Douce joys fed by thy love during the term of our days;Whom now art tombed so far nor 'mid familiar pavestonesNor wi' thine ashes stored near to thy kith and thy kin,But in that Troy obscene, that Troy of ill-omen, entombèdHolds thee, an alien earth-buried in uttermost bourne.Thither in haste so hot ('tis said) from allwhere the Youth-hoodGrecian, farèd in hosts forth of their hearths and their homes,Lest with a stolen punk with fullest of pleasure should ParisFairly at leisure and ease sleep in the pacific bed.Such was the hapless chance, most beautiful Laodamia,Tare fro' thee dearer than life, dearer than spirit itself,Him, that husband, whose love in so mighty a whirlpool of passionWhelmed thee absorbed and plunged deep in its gulfy abyss,E'en as the Grecians tell hard by Phenéus of CylléneDrained was the marish and dried, forming the fattest of soils,Whenas in days long done to delve through marrow of mountainsDaréd, falsing his sire, Amphtryóniades;What time sure of his shafts he smote Stymphalian monstersSlaying their host at the hest dealt by a lord of less worth,So might the gateway of Heaven be trodden by more of the godheads,Nor might Hébé abide longer to maidenhood doomed.Yet was the depth of thy love far deeper than deepest of marishWhich the hard mistress's yoke taught him so tamely to bear;Never was head so dear to a grandsire wasted by life-tideWhenas one daughter alone a grandson so tardy had reared,Who being found against hope to inherit riches of forbearsIn the well-witnessed Will haply by name did appear,And 'spite impious hopes of baffled claimant to kinshipStartles the Vulturine grip clutching the frost-bitten poll.Nor with such rapture e'er joyed his mate of snowy-hued plumageDove-mate, albeit aye wont in her immoderate heat Said be the bird to snatch hot kisses with beak ever billing,As diddest thou :—yet is Woman multivolent still. But thou 'vailedest alone all these to conquer in love-lowe,When conjoindd once more unto thy yellow-haired spouse.Worthy of yielding to her in naught or ever so little Came to the bosom of us she, the fair light of my life,Round whom fluttering oft the Love-God hither and thitherShone with a candid sheen robed in his safflower dress.She though never she bide with one Catullus contented,Yet will I bear with the rare thefts of my dame the discreet,Lest over-irk I give which still of fools is the fashion. Often did Juno eke Queen of the Heavenly hostBoil wi' the rabidest rage at dire default of a husband Learning the manifold thefts of her omnivolent Jove,Yet with the Gods mankind 'tis nowise righteous to liken,Rid me of graceless task fit for a tremulous sire. Yet was she never to me by hand paternal committedWhenas she came to my house reeking Assyrian scents;Nay, in the darkness of night her furtive favours she deigned me,Self-willed taking herself from very mate's very breast.Wherefore I hold it enough since given to us and us onlyBoon of that day with Stone whiter than wont she denotes.This to thee—all that I can—this offering couched in verses(Allius!) as my return give I for service galore;So wi' the seabriny rust your name may never be sulliedThis day and that nor yet other and other again. Hereto add may the Gods all good gifts, which Themis erewhilesWont on the pious of old from her full store to bestow:Blest be the times of the twain, thyself and she who thy life is,Also the home wherein dallied we, no less the Dame,Anser to boot who first of mortals brought us together,Whence from beginning all good Fortunes that blest us were born.Lastly than every else one dearer than self and far dearer,Light of my life who alive living to me can endear.
TO RUFUS THE FETID.Wonder not blatantly why no woman shall ever be willing(Rufus!) her tender thigh under thyself to bestow, Not an thou tempt her full by bribes of the rarest garments,Or by the dear delights gems the pellucidest deal. Harms thee an ugly tale wherein of thee is recordedHorrible stench of the goat under thine arm-pits be lodged.All are in dread thereof; nor wonder this, for 'tis evilBeastie, nor damsel fair ever thereto shall succumb.So do thou either kill that cruel pest o' their noses,Or at their reason of flight blatantly wondering cease.
ON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY.Never, my woman oft says, with any of men will she mate be,Save wi' my own very self, ask her though Jupiter deign!Says she: but womanly words that are spoken to desireful loverOught to be written on wind or upon water that runs.
TO VERRO.An of a goat-stink damned from armpits fusty one suffer,