Читать книгу The Carmina of Caius Valerius Catullus - Gaius Valerius Catullus - Страница 8

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This were gracious to me as in story old to the maiden fleet of foot was the apple golden-fashioned which unloosed her girdle long-time girt.

III.

Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque,

Et quantumst hominum venustiorum.

Passer mortuus est meae puellae,

Passer, deliciae meae puellae,

Quem plus illa oculis suis amabat:

Nam mellitus erat suamque norat

Ipsa tam bene quam puella matrem

Nec sese a gremio illius movebat,

Sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc

Ad solam dominam usque pipiabat.

Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum

Illuc, unde negant redire quemquam.

At vobis male sit, malae tenebrae

Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis:

Tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis.

O factum male! io miselle passer!

Tua nunc opera meae puellae

Flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.

III.

On the Death of Lesbia's Sparrow.

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 anywise

Knew her, as even she her mother knew;

Ne'er from her bosom's harbourage he flew

But 'round her hopping here, there, everywhere,

Piped he to none but her his lady fair.

Now must he wander o'er the darkling way

Thither, whence life-return the Fates denay.

But ah! beshrew you, evil Shadows low'ring

In 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 appears

With turgid eyelids tinted rose by tears.

Mourn ye, O ye Loves and Cupids and all men of gracious mind. Dead is the sparrow of my girl, sparrow, sweetling of my girl. Which more than her eyes she loved; for sweet as honey was it and its mistress knew, as well as damsel knoweth her own mother nor from her bosom did it rove, but hopping round first one side then the other, to its mistress alone it evermore did chirp. Now does it fare along that path of shadows whence naught may e'er return. Ill be to ye, savage glooms of Orcus, which swallow up all things of fairness: which have snatched away from me the comely sparrow. O deed of bale! O sparrow sad of plight! Now on thy account my girl's sweet eyes, swollen, do redden with tear-drops.

IIII.

Phaselus ille, quem videtis, hospites,

Ait fuisse navium celerrimus,

Neque ullius natantis impetum trabis

Nequisse praeter ire, sive palmulis

Opus foret volare sive linteo.

Et hoc negat minacis Adriatici

Negare litus insulasve Cycladas

Rhodumque nobilem horridamque Thraciam

Propontida trucemve Ponticum sinum,

Vbi iste post phaselus antea fuit

Comata silva: nam Cytorio in iugo

Loquente saepe sibilum edidit coma.

Amastri Pontica et Cytore buxifer,

Tibi haec fuisse et esse cognitissima

Ait phaselus: ultima ex origine

Tuo stetisse dicit in cacumine,

Tuo imbuisse palmulas in aequore,

Et inde tot per inpotentia freta

Erum tulisse, laeva sive dextera

Vocaret aura, sive utrumque Iuppiter

Simul secundus incidisset in pedem;

Neque ulla vota litoralibus deis

Sibi esse facta, cum veniret a marei

Novissime hunc ad usque limpidum lacum.

Sed haec prius fuere: nunc recondita

Senet quiete seque dedicat tibi,

Gemelle Castor et gemelle Castoris.

IIII.

On his Pinnace.

Yonder Pinnace ye (my guests!) behold

Saith 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 Chine

For 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 age

Upon your highmost-spiring peak she stood,

How in your waters first her sculls were dipt,

And thence thro' many and many an important strait

She bore her owner whether left or right,

Where breezes bade her fare, or Jupiter deigned

At once propitious strike the sail full square;

Nor to the sea-shore gods was aught of vow

By her deemed needful, when from Ocean's bourne

Extreme she voyaged for this limpid lake.

Yet were such things whilome: now she retired

In quiet age devotes herself to thee

(O twin-born Castor) twain with Castor's twin.

