ued current,
Brixia, Verona's mother, I love for my home.

_Door_.

Eke of Posthumius' loves and Cornelius too there be tattle, 35
With whom dared the dame evil advowtry commit.

_Quintus_.

Here might somebody ask:--"How, Door, hast mastered such matter?
Thou that canst never avail threshold of owner to quit,
Neither canst listen to folk since here fast fixt to the side-posts
Only one office thou hast, shutting or opening the house." 40

_Door_.

Oft have I heard our dame in furtive murmurs o'er telling,
When with her handmaids alone, these her flagitious deeds,
Citing fore-cited names for that she never could fancy
Ever a Door was endow'd either with earlet or tongue.
Further she noted a wight whose name in public to mention 45
Nill I, lest he upraise eyebrows of carroty hue;
Long is the loon and large the law-suit brought they against him
Touching a child-bed false, claim of a belly that lied.

_Catullus_.

O dear in thought to the sweet husband, dear in thought to his sire, hail!
and may Jove augment his good grace to thee, Door! which of old, men say,
didst serve Balbus benignly, whilst the oldster held his home here; and
which contrariwise, so 'tis said, didst serve with grudging service after
the old man was stretched stark, thou doing service to the bride. Come,
tell us why thou art reported to be changed and to have renounced thine
ancient faithfulness to thy lord?

_Door_.

No, (so may I please Caecilius to whom I am now made over!) it is not my
fault, although 'tis said so to be, nor may anyone impute any crime to me;
albeit the fabling tongues of folk make it so, who, whene'er aught is found
not well done, all clamour at me: "Door, thine is the blame!"

_Catullus_.

It is not enough for thee to say this by words merely, but so to act that
everyone may feel it and see it.

_Door_.

In what way can I? No one questions or troubles to know.

_Catullus_.

We are wishful: be not doubtful to tell us.

_Door_.

First then, the virgin (so they called her!) who was handed to us was
spurious. Her husband was not the first to touch her, he whose little
dagger, hanging more limply than the tender beet, never raised itself to
the middle of his tunic: but his father is said to have violated his son's
bed and to have polluted the unhappy house, either because his lewd mind
blazed with blind lust, or because his impotent son was sprung from steril