres?es impudicus et vorax et aleo.eone nomine, imperator unice,fuisti in ultima occidentis insula,ut ista vestra diffututa mentuladucenties comesset aut trecenties?quid est alid sinistra liberalitas?parum expatravit an parum elluatus est?paterna prima lancinata sunt bona;secunda praeda Pontica; inde tertiaHibera, quam scit amnis aurifer Tagus.nunc Galliae timetur et Britanniae.quid hunc malum fovetis? aut quid hic potestnisi uncta devorare patrimonia?eone nomine † urbis opulentissimesocer generque, perdidistis omnia?
Alfénus! short of memory, false to comrades dearest-dear,Now hast no pity (hardened Soul!) for friend and loving fere?Now to betray me, now to guile. thou (traitor!) ne’er dost pause?Yet impious feats of fraudful men ne’er force the Gods’ applause:When heed’st thou not deserting me (Sad me!) in sorest scathe,Ah say whate’er shall humans do? in whom shall man show faith?For sure thou bad’st me safely yield my spirit (wretch!) to thee,Lulling my love as though my life were all security.The same now dost withdraw thyself and every word and deedThou suffer’st winds and airy clouds to sweep fromout thy head.But an forget thou, mindful be the Gods, and Faith in mindBears thee, and soon shall gar thee rue the deeds by thee design’d.
Alfene immemor atque unanimis false sodalibus,iam te nil miseret, dure, tui dulcis amiculi?iam me prodere, iam non dubitas fallere, perfide?nec facta impia fallacum hominum caelicolis placent;quae tu neglegis, ac me miserum deseris in malis.eheu, quid faciant, dic, homines, cuive habeant fidem?certe tute iubebas animam tradere, inique, meinducens in amorem, quasi tuta omnia mi forent.idem nunc retrahis te ac tua dicta omnia factaqueventos irrita ferre ac nebulas aerias sinis.si tu oblitus es, at di meminerunt, meminit Fides,quae te ut paeniteat postmodo facti faciet tui.
Sirmio! of Islands and PeninsulasEyelet, and whatsoe’er in limpid meresAnd vasty Ocean either Neptune owns,Thy scenes how willing-glad once more I see,At pain believing Thynia and the FieldsBithynian left, I’m safe to sight thy Site.Oh what more blessèd be than cares resolved,When mind casts burthen and by peregrineWork over wearied, lief we hie us homeTo lie reposing in the longed-for bed!This be the single meed for toils so triste.Hail, O fair Sirmio, in thy lord rejoice:And ye, O’ waves of Lybian Lake be glad,And laugh what laughter pealeth in my home.
Paene insularum, Sirmio, insularumqueocelle, quascumque in liquentibus stagnismarique vasto fert uterque Neptunus,quam te libenter quamque laetus inviso,vix mi ipse credens Thyniam atque Bithynosliquisse campos et videre te in tuto!o quid solutis est beatius curis,cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrinolabore fessi venimus larem ad nostrumdesideratoque adquiescimus lecto?hoc est quod unum est pro laboribus tantis.salve, o venusta Sirmio, atque ero gaude;gaudete vosque, o Lydiae lacus undae;ridete, quidquid est domi cachinnorum.
ILL love my Ipsithilla sweetest,My desires and my Wit the meetest,So bid me join thy nap o’ noon!Then (after bidding) add the boonUndraw thy threshold-bolt none dare,Lest thou be led afar to fare;Nay bide at home, for us prepareNine-fold continuous love-delights.But aught do thou to hurry things,For dinner-full I lie aback,And gown and tunic through I crack.
Amabo, mea dulcis Ipsithilla,meae deliciae, mei lepores,iube ad te veniam meridiatum.et si iusseris illud, adiuvato,ne quis liminis obseret tabellam,neu tibi libeat foras abire;sed domi maneas paresque nobisnovem continuas fututiones.verum, si quid ages, statim iubeto:nam pransus iaceo et satur supinuspertundo tunicamque palliumque.
OH, best of robbers who in Baths delight,Vibennius, sire and son, the Ingle hight,(For that the father’s hand be fouler oneAnd with his anus greedier is the Son)Why not to banishment and evil hoursHaste ye, when all the parent’s plundering powersAre public knowledge, nor canst gain a CentSon! by the vending of thy pilèd vent.
O furum optime balneariorumVibenni pater, et cinaede fili,(nam dextra pater inquinatiore,culo filius est voraciore)cur non exsilium malasque in orasitis, quandoquidem patris rapinaenotae sunt populo, et natis pilosas,fili, non potes asse venditare?
