Or if in idiot impotence arow you sit,
One hundred, yes two hundred, am not I, think you,
A man to bring mine action on your whole row there?
So think not, he that likes not; answer how you may,
10 With scorpion I, with emblem all your haunt will scrawl.
2.
For she the bright one, lately fled beyond these arms,
The maid belov'd as maiden is belov'd no more,
Whom I to win, stood often in the breach, fought long,
Has sat amongst you. Her the grand, the great, all, all
15 Do dearly love her; yea, beshrew the damned wrong,
Each slight seducer, every lounger highway-born,
You chiefly, peerless paragon of the tribe long-lock'd,
Rude Celtiberia's child, the bushy rabbit-den,
Egnatius, so modish in the big bush-beard,
20 And teeth a native lotion hardly scours quite pure.
XXXVIII.
Cornificius, ill is your Catullus,
Ill, ah heaven, a weary weight of anguish,
More more weary with every day, with each hour.
You deny me the least, the very lightest
5 Help, one whisper of happy thought to cheer me.