That pinnace which ye see, my friends, says that it was the speediest of boats, nor any craft the surface skimming but it could gain the lead, whether the course were gone o'er with plashing oars or bended sail. And this the menacing Adriatic shores may not deny, nor may the Island Cyclades, nor noble Rhodes and bristling Thrace, Propontis nor the gusty Pontic gulf, where itself (afterwards a pinnace to become) erstwhile was a foliaged clump; and oft on Cytorus' ridge hath this foliage announced itself in vocal rustling. And to thee, Pontic Amastris, and to box-screened Cytorus, the pinnace vows that this was alway and yet is of common knowledge most notorious; states that from its primal being it stood upon thy topmost peak, dipped its oars in thy waters, and bore its master thence through surly seas of number frequent, whether the wind whistled 'gainst the starboard quarter or the lee or whether Jove propitious fell on both the sheets at once; nor any vows [from stress of storm] to shore-gods were ever made by it when coming from the uttermost seas unto this glassy lake. But these things were of time gone by: now laid away, it rusts in peace and dedicates its age to thee, twin Castor, and to Castor's twin.

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,

Rumoresque senum severiorum

Omnes 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 nequis malus invidere possit,

Cum tantum sciet esse basiorum.

To Lesbia, (of Lesbos—Clodia?)

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 rise

But 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 us

Knowing how many kisses have been kissed between us.

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love, and count all the mumblings of sour age at a penny's fee. Suns set can rise again: we when once our brief light has set must sleep through a perpetual night. Give me of kisses a thousand, and then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then another thousand without resting, then a hundred. Then, when we have made many thousands, we will confuse the count lest we know the numbering, so that no wretch may be able to envy us through knowledge of our kisses' number.

VI.

Flavi, delicias tuas Catullo,

Nei sint inlepidae atque inelegantes,

Velles dicere, nec tacere posses.

Verum nescioquid febriculosi

Scorti diligis: hoc pudet fateri.

Nam te non viduas iacere noctes

Nequiquam tacitum cubile clamat

Sertis ac Syrio fragrans olivo,

Pulvinusque peraeque et hic et ille

Attritus, tremulique quassa lecti

Argutatio inambulatioque.

Nam nil stupra valet, nihil, tacere.

Cur? non tam latera ecfututa pandas,

Nei tu quid facias ineptiarum.

Quare quidquid habes boni malique,

Dic nobis. volo te ac tuos amores

Ad caelum lepido vocare versu.

VI.

To Flavius: Mis-speaking his Mistress.

Thy Charmer (Flavius!) to Catullus' ear

Were she not manner'd mean and worst in wit

Perforce 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 lie

Thou 'rt ever summoned by no silent bed

With flow'r-wreaths fragrant and with Syrian oil,

By mattress, bolsters, here, there, everywhere

Deep-dinted, and by quaking, shaking couch

All crepitation and mobility.

Explain! none whoredoms (no!) shall close my lips.

Why? such outfuttered flank thou ne'er wouldst show

Had not some fulsome work by thee been wrought.

Then what thou holdest, boon or bane be pleased

Disclose! For thee and thy beloved fain would I

Upraise to Heaven with my liveliest lay.

O Flavius, of thy sweetheart to Catullus thou would'st speak, nor could'st thou keep silent, were she not both ill-mannered and ungraceful. In truth thou affectest I know not what hot-blooded whore: this thou art ashamed to own. For that thou dost not lie alone a-nights thy couch, fragrant with garlands and Syrian unguent, in no way mute cries out, and eke the pillow and bolsters indented here and there, and the creakings and joggings of the quivering bed: unless thou canst silence these, nothing and again nothing avails thee to hide thy whoredoms. And why? Thou wouldst not display such drainèd flanks unless occupied in some tomfoolery. Wherefore, whatsoever thou hast, be it good or ill, tell us! I wish to laud thee and thy loves to the sky in joyous verse.

VII.

Quaeris, quot mihi basiationes

Tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque.