Diana’s faith inbred we bearYouths whole of heart and maidens fair,Let boys no blemishes impair,And girls of Dian sing!O great Latonian progeny,Of greatest Jove descendancy,Whom mother bare ’neath olive-tree,Deep in the Delian dell;That of the mountains reign thou QueenAnd forest ranges ever green,And coppices by man unseen,And rivers resonant.Thou art Lucína, Juno hightBy mothers lien in painful plight,Thou puissant Trivia and the LightBastard, yclept the Lune.Thou goddess with thy monthly stage,The yearly march doth mete and guageAn d rustic peasant’s messuage,Dost brim with best o’ crops,Be hailed by whatso name of grace,Please thee and olden Romulus’ race,Thy wonted favour deign embrace,And save with choicest aid.
Dianae sumus in fidepuellae et pueri integri;Dianam pueri integripuellaeque canamus.O Latonia, maximimagna progenies Iovis,quam mater prope Deliamdeposivit olivam,montium domina ut foressilvarumque virentiumsaltuumque reconditorumamniumque sonantum;tu Lucina dolentibusIuno dicta puerperis,tu potens Trivia et notho esdicta lumine Luna.tu cursu, dea, menstruometiens iter annuumrustica agricolae bonistecta frugibus exples.sis quocumque tibi placetsancta nomine, Romulique,antique ut solita es, bonasospites ope gentem.
Now to that tender bard, my Comrade fair,(Cecilius) say I, “Paper go, declare,”“Verona must we make and bid to New”“Comum’s town-walls and Larian Shores adieu;”For I determined certain fancies heAccept from mutual friend to him and me.Wherefore he will, if wise, devour the way,Though the blonde damsel thousand times essayRecall his going and with arms a-neckA-winding would e’er seek his course to check;A girl who (if the truth be truly told)Dies of a hopeless passion uncontroul’d;For since the doings of the Díndymus-dame,By himself storied, she hath read, a flameWasting her inmost marrow-core hath burned.I pardon thee, than Sapphic Muse more learn’d,Damsel: for truly sung in sweetest laysWas by Cecilius Magna Mater’s praise.
Poetae tenero, meo sodalivelim Caecilio, papyre, dicas,Veronam veniat, Novi relinquensComi moenia Lariumque litus:nam quasdam volo cogitationesamici accipiat sui meique.quare, si sapiet, viam vorabit,quamvis candida milies puellaeuntem revocet manusque colloambas iniciens roget morari,quae nunc, si mihi vera nuntiantur,illum deperit impotente amore:nam quo tempore legit incohatamDindymi dominam, ex eo misellaeignes interiorem edunt medullam.ignosco tibi, Sapphica puellaMusa doctior: est enim venusteMagna Caecilio incohata Mater.
Volusius’ Annals, paper scum-bewrayed!Fulfil that promise erst my damsel made;Who vowed to Holy Venus and her son,Cupid, should I return to her anonAnd cease to brandish iamb-lines accurst,The writ selected erst of bards the worstShe to the limping Godhead would devoteWith slowly-burning wood of illest note.This was the vilest which my girl could findWith vow facetious to the Gods assigned.Now, O Creation of the azure sea,Holy Idalium, Urian havenryHaunting, Ancona, Cnidos’ reedy site,Amathus, Golgos, and the tavern hightDurrachium-thine Adrian abode—The vow accepting, recognize the vowedAs not unworthy and unhandsome naught.But do ye meanwhile to the fire be brought,That teem with boorish jest of sorry blade,Volusius’ Annals, paper scum-bewrayed.
Annales Volusi, cacata charta,votum solvite pro mea puella:nam sanctae Veneri Cupidiniquevovit, si sibi restitutus essemdesissemque truces vibrare iambos,electissima pessimi poetaescripta tardipedi deo daturaminfelicibus ustilanda lignis.et hoc pessima se puella viditiocose lepide vovere divis.nunc, o caeruleo creata ponto,quae sanctum Idalium Uriosque apertos,quaeque Ancona Cnidumque harundinosamcolis, quaeque Amathunta, quaeque Golgos,quaeque Durrachium Hadriae tabernam,acceptum face redditumque votum,si non inlepidum neque invenustum est.at vos interea venite in ignem,pleni ruris et inficetiarumAnnales Volusi, cacata charta.
Salacious Tavern and ye taverner-host,From Pileate Brothers the ninth pile-post,D’ye claim, you only of the, mentule boast,D’ye claim alone what damsels be the bestTo swive: as he-goats holding all the rest?Is’t when like boobies sit ye incontinent here,One or two hundred, deem ye that I fearTwo hundred … at one brunt?Ay, think so, natheless all your tavern-frontWith many a scorpion I will over-write.For that my damsel, fro’ my breast took flight,By me so lovèd, as shall loved be none,Wherefor so mighty wars were waged and won,Does sit in public here. Ye fain, rich wights,All woo her: thither too (the chief of slights!)All pitiful knaves and by-street wenchers fare,And thou, (than any worse), with hanging hair,In coney-breeding Celtiberia bred,Egnatius! bonnified by beard full-fed,And teeth with Spanish urine polishèd.
