Thou ask'st How many kissing bouts I boreFrom thee (my Lesbia!) or be enough or more?I say what mighty sum of Lybian-sandsConfine Cyrene's Laserpitium-lands'Twixt Oracle of Jove the SweltererAnd olden Battus' holy Sepulchre,Or stars innumerate through night-stillness kenThe stolen Love-delights of mortal men,For that to kiss thee with unending kissesFor mad Catullus enough and more be this,Risses nor curious wight shall count their tale,Nor to bewitch us evil tongue avail.
TO HIMSELF RECOUNTING LESBIA'S INCONSTANCYWoe-full Catullus! cease to play the foolAnd what thou seest dead as dead regard!Whilòme the sheeniest suns for thee did shineWhen oft-a-tripping whither led the girlBy us beloved, as shall none be loved.