Quam magnus numerus Libyssae arenae

Lasarpiciferis iacet Cyrenis,

Oraclum Iovis inter aestuosi

Et Batti veteris sacrum sepulcrum,

Aut quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox,

Furtivos hominum vident amores,

Tam te basia multa basiare

Vesano satis et super Catullost,

Quae nec pernumerare curiosi

Possint nec mala fascinare lingua.

VII.

To Lesbia still Beloved.

Thou ask'st How many kissing bouts I bore

From thee (my Lesbia!) or be enough or more?

I say what mighty sum of Lybian-sands

Confine Cyrene's Laserpitium-lands

'Twixt Oracle of Jove the Swelterer

And olden Battus' holy Sepulchre,

Or stars innumerate through night-stillness ken

The stolen Love-delights of mortal men,

For that to kiss thee with unending kisses

For mad Catullus enough and more be this,

Kisses nor curious wight shall count their tale,

Nor to bewitch us evil tongue avail.

Thou askest, how many kisses of thine, Lesbia, may be enough and to spare for me. As the countless Libyan sands which strew the spicy strand of Cyrene 'twixt the oracle of swelt'ring Jove and the sacred sepulchre of ancient Battus, or as the thronging stars which in the hush of darkness witness the furtive loves of mortals, to kiss thee with kisses of so great a number is enough and to spare for passion-driven Catullus: so many that prying eyes may not avail to number, nor ill tongues to ensorcel.

VIII.

Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire,

Et quod vides perisse perditum ducas.

Fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles,

Cum ventitabas quo puella ducebat

Amata 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, inpotens, 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.

VIII.

To Himself recounting Lesbia's Inconstancy.

Woe-full Catullus! cease to play the fool

And what thou seest dead as dead regard!

Whilòme the sheeniest suns for thee did shine

When oft-a-tripping whither led the girl

By us belovèd, as shall none be loved.

There all so merry doings then were done

After thy liking, nor the girl was loath.

Then certès sheeniest suns for thee did shine.

Now she's unwilling: thou too (hapless!) will

Her flight to follow, and sad life to live:

Endure with stubborn soul and still obdure.

Damsel, adieu! Catullus obdurate grown

Nor 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.

Unhappy Catullus, cease thy trifling and what thou seest lost know to be lost. Once bright days used to shine on thee when thou wert wont to haste whither thy girl didst lead thee, loved by us as never girl will e'er be loved. There those many joys were joyed which thou didst wish, nor was the girl unwilling. In truth bright days used once to shine on thee. Now she no longer wishes: thou too, powerless to avail, must be unwilling, nor pursue the retreating one, nor live unhappy, but with firm-set mind endure, steel thyself. Farewell, girl, now Catullus steels himself, seeks thee not, nor entreats thy acquiescence. But thou wilt pine, when thou hast no entreaty proffered. Faithless, go thy way! what manner of life remaineth to thee? who now will visit thee? who find thee beautiful? whom wilt thou love now? whose girl wilt thou be called? whom wilt thou kiss? whose lips wilt thou bite? But thou, Catullus, remain hardened as steel.

VIIII.

Verani, omnibus e meis amicis

Antistans mihi milibus trecentis,

Venistine domum ad tuos Penates

Fratresque unanimos anumque matrem?

Venisti. o mihi nuntii beati!

Visam te incolumem audiamque Hiberum

Narrantem loca, facta, nationes,

Vt mos est tuus, adplicansque collum

Iocundum os oculosque suaviabor.

O quantumst hominum beatiorum,

Quid me laetius est beatiusve?

VIIII.

To Veranius returned from Travel.

Veranius! over every friend of me

Forestanding, owned I hundred thousands three,

Home to Penates and to single-soul'd

Brethren, returned art thou and mother old?

Yes, thou art come. Oh, winsome news come well!

Now shall I see thee, safely hear thee tell

Of sites Iberian, deeds and nations 'spied,

(As be thy wont) and neck-a-neck applied

I'll greet with kisses thy glad lips and eyne.