Salax taberna vosque contubernales,a pilleatis nona fratribus pila,solis putatis esse mentulas vobis,solis licere quidquid est puellarumconfutuere et putare ceteros hircos?an, continenter quod sedetis insulsicentum an ducenti, non putatis ausurumme una ducentos irrumare sessores?atqui putate: namque totius vobisfrontem tabernae sopionibus scribam.puella nam mi, quae meo sinu fugit,amata tantum quantum amabitur nulla,pro qua mihi sunt magna bella pugnata,consedit istic. hanc boni beatiqueomnes amatis, et quidem, quod indignum est,omnes pusilli et semitarii moechi:tu praeter omnes une de capillatis,cuniculosae Celtiberiae fili,Egnati, opaca quem bonum facit barbaet dens Hibera defricatus urina.
Cornificius!’Tis ill with thy Catullus,’Tis ill (by Hercules) distressfully:Iller and iller every day and hour.Whose soul (as smallest boon and easiest)With what of comfort hast thou deign’d console?Wi’ thee I’m angered! Dost so prize my love?Yet some consoling utterance had been wellThough sadder ’twere than Simonídean tears.
Male est, Cornifici, tuo Catullo,male est me hercule ei et laboriose,et magis magis in dies et horas.quem tu, quod minimum facillimumque est,qua solatus es adlocutione?irascor tibi.sic meos amores?paulum quid libet adlocutionis,maestius lacrimis Simonideis.
Egnatius for that owns he teeth snow-white,Grins ever, everywhere. When placed a wightIn dock, when pleader would draw tears, the whileHe grins. When pious son at funeral pileMourns, or lone mother sobs for sole lost son,He grins. Whate’er, whene’er, howe’er is done,Of deed he grins. Such be his malady,Nor kind, nor courteous-so beseemeth me—Then take thou good Egnatius, rede of mine!Wert Thou Corrupt Sabine Or A Tiburtine,Stuffed Umbrian or Tuscan overgrownSwarthy Lanuvian with his teeth-rows shown,Transpadan also, that mine own I touch,Or any washing teeth to shine o’er much,Yet thy incessant grin I would not see,For naught than laughter silly sillier be.Thou Celtiber art, in Celtiberia born,Where man who’s urined therewith loves a-mornHis teeth and ruddy gums to scour and score;So the more polisht are your teeth, the moreArgue they sipping stale in ampler store.
Egnatius, quod candidos habet dentes,renidet usque quaque.si ad rei ventum estsubsellium, cum orator excitat fletum,renidet ille. si ad pii rogum fililugetur, orba cum flet unicum mater,renidet ille.quidquid est, ubicumque est,quodcumque agit, renidet.hunc habet morbumneque elegantem, ut arbitror, neque urbanum.quare monendum est te mihi, bone Egnati.si urbanus esses aut Sabinus aut Tibursaut parcus Umber aut obesus Etruscusaut Lanuvinus ater atque dentatusaut Transpadanus, ut meos quoque attingam,aut qui libet qui puriter lavit dentes,tamen renidere usque quaque te nollem;nam risu inepto res ineptior nulla est.nunc Celtiber es: Celtiberia in terra,quod quisque minxit, hoc sibi solet manedentem atque russam defricare gingivam,ut quo iste vester expolitior dens est,hoc te amplius bibisse praedicet loti.
What thought of folly Rávidus (poor churl!)Upon my iambs thus would headlong hurl?What good or cunning counsellor would fainUrge thee to struggle in such strife insane?Is’t that the vulgar mouth thy name by rote?What will’st thou? Wishest on any wise such note?Then shalt be noted since my love so liefFor love thou sued’st to thy lasting grief.
Quaenam te mala mens, miselle Ravide,agit praecipitem in meos iambos?quis deus tibi non bene advocatusvecordem parat excitare rixam?an ut pervenias in ora vulgi?quid vis? qua libet esse notus optas?eris, quandoquidem meos amorescum longa voluisti amare poena.
That Ametina, worn-out whore,Me for a myriad oft would bore,That strumpet of th’ ignoble nose,To leman, rakehell Formian chose.An ye would guard her (kinsmen folk)Your friends and leaches d’ye convoke:The girl’s not sound-sens’d; ask ye naughtOf her complaint: she’s love-distraught.
Ameana puella defututatota milia me decem poposcit,ista turpiculo puella naso,decoctoris amica Formiani.propinqui, quibus est puella curae,amicos medicosque convocate:non est sana puella, nec rogarequalis sit solet aes imaginosum.