Now she's unwilling: thou too (hapless!) willHer flight to follow, and sad life to live:Endure with stubborn soul and still obdure.Damsel, adieu! Catullus obdurate grownNor seeks thee, neither asks of thine unwill;Yet shalt thou sorrow when none woos thee more;Reprobate! Woe to thee! What life remains?Who now shall love thee? Who'll think thee fair?Whom now shalt ever love? Whose wilt be called?To whom shalt kisses give? whose liplets nip?But thou (Catullus!) destiny-doomed obdure.