Oh! Of all mortal men beatified

Whose joy and gladness greater be than mine?

Veranius, of all my friends standing in the front, owned I three hundred thousands of them, hast thou come home to thy Penates, thy longing brothers and thine aged mother? Thou hast come back. O joyful news to me! I may see thee safe and sound, and may hear thee speak of regions, deeds, and peoples Iberian, as is thy manner; and reclining o'er thy neck shall kiss thy jocund mouth and eyes. O all ye blissfullest of men, who more gladsome or more blissful is than I am?

Varus me meus ad suos amores

Visum duxerat e foro otiosum,

Scortillum, ut mihi tum repente visumst,

Non sane inlepidum neque invenustum.

Huc ut venimus, incidere nobis

Sermones varii, in quibus, quid esset

Iam Bithynia, quo modo se haberet,

Ecquonam mihi profuisset aere.

Respondi id quod erat, nihil neque ipsis

Nec praetoribus esse nec cohorti,

Cur quisquam caput unctius referret,

Praesertim quibus esset inrumator

Praetor, non faciens pili cohortem.

'At certe tamen, inquiunt, quod illic

Natum dicitur esse, conparasti

Ad lecticam homines.' ego, ut puellae

Vnum me facerem beatiorem,

'Non' inquam 'mihi tam fuit maligne,

Vt, provincia quod mala incidisset,

Non possem octo homines parare rectos.'

At mi nullus erat nec hic neque illic,

Fractum qui veteris pedem grabati

In collo sibi collocare posset.

Hic illa, ut decuit cinaediorem,

'Quaeso' inquit 'mihi, mi Catulle, paulum

Istos. commode enim volo ad Sarapim

Deferri.' 'minime' inquii puellae;

* * * *

'Istud quod modo dixeram me habere,

Fugit me ratio: meus sodalis

Cinnast Gaius, is sibi paravit.

Verum, utrum illius an mei, quid ad me?

Vtor tam bene quam mihi pararim.

Sed tu insulsa male ac molesta vivis,

Per quam non licet esse negligentem.'

He meets Varus and Mistress.

Led me my Varus to his flame,

As I from Forum idling came.

Forthright some whorelet judged I it

Nor lacking looks nor wanting wit,

When hied we thither, mid us three

Fell various talk, as how might be

Bithynia now, and how it fared,

And if some coin I made or spared.

"There was no cause" (I soothly said)

"The Prætors or the Cohort made

Thence to return with oilier head;

The more when ruled by——

Prætor, as pile the Cohort rating."

Quoth they, "But certès as 'twas there

The custom rose, some men to bear

Litter thou boughtest?" I to her

To 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 I

Who broken leg of Couch outworn

On 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 drew me off to see his mistress as I was strolling from the Forum: a little whore, as it seemed to me at the first glance, neither inelegant nor lacking good looks. When we came in, we fell to discussing various subjects, amongst which, how was Bithynia now, how things had gone there, and whether I had made any money there. I replied, what was true, that neither ourselves nor the praetors nor their suite had brought away anything whereby to flaunt a better-scented poll, especially as our praetor, the irrumating beast, cared not a single hair for his suite. "But surely," she said, "you got some men to bear your litter, for they are said to grow there?" I, to make myself appear to the girl as one of the fortunate, "Nay," I say, "it did not go that badly with me, ill as the province turned out, that I could not procure eight strapping knaves to bear me." (But not a single one was mine either here or there who the fractured foot of my old bedstead could hoist on his neck.) And she, like a pathic girl, "I pray thee," says she, "lend me, my Catullus, those bearers for a short time, for I wish to be borne to the shrine of Serapis." "Stay," quoth I to the girl, "when I said I had this, my tongue slipped; my friend, Cinna Gaius, he provided himself with these. In truth, whether his or mine—what do I trouble? I use them as though I had paid for them. But thou, in ill manner with foolish teasing dost not allow me to be heedless."

XI.

