TO FLAVIUS: MIS-SPEAKING HIS MISTRESSThy Charmer (Flavius!) to Catullus' earWere she not manner'd mean and worst in witPerforce thou hadst praised nor couldst silence keep.But some enfevered jade, I wot-not-what,Some piece thou lovest, blushing this to own.For, nowise 'customed widower nights to lieThou 'rt ever summoned by no silent bedWith flow'r-wreaths fragrant and with Syrian oil,By mattress, bolsters, here, there, everywhereDeep-dinted, and by quaking, shaking couchAll crepitation and mobility.Explain! none whoredoms (no!) shall close my lips.