O, Homestead of ours, whether Sabine or Tiburtine (for people in whose heart it is not to wound Catullus declare you Tiburtine, but those in whose heart it is, will wager anything you're Sabine) but whether Sabine or more truly Tiburtine, I was glad to be within your rural country-home, and to cast off an ill cough from my chest, which—not unearned—my belly granted me, for grasping after luxurious meals. For, while I want to be Sestius' guest, I read his defence against the plaintiff Antius, crammed with venom and pestilence. Hence a chill heavy rheum and fitful cough shook me continually until I fled to your asylum, and brought me back to health with rest and nettle-broth. Therefore, refreshed, I give you utmost thanks, that you have not avenged my fault. Nor do I pray now for anything but that, if I should retake Sestius' abominable script, its chill may bring a cold and cough to Sestius himself; and he invites me [to dinner] whenever I read one of his bad books.

Septimius, holding his lover Acme in his lap, says, "My Acme, if I do not love you to death, and am not prepared to love you constantly all the years in time to come, as much and the most as one can who is desperately in love— alone in Libya or in torrid India may I come face to face with a grey-eyed lion." When he said this, Love, leftwards as before, with approbation rightwards sneezed. Then Acme slightly bending back her head, and kissed the intoxicated eyes of her sweet boy with her rose-red lips. "So," she said, "my life, Septimillus, we shall serve this lord alone from now on, as greater, keener fire burns the more amid my soft marrow." When she said this, Love, leftwards as before, with approbation rightwards sneezed. Now made complete under good auspices, with mutual minds they love and are loved. Poor little Septimius wants Acme alone more than [the wealth of] the Syria or Britain: in Septimius alone the faithful Acme takes delight and pleasure. Whoever has seen happier people, whoever a more propitious Love?