Furi et Aureli, comites Catulli,

Sive in extremos penetrabit Indos,

Litus ut longe resonante Eoa

Tunditur unda,

Sive in Hyrcanos Arabesve molles,

Seu Sacas sagittiferosve Parthos,

Sive qua septemgeminus colorat

Aequora Nilus,

Sive trans altas gradietur Alpes,

Caesaris visens monimenta magni,

Gallicum Rhenum, horribile aequor ulti-

mosque Britannos,

Omnia haec, quaecumque feret voluntas

Caelitum, temptare simul parati,

Pauca nuntiate meae puellae

Non bona dicta.

Cum suis vivat valeatque moechis,

Quos simul conplexa tenet trecentos,

Nullum amans vere, sed identidem omnium

Ilia rumpens:

Nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem,

Qui illius culpa cecidit velut prati

Vltimi flos, praeter eunte postquam

Tactus aratrost.

XI.

A Parting Insult to Lesbia.

Furius and Aurelius, Catullus' friends,

Whether extremest Indian shore he brave,

Strands where far-resounding billow rends

The shattered wave,

Or 'mid Hyrcanians dwell he, Arabs soft and wild,

Sacæ and Parthians of the arrow fain,

Or where the Seven-mouth'd Nilus mud-defiled

Tinges the Main,

Or climb he lofty Alpine Crest and note

Works monumental, Cæsar's grandeur telling,

Rhine Gallic, horrid Ocean and remote

Britons low-dwelling;

All these (whatever shall the will design

Of Heaven-homed Gods) Oh ye prepared to tempt;

Announce your briefest to that damsel mine

In words unkempt:—

Live she and love she wenchers several,

Embrace three hundred wi' the like requitals,

None truly loving and withal of all

Bursting the vitals:

My love regard she not, my love of yore,

Which fell through fault of her, as falls the fair

Last meadow-floret whenas passed it o'er

Touch of the share.

Furius and Aurelius, comrades of Catullus, whether he penetrate to furthest Ind where the strand is lashed by the far-echoing Eoan surge, or whether 'midst the Hyrcans or soft Arabs, or whether the Sacians or quiver-bearing Parthians, or where the seven-mouthed Nile encolours the sea, or whether he traverse the lofty Alps, gazing at the monuments of mighty Caesar, the gallic Rhine, the dismal and remotest Britons, all these, whatever the Heavens' Will may bear, prepared at once to attempt—bear ye to my girl this brief message of no fair speech. May she live and flourish with her swivers, of whom may she hold at once embraced the full three hundred, loving not one in real truth, but bursting again and again the flanks of all: nor may she look upon my love as before, she whose own guile slew it, e'en as a flower on the greensward's verge, after the touch of the passing plough.

XII.

Marrucine Asini, manu sinistra

Non belle uteris in ioco atque vino:

Tollis lintea neglegentiorum.

Hoc salsum esse putas? fugit te, inepte:

Quamvis sordida res et invenustast.

Non credis mihi? crede Polioni

Fratri, qui tua furta vel talento

Mutari velit: est enim leporum

Disertus puer ac facetiarum.

Quare aut hendecasyllabos trecentos

Expecta aut mihi linteum remitte,

Quod me non movet aestimatione,

Verumst mnemosynum mei sodalis.

Nam sudaria Saetaba ex Hibereis

Miserunt mihi muneri Fabullus

Et Veranius: haec amem necessest

Vt Veraniolum meum et Fabullum.

XII.

To M. Asinius who Stole Napery.

Marrúcinus Asinius! ill thou usest

That hand sinistral in thy wit and wine

Filching the napkins of more heedless hosts.

Dost find this funny? Fool it passeth thee

How 'tis a sordid deed, a sorry jest.

Dost misbelieve me? Trust to Pollio,

Thy brother, ready to compound such thefts

E'en at a talent's cost; for he's a youth

In speech past master and in fair pleasantries.

