Which (Fool!) ancestral heirlooms thou didst call.These now unglueing from thy claws restore,Lest thy soft hands, and floss-like flanklets score The burning scourges, basely signed and lined,And thou unwonted toss like wee barque tyned'Mid vasty Ocean vexed by madding wind!
CATULLUS CONCERNING HIS VILLAFurius! our Villa never Austral forceB roke, neither set thereon Favonius' course,Nor savage Boreas, nor Epeliot's strain,But fifteen thousand crowns and hundreds twainWreckt it, —Oh ruinous by-wind, breezy bane!
TO HIS CUP-BOYThou youngling drawer of Falernian oldCrown me the goblets with a bitterer wineAs was Postumia's law that rules the feastThan ebriate grape-stone more inebriate.But ye fare whither please ye (water-nymphs!)To wine pernicious, and to sober folkMigrate ye: mere Thyonian juice be here!
TO FRIENDS ON RETURN FROM TRAVELFollowers of Piso, empty bandWith your light budgets packt to hand,Veránius best! Fabúllus mine!What do ye? Bore ye enough, in fineOf frost and famine with yon sot?What loss or gain have haply gotYour tablets? so, whenas I rangedWith Praetor, gains for loss were changed."O Memmius! thou did'st long and late . . me supine slow and . . . "But (truly see I) in such case