name.

Now I know thee aright; so, if more hotly desiring, 5
Yet must count thee a soul cheaper, a frailty to scorn.
'Friend,' thou say'st, 'you cannot.' Alas! such injury leaveth
Blindly to doat poor love's folly, malignly to will.

LXXIII.

Never again think any to work aught kindly soever,
Dream that in any abides honour, of injury free.
Love is a debt in arrear; time's parted service avails not;
Rather is only the more sorrow, a heavier ill:
Chiefly to me, whom none so fierce, so deadly deceiving 5
Troubleth, as he whose friend only but inly was I.

LXXIV.

Gellius heard that his uncle in ire exploded, if any
Dared, some wanton, a fault practise, a levity speak.
Not to be slain himself, see Gellius handle his uncle's
Lady; no Harpocrates muter, his uncle is hush'd.
So what he aim'd at, arriv'd at, anon let Gellius e'en this 5
Uncle abuse; not a word yet will his uncle assay.

LXXVIII.

Brothers twain has Gallus, of whom one owns a delightful
Son; his brother a fair lady, delightfuller yet.
Gallant sure is Gallus, a pair so dainty uniting;
Lovely the lady, the lad lovely, a company sweet.
Foolish sure is Gallus, an o'er-incurious husband; 5
Uncle, a wife once taught luxury, stops not at one.

LXXIX.

Lesbius, handsome is he. Why not? if Lesbia loves him
Far above all your tribe, angry Catullus, or you.
Only let all your tribe sell off, and follow, Catullus,
Kiss but his handsome lips children, a plenary three.

LXXXI.

What? not in all this city, Juventius, ever a gallant
Poorly to win love's fresh favour of amorous you,
Only the lack-love signor, a wretch from sickly Pisaurum,
Guest of your hearth, no gilt statue as ashy as he?
Now your very delight, whose faithless fancy Catullus 5
Banisheth, Ah light-reck'd lightness, apostasy vile!

LXXXII.

Wouldst thou, Quintius, have me a debtor ready to owe thee
Eyes, or if earth have joy goodlier any than eyes?
One thing take not from me, to me more goodly than even
Eyes, or if earth have joy goodlier any than eyes.

LXXXIII.

Lesbia while her lord stands near, rails ever upon me.
This to the fond weak fool seemeth a mighty delight.
Dolt, you see not at all. Could she forget me, t