Of hendecasyllabics hundreds three

Therefore expect thou, or return forthright

Linens whose loss affects me not for worth

But as mementoes of a comrade mine.

For napkins Sætaban from Ebro-land

Fabúllus sent me a free-giftie given

Also Veránius: these perforce I love

E'en as my Veraniólus and Fabúllus.

Marrucinius Asinius, thou dost use thy left hand in no fair fashion 'midst the jests and wine: thou dost filch away the napkins of the heedless. Dost thou think this a joke? it flies thee, stupid fool, how coarse a thing and unbecoming 'tis! Dost not credit me? credit thy brother Pollio who would willingly give a talent to divert thee from thy thefts: for he is a lad skilled in pleasantries and facetiousness. Wherefore, either expect hendecasyllables three hundred, or return me my napkin which I esteem, not for its value but as a pledge of remembrance from my comrade. For Fabullus and Veranius sent me as a gift handkerchiefs from Iberian Saetabis; these must I prize e'en as I do Veraniolus and Fabullus.

XIII.

Cenabis bene, mi Fabulle, apud me

Paucis, si tibi di favent, diebus,

Si tecum attuleris bonam atque magnam

Cenam, non sine candida puella

Et vino et sale et omnibus cachinnis.

Haec si, inquam, attuleris, venuste noster,

Cenabis bene: nam tui Catulli

Plenus sacculus est aranearum.

Sed contra accipies meros amores

Seu quid suavius elegantiusvest:

Nam unguentum dabo, quod meae puellae

Donarunt Veneres Cupidinesque,

Quod tu cum olfacies, deos rogabis,

Totum ut te faciant, Fabulle, nasum.

XIII.

Fabullus is Invited to a Poet's Supper.

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' thee

Nowise forgetting damsel bright o' blee,

With wine, and salty wit and laughs all-gay.

An these my bonny man, thou bring, I say

Thou'lt sup right well, for thy Catullus' purse

Save web of spider nothing does imburse.

But thou in countergift mere loves shalt take

Or aught of sweeter taste or fairer make:

I'll give thee unguent lent my girl to scent

By every Venus and all Cupids sent,

Which, as thou savour, pray Gods interpose

And thee, Fabúllus, make a Naught-but-nose.

Thou shalt feast well with me, my Fabullus, in a few days, if the gods favour thee, provided thou dost bear hither with thee a good and great feast, not forgetting a fair damsel and wine and wit and all kinds of laughter. Provided, I say, thou dost bear hither these, our charming one, thou wilt feast well: for thy Catullus' purse is brimful of cobwebs. But in return thou may'st receive a perfect love, or whatever is sweeter or more elegant: for I will give thee an unguent which the Loves and Cupids gave unto my girl, which when thou dost smell it, thou wilt entreat the gods to make thee, O Fabullus, one total Nose!

XIIII.

Ni te plus oculis meis amarem,

Iocundissime Calve, munere isto

Odissem te odio Vatiniano:

Nam quid feci ego quidve sum locutus,

Cur me tot male perderes poetis?

Isti di mala multa dent clienti,

Qui tantum tibi misit inpiorum.

Quod si, ut suspicor, hoc novum ac repertum

Munus 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 Catullum

Misti, continuo ut die periret,

Saturnalibus, optimo dierum!

Non non hoc tibi, salse, sic abibit:

Nam, si luxerit, ad librariorum

Curram scrinia, Caesios, Aquinos,

Suffenum, omnia colligam venena,

Ac te his suppliciis remunerabor.

Vos hinc interea (valete) abite

Illuc, unde malum pedem attulistis,

Saecli incommoda, pessimi poetae.

XIIIIb.

Siqui forte mearum ineptiarum

Lectores eritis manusque vestras

Non horrebitis admovere nobis,

* * * *

XIIII.

To Calvus, acknowledging his Poems.

