My hateful birthday’s here, to be spent in sadness, in the wretched country, and without Cerinthus. What’s sweeter than the city? Is a villa fit for a girl or the chilly river that runs through Arretium’s fields? Peace now, Messalla, from over-zealous care of me: journeys, dear relative, aren’t . . .
Treacherous Love
If you were to wound my wretched love, why did you give me your word before the gods, only to break it secretly? Ah sadly, even if perjury is hidden at first, punishment will come later, on silent feet. Spare him, gods: it’s right that beauty should offend your divinity, once, and go . . .
Marathus in love with Pholoe
No one can hide that lover’s nod from me those soft words spoken with a gentle sound. Yet I’ve no lots or entrails that show gods’ will, birdsongs don’t call to me of things to come: Venus herself tied my arms with magic knots and taught it me, and not without many blows. Stop your pretence: . . .
The Love of Boys
“So the protective shadows might be yours, and your head not be harmed by sun or snow, Priapus, what skill of yours captivates lovely lads? For sure, you’ve no shining beard, or well-groomed hair: naked you fulfil your role in the cold of cloudy winter, naked too in the dry time of the . . .
The True Life
Let other men gather bright gold to themselves and own many acres of well-ploughed soil, let endless worry trouble them, with enemies nearby, and the peals of the war-trumpets driving away sleep: let my moderate means lead me to a quiet life, as long as my fireside glows with endless flame. If . . .
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