Yet wast rumoured again to serve a purpose malignant,After the elder was stretched, thou being oped for a bride.Come, then, tell us the why in thee such change be reportedThat to thy lord hast abjured faithfulness owed of old?

Door.Never (so chance I to please Caeci1ius owning me now-a-days!)Is it my own default, how so they say it be mine;Nor can any declare aught sin by me was committed.Yet it is so declared (Quintus!) by fable of folk;Who, whenever they find things done no better than should be,Come to me outcrying all:—"Door, the default is thine own!"

Quintus.This be never enough for thee one-worded to utter,But in such way to deal, each and all sense it and see.

Door.What shall I do? None asks, while nobody troubles to know.

Quintus.Willing are we? unto us stay not thy saying to say.

Door.First let me note that the maid to us committed (assert they)Was but a fraud: her mate never a touch of her had,But that a father durst dishonour the bed of his first-born,Folk all swear, and the house hapless with incest bewray;Or that his impious mind was blunt with fiery passionOr that his impotent son sprang from incapable seed.And to be sought was one with nerve more nervous endowèd,Who could better avail zone of the virgin to loose.

Quintus.'Sooth, of egregious sire for piety wondrous, thou tellest,Who in the heart of his son lief was . . . !Yet professed herself not only this to be knowing, Brixia-town that lies under the Cycnean cliff,Traversed by Mella-stream's soft-flowing yellow-hued current,Brixia, Vérona's mother, I love for my home.

Door.Eke of Posthumius' loves and Cornelius too there be tattle,With whom dared the dame evil advowtry commit.

Quintus.Here might somebody ask :—" How, Door, hast mastered such matter?Thou that canst never avail threshold of owner to quit,Neither canst listen to folk since here fast fixt to the side-postsOnly one office thou hast, shutting or opening the house."

Door.Oft have I heard our dame in furtive murmurs o'er telling,When with her handmaids alone, these her flagitious deeds,Citing fore-cited names for that she never could fancyEver a Door was endow'd either with earlet or tongue.Further she noted a wight whose name in public to mentionNill I, lest he upraise eyebrows of carroty hue;Long is the loon and large the law-suit brought they against himTouching a child-bed false, claim of a belly that lied.

To MANIUS ON VARIOUS MATTERS.When to me sore opprest by bitter chance of misfortuneThis thy letter thou send'st written wi' blotting of tears,So might I save thee flung by spuming billows of ocean,Shipwreckt, rescuing life snatcht from the threshold of death;Eke neither Venus the Holy to rest in slumber's refreshmentGrants thee her grace on couch lying deserted and lone,Nor can the Muses avail with dulcet song of old writersEver delight thy mind sleepless in anxious care;Grateful be this to my thought since thus thy friend I'm entitled,Hence of me seekest thou gifts Muses and Venus can give:But that bide not unknown to thee my sorrows (0 Manius!)And lest office of host I should be holden to hate, Learn how in Fortune's deeps I chance myself to be drownèd,Nor fro' the poor rich boons furthermore prithee require.What while first to myself the pure-white garment was given,Whenas my flowery years flowed in fruition of spring,Much I disported enow, nor 'bode I a stranger to GoddessWho with our cares is lief sweetness of bitter to mix:Yet did a brother's death pursuits like these to my sorrowBid for me cease: Oh, snatcht brother! from wretchedest me.Then, yea, thou by thy dying hast broke my comfort, 0 brother;Buried together wi' thee lieth the whole of our house;Perisht along wi' thyself all gauds and joys of our life-tide,Douce love fostered by thee during the term of our days.After thy doom of death fro' mind I banishèd whollyStudies like these, and all lending a solace to soul;Wherefore as to thy writ :—"Verona's home for CatullusBringeth him shame, for there men of superior markMust on a deserted couch fain chafe their refrigerate limbs:"Such be no shame (Manius!): rather 'tis matter of ruth.Pardon me, then, wilt thou an gifts bereft me by grievingThese I send not to thee since I avail not present.