Did I not liefer love thee than my eyes

(Winsomest Calvus!), for that gift of thine

Certès 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-found

To 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 damnable

Unto thine own Catullus thou (perdie!)

Did send, that ever day by day die he

In Saturnalia, first of festivals.

No! No! thus shall't not pass wi' thee, sweet wag,

For I at dawning day will scour the booths

Of bibliopoles, Aquinii, Cæsii and

Suffenus, gather all their poison-trash

And with such torments pay thee for thy pains.

Now for the present hence, adieu! begone

Thither, whence came ye, brought by luckless feet,

Pests of the Century, ye pernicious Poets.

XIIIIb.

An of my trifles peradventure chance

You to be readers, and the hands of you

Without a shudder unto us be offer'd

* * * *

Did I not love thee more than mine eyes, O most jocund Calvus, for thy gift I should abhor thee with Vatinian abhorrence. For what have I done or what have I said that thou shouldst torment me so vilely with these poets? May the gods give that client of thine ills enow, who sent thee so much trash! Yet if, as I suspect, this new and care-picked gift, Sulla, the litterateur, gives thee, it is not ill to me, but well and beatific, that thy labours [in his cause] are not made light of. Great gods, what a horrible and accurst book which, forsooth, thou hast sent to thy Catullus that he might die of boredom the livelong day in the Saturnalia, choicest of days! No, no, my joker, this shall not leave thee so: for at daydawn I will haste to the booksellers' cases; the Caesii, the Aquini, Suffenus, every poisonous rubbish will I collect that I may repay thee with these tortures. Meantime (farewell ye) hence depart ye from here, whither an ill foot brought ye, pests of the period, puniest of poetasters.

If by chance ye ever be readers of my triflings and ye will not quake to lay your hands upon us,

* * * *

XV.

Commendo tibi me ac meos amores,

Aureli. veniam peto pudentem,

Vt, si quicquam animo tuo cupisti,

Quod castum expeteres et integellum,

Conserves puerum mihi pudice,

Non dico a populo: nihil veremur

Istos, qui in platea modo huc modo illuc

In re praetereunt sua occupati:

Verum a te metuo tuoque pene

Infesto pueris bonis malisque.

Quem tu qua lubet, ut iubet, moveto,

Quantum vis, ubi erit foris, paratum:

Hunc unum excipio, ut puto, pudenter.

Quod si te mala mens furorque vecors

In tantam inpulerit, sceleste, culpam,

Vt nostrum insidiis caput lacessas,

A tum te miserum malique fati,

Quem attractis pedibus patente porta

Percurrent raphanique mugilesque.

XV.

To Aurelius—Hands off the Boy!

To thee I trust my loves and me,

(Aurelius!) craving modesty.

That (if in mind didst ever long

To win aught chaste unknowing wrong)

Then guard my boy in purest way.

From folk I say not: naught affray

The crowds wont here and there to run

Through street-squares, busied every one;

But thee I dread nor less thy penis

Fair 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 jinks

Thee (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.

I commend me to thee with my charmer, Aurelius. I come for modest boon that—didst thine heart long for aught, which thou desiredst chaste and untouched—thou 'lt preserve for me the chastity of my boy. I do not say from the public: I fear those naught who hurry along the thoroughfares hither thither occupied on their own business: truth my fear is from thee and thy penis, pestilent eke to fair and to foul. Set it in motion where thou dost please, whenever thou biddest, as much as thou wishest, wherever thou findest the opportunity out of doors: this one object I except, to my thought a reasonable boon. But if thy evil mind and senseless rutting push thee forward, scoundrel, to so great a crime as to assail our head with thy snares, O wretch, calamitous mishap shall happen thee, when with feet taut bound, through the open entrance radishes and mullets shall pierce.

XVI.

Pedicabo ego vos et inrumabo,

Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,

Qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,

Quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.

Nam castum esse decet pium poetam

Ipsum, versiculos nihil necessest,

Qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,

Si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici

Et quod pruriat incitare possunt,

Non dico pueris, sed his pilosis,

Qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.

