O Farm our own, Sabine or Tiburtine,(For style thee "Tiburs" Who have not at heartTo hurt Catullus, whereas all that haveWage any Wager thou be Sabine classed)But whether Sabine or of Tiburs truerTo thy suburban Cottage fared I fainAnd fro' my bronchials drave that cursèd coughWhich not unmerited on me my maw,