3.
Well: you're a Celtiberian; in the parts thereby
What pass'd the night in water, every man, come dawn,
Scours clean the foul teeth with it and the gums rose-red;
20 So those Iberian snowy teeth, the more they shine,
So much the deeper they proclaim the draught impure.
XL.
What fatality, what chimera drives thee
Headlong, Ravidus, on to my iambics?
What fell deity, most malign to listen,
Fires thy fury to quarrel unavailing?
5 Wouldst thou busy the breath of half the people?
Break with clamour at any cost the silence?
Thou wilt do it; a wretch that hop'd my darling
Love to fondle, a sure retaliation.
XLI.
Ameana, the maiden of the people,
Asks me sesterces, all the many thousands.