Harms thee an ugly tale wherein of thee is recorded
Horrible stench of the goat under thine arm-pits be lodged.
All are in dread thereof; nor wonder this, for 'tis evil
Beastie, nor damsel fair ever thereto shall succumb.
So do thou either kill that cruel pest o' their noses,
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Or at their reason of flight blatantly wondering cease.
Be unwilling to wonder wherefore no woman, O Rufus, is wishful to place her tender thigh 'neath thee, not even if thou dost tempt her by the gift of a rare robe or by the delights of a crystal-clear gem. A certain ill tale injures thee, that thou bearest housed in the valley of thine armpits a grim goat. Hence everyone's fear. Nor be marvel: for 'tis an exceeding ill beast, with whom no fair girl will sleep. Wherefore, either murder that cruel plague of their noses, or cease to marvel why they fly?
LXX.