Vos, quom milia multa basiorum

Legistis, male me marem putatis?

Pedicabo ego vos et inrumabo.

XVI.

To Aurelius and Furius in Defence of His Muse's Honesty.

I'll—— you twain and——

Pathic Aurélius! Fúrius, libertines!

Who durst determine from my versicles

Which seem o'er softy, that I'm scant of shame.

For pious poet it behoves be chaste

Himself; no chastity his verses need;

Nay, gain they finally more salt of wit

When over softy and of scanty shame,

Apt for exciting somewhat prurient,

In boys, I say not, but in bearded men

Who fail of movements in their hardened loins.

Ye who so many thousand kisses sung

Have read, deny male masculant I be?

You twain I'll—— and——

I will paedicate and irrumate you, Aurelius the bardache and Furius the cinaede, who judge me from my verses rich in love-liesse, to be their equal in modesty. For it behoves your devout poet to be chaste himself; his verses—not of necessity. Which verses, in a word, may have a spice and volupty, may have passion's cling and such like decency, so that they can incite with ticklings, I do not say boys, but bearded ones whose stiffened limbs amort lack pliancy in movement. You, because of many thousand kisses you have read, think me womanish. I will paedicate and irrumate you!

XVII.

O Colonia, quae cupis ponte ludere longo,

Et salire paratum habes, sed vereris inepta

Crura 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 ponte

Ire praecipitem in lutum per caputque pedesque,

Verum totius ut lacus putidaeque paludis

Lividissima maximeque est profunda vorago.

Insulsissimus est homo, nec sapit pueri instar

Bimuli tremula patris dormientis in ulna.

Quoi cum sit viridissimo nupta flore puella

(Et puella tenellulo delicatior haedo,

Adservanda nigerrimis diligentius uvis),

Ludere hanc sinit ut lubet, nec pili facit uni,

Nec se sublevat ex sua parte, sed velut alnus

In fossa Liguri iacet suppernata securi,

Tantundem omnia sentiens quam si nulla sit usquam,

Talis 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 veternum

Et supinum animum in gravi derelinquere caeno,

Ferream ut soleam tenaci in voragine mula.

XVII.

Of a "Predestined" Husband.

Colony! fain to display thy games on length of thy town-bridge!

There, too, ready to dance, though fearing the shaking of crazy

Logs 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 pleasure

Where 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 gangway

Hurlèd 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-babe

Two-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 alder

Felled 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 deposit

Even as she-mule casts iron shoe where quagmire is stiffest.

O Colonia, that longest to disport thyself on a long bridge and art prepared for the dance, but that fearest the trembling legs of the bridgelet builded on re-used shavings, lest supine it may lie stretched in the hollow swamp; may a good bridge take its place designed to thy fancy, on which e'en the Salian dances may be sustained: for the which grant to me, Colonia, greatest of gifts glee-exciting. Such an one, townsman of mine, I want from thy bridge to be pitched in the sludge head over heels, right where the lake of all its stinking slime is dankest and most superfluent—a deep-sunk abyss. The man is a gaping gaby! lacking the sense of a two-years-old baby dozing on its father's cradling arm. Although to him is wedded a girl flushed with springtide's bloom (and a girl more dainty than a tender kid, meet to be watched with keener diligence than the lush-black grape-bunch), he leaves her to sport at her list, cares not a single hair, nor bestirs himself with marital office, but lies as an alder felled by Ligurian hatchet in a ditch, as sentient of everything as though no woman were at his side. Such is my booby! he sees not, he hears naught. Who himself is, or whether he be or be not, he also knows not. Now I wish to chuck him head first from thy bridge, so as to suddenly rouse (if possible) this droning dullard and to leave behind in the sticky slush his sluggish spirit, as a mule casts its iron shoe in the tenacious slough.

XVIII.

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