LII.
Enough, Catullus! how can you delay to die?
If in the curule chair a hump sits, Nonius;
A would-be consul lies in hope, Vatinius;
Enough, Catullus! how can you delay to die?
LIII.
How I laughed at a wag amid the circle!
He, when Calvus in high denunciation
Of Vatinius had declaim'd divinely,
Hands uplifted as in supreme amazement,
5 Cried 'God bless us! a wordy cockalorum!'
LIV.
Otho's head is a very dwarf; a rustic's
Shanks has Herius, only semi-cleanly;
Libo's airs to a fume of art refine them.
. . . . . . . .
5 . . . . . . . .
Yet thou flee'st not above my keen iambics.
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
[So may destiny doom me quite to silence]
10 As I care not if every line offend thee
And Sufficius, age in youth's revival.
. . . . . . . .
Thou shalt kindle at innocent iambics,
Mighty general, once again returning.
LV.
1.
List, I beg, provided you're in humour,
Speak your privacy, show what alley veils you.
You I sought on Campus, I, the lesser,
You on Circus, in all the bills but you, sir.
5 You with father Jove in holy temple.
Then, where flocks the parade to Magnus' arches,