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LXXXVIII.

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Gellius, how if a man in lust with a mother, a sister

Rioteth, one uncheck'd night, to iniquity bare?

How if a man's dark passion an aunt's own chastity spare not?

Canst thou tell what vast infamy lieth on him?

Infamy lieth on him, no farthest Tethys, or ancient

Ocean, of hundred streams father, abolisheth yet.

Infamy none o'ersteps, nor ventures any beyond it.

Not tho' a scorpion heat melt him, his own paramour.

LXXXIX.

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Gellius—he's full meagre. It is no wonder, a friendly

Mother, a sister is his loveable, healthy withal.

Then so friendly an uncle, a world of pretty relations.

Must not a man so blest meagre abide to the last?

Yea, let his hand touch only what hands touch only to trespass;

Reason enough to become meagre, enough to remain.

XC.

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Rise from a mother's shame with Gellius hatefully wedded,

One to be taught gross rites Persic, a Magian he.

Weds with a mother a son, so needs should a Magian issue,

Save in her evil creed Persia determineth ill.

Then shall a son, so born, chant down high favour of heaven,

Melting lapt in flame fatly the slippery caul.

XCI.

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Think not a hope so false rose, Gellius, in me to find thee

Faithful in all this love's anguish ineffable yet,

For that in heart I knew thee, had in thee honour imagin'd,

Held thee a soul to abhor vileness or any reproach.

Only in her, I knew, thou found'st not a mother, a sister,

Her that awhile for love wearily made me to pine.

Yea tho' mutual use did bind us straitly together,

Scarcely methought could lie cause to desert me therein.

Thou found'st reason enow; so joys thy spirit in every

Shame, wherever is aught heinous, of infamy born.

XCII.

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Lesbia doth but rail, rail ever upon me, nor endeth

Ever. A life I stake, Lesbia loves me at heart.

Ask me a sign? Our score runs parallel. I that abuse her

Ever, a life to the stake, Lesbia, love thee at heart.

XCIII.

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Lightly methinks I reck if Cæsar smile not upon me:

Care not, whether a white, whether a swarth-skin, is he.

XCIV.

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Mentula—wanton is he; his calling sure is a wanton's.

Herbs to the pot, 'tis said wisely, the name to the man.

XCV.

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Nine times winter had end, nine times flush'd summer in harvest,

Ere to the world gave forth Cinna, the labour of years,

Zmyrna; but in one month Hortensius hundred on hundred

Verses, an unripe birth feeble, of hurry begot.

Zmyrna to far Satrachus, to the stream of Cyprus, ascendeth;

Zmyrna with eyes unborn study the centuries hoar.

Padus her own ill child shall bury, Volusius' annals;

In them a mackerel oft house him, a wrapper of ease.

Dear to my heart be a friend's unbulky memorial ever;

Cherish an Antimachus, weighty as empty, the mob.

XCVI.

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If to the silent dead aught sweet or tender ariseth,

Calvus, of our dim grief's common humanity born;

When to a love long cold some pensive pity recals us,

When for a friend long lost wakes some unhappy regret;

Not so deeply, be sure, Quintilia's early departing

Grieves her, as in thy love dureth a plenary joy.

XCVIII.

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Asks some booby rebuke, some prolix prattler a judgment?

Vettius, all were said verily truer of you.

Tongue so noisome as yours, come chance, might surely on order

Bend to the mire, or lick dirt from a beggarly shoe.

Would you on all of us, all, bring, Vettius, utterly ruin?

Speak; not a doubt, 'twill come utterly, ruin on all.

XCIX.

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Dear one, a kiss I stole, while you did wanton a-playing,

Sweet ambrosia, love, never as honily sweet.

Dearly the deed I paid for; an hour's long misery waning

Ended, as I agoniz'd hung to the point of a cross,

Hoping vain purgation; alas! no potion of any

Tears could abate that fair angriness, youthful as you.

Hardly the sin was in act, your lips did many a falling

Drop dilute, which anon every finger away

Cleansed apace, lest still my mouth's infection abiding

Stain, like slaver abhorr'd breath'd from a foul fricatrice.

Add, that a booty to love in misery me to deliver

You did spare not, a fell worker of all agonies,

So that, again transmuted, a kiss ambrosia seeming

Sugary, turn'd to the strange harshness of harsh hellebore.

Then such dolorous end since your poor lover awaiteth,

Never a kiss will I venture, a theft any more.

C.

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Quintius, Aufilena; to Caelius, Aufilenus;

Lovers each, fair flower either of youths Veronese.

One to the brother bends, and one to the sister. A noble

Friendship, if e'er was true friendship, a rare brotherhood.

Ask me to which I lean? You, Caelius: yours a devotion

Single, a faith of tried quality, steady to me;

Into my inmost veins when love sank fiercely to burn them.

Mighty be your bright love, Caelius, happy be you!

CI.

