To thee I trust my loves and me,(Aurelius!) craving modesty.That (if in mind didst ever longTo win aught chaste unknowing wrong)Then guard my boy in purest way.From folk I say not: naught affrayThe crowds wont here and there to runThrough street-squares, busied every one;But thee I dread nor less thy penisFair or foul, younglings' foe I ween is!Wag it as wish thou, at its will,When out of doors its hope fulfil;Him bar I, modestly, methinks.But should ill-mind or lust's high jinksThee (Sinner!), drive to sin so dread,That durst ensnare our dearling's head,Ah! woe's thee (wretch!) and evil fate,Mullet and radish shall pierce and grate,When feet-bound, haled through yawning gate.