It is ill, Cornificius, with your Catullus, it is ill, by Hercules, and most unbearably; and greater, greater ill, each day and hour! And you, what solace do you give, even the tiniest, the lightest, by your words? I'm angry with you. Is my love worth this? Yet one little message would cheer me, though more full of sadness than the tears of Simonides.