e 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 5
Friendship in us, whose faith fades not away to the last.

CX.

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, 5
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.

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.

Naso, if you show much, your company shows but a very
Little; a man you show, Naso, a woman in one.

CXIII.

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.

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. 5
Praise the demesne? no doubt; only be needy the man.

CXV.

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; 5
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.

Oft with a studious heart, which hunted closely, requiring
Skill great Battiades' poesies haply to send,
Laying thus thy rage in rest, lest everlasting