So do ye that most faithless maid With this harsh message greet ; May she with all her lovers live, Not one she really loves, but they Are wasted in her arms away, And on her passion pall. Let her not dream that as of old My love for her will ever hold, For it long since hath died, By her own fault, as falls a flower Upon the meadow-side. CARMEN XII. TO ASINIUS. Marrucinus Asinius, now listen, my friend, When the wine and the jest round the table are going, You steal napkins from men who don't see what you're doing: Do you think this is witty? you fool, don't you see What a low vulgar joke we all think it to be? You don't believe me? then ask Pollio your brother, For pleasantries which with refinement are graced. But a keepsake it is from a comrade in Spain, My Verannius sent it from over the sea, And Fabullus with him as a present to me, From Setaba's town; and their gifts I must prize, D CARMEN XIII.-TO FABULLUS. Right well, Fabullus, shalt thou sup with me A fair rich banquet, and a blooming maid, Is but with cobwebs meanly furnished now. A word more sweetly framed, more daintily. CARMEN XIV.-TO CALVUS LICINUS. Did I not love you, Calvus, more Than mine own eyes, I should abhor Your villany with hate more dire Than e'en Vatinius can inspire. What did I ever do or say That you should plague me in this way With works of wretched poets? May The gods send him misfortune due This choice new present is a fee From Sulla, that pedantic ass, Then I'll say nought, but let it pass, And feel quite pleased that you have won But heavens! what could make you send I'll have a fit revenge on you; The Casii, Aquinii, And all Suffenus will I buy, Poisonous trash to send to you, Thus will I work you mischief too. Meanwhile, you pack of bards accurst Pests of the age, of all the worst, Begone, return unto that place From which first swarmed your wretched race. CARMEN XVII.-TO A COLONIA. O Town that on a long bridge long'st to sport But fear'st with reason thé patched-up support That bears thy bridge, lest it should break and throw The crazy pile of such a tottering sort Far down into the slimy marsh below. Then grant us this our sides with mirth to shake; I want that man a somersault to make Head over heels into the boggy pool. Just where the slime is deepest in the lake And smells most fetid, there his brain to cool : In mind he's like a child of two years old, Such as a father in his arms would hold. He has a wife in girlhood's earliest flush, More tender than the weanling kid is she, Guarded and watched with greater care should be, |