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Borne o'er many a land, o'er many a level of ocean,

Here to the grave I come, brother, of holy repose,

Sadly the last poor gifts, death's simple duty, to bring thee;

Unto the silent dust vainly to murmur a cry.

Since thy form deep-shrouded an evil destiny taketh

From me, O hapless ghost, brother, O heavily ta'en,

Yet this bounty the while, these gifts ancestral of usance

Homely, the sad slight store piety grants to the tomb;

Drench'd in a brother's tears, and weeping freshly, receive them;

Yea, take, brother, a long Ave, a timeless adieu.

CII.

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If to a friend sincere, Cornelius, e'er was a secret

Trusted, a friend whose soul steady to honour abides;

Me to the same brotherhood doubt not to be inly devoted,

Sworn upon oath, to the last secret, an Harpocrates.

CIII.

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Briefly, the sesterces all, give back, full quantity, Silo,

Then be a bully beyond exorability, you:

Else, if money be all, O cease so lewdly to practise

Bawd, yet bully beyond exorability, you.

CIV.

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What? should a lover adore, yet cruelly slander adoring?

I my lady, than eyes goodlier easily she?

Nay, I rail not at all. How rail, so blindly desiring?

Tappo alone dare brave all that is heinous, or you.

CV.

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Mentula toils, Pimplea, the Muses' mountain, ascending:

They with pitchforks hurl Mentula dizzily down.

CVI.

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Walks with a salesman a beauty, your eyes that beauty discerning?

Doubt not your eyes speak true; Sir, 'tis a beauty to sell.

CVII.

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If to delight man's wish, joy e'er unlook'd for, unhop'd for,

Falleth, a joy were such proper, a bliss to the soul.

Then 'tis a joy to the soul, like gold of Lydia precious,

Lesbia mine, that thou com'st to delight me again.

Com'st yet again long-hop'd, long-look'd for vainly, returnest

Freely to me. O day white with a luckier hue!

Lives there happier any than I, I only? a fairer

Destiny? Life so sweet know ye, or aught parallel?

CVIII.

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Loathly Cominius, if e'er this people's voice should arraign thee,

Hoary with all unclean infamy, worthy to die;

First should a tongue, I doubt not, of old so deadly to goodness,

Fall extruded, of each vulture a hungry regale;

Gouged be the carrion eyes some crow's black maw to replenish,

Stomach a dog's fierce teeth harry, a wolf the remains.

CIX.

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Think you truly, belov'd, this bond of duty between us,

Lasteth, an ever-new jollity, ne'er to decease?

Grant it, Gods immortal, assure her promise in earnest;

Yea, be the lips sincere; yea, be the words from her heart.

So still rightly remain our lovers' charter, a life-long

Friendship in us, whose faith fades not away to the last.

CX.

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Aufilena, the fair, if kind, is a favourite ever;

Asks she a price, then yields frankly? the price is her own.

You, that agreed to be kind, now vilely the treaty dishonour,

Give not at all, nor again take;—'tis a wrong to a wrong.

Not to deceive were noble, a chastity ne'er had assented,

Aufilena; but you—blindly to grasp at a gain,

Yet to withhold the effects,—'tis a greed more loathly than harlot's

Vileness, a wretch whose limbs ply to the lusts of a town.

CXI.

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One lord only to love, one, Aufilena, to live for,

Praise can a bride nowhere goodlier any betide;

Yet, when a niece with an uncle is even mother or even

Cousin—of all paramours this were as heinous as all.

CXII.

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Naso, if you show much, your company shows but a very

Little; a man you show, Naso, a woman in one.

CXIII.

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Pompey the first time consul, as yet Maecilia counted

Two paramours; reappears Pompey a consul again,

Two still, Cinna, remain; but grown, each unit an even

Thousand. Truly the stock's fruitful: adultery breeds.

CXIV.

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Rightly a lordly demesne makes Firman Mentula count for

Wealthy! the rich fine things, then the variety there!

Game in plenty to choose, fish, field, and meadow with hunting;

Only the waste exceeds strangely the quantity still.

Wealthy? perhaps I grant it; if all, wealth asks for, is absent.

Praise the demesne? no doubt; only be needy the man.

CXV.

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Acres thirty in all, good grass, own Mentula master;

Forty to plough; bare seas, arid or empty, the rest.

Poorly methinks might Croesus a man so sumptuous equal,

Counted in one rich park owner of all he can ask.

Grass or plough, big woods, much mountain, mighty morasses;

On to the farthest North, on to the boundary main.

Vastness is all that is here; yet Mentula reaches a vaster—

Man? not so; 'tis a vast mountainous ominous He.

CXVI.

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Oft with a studious heart, which hunted closely, requiring

Skill great Battiades' poesies haply to send,

Laying thus thy rage in rest, lest everlasting

Darts should reach me, to wound still an assailable head:

Barren now I see that labour of any requital,

Gellius; here all prayers fall to the ground, nor avail.

No; but a robe I carry, the barbs, thy folly, to muffle;

Mine strike sure; thy deep injury they shall atone.