Part 2 (1/2)

Love we (my Lesbia!) and live we our day, While all stern sayings crabbed sages say, At one doit's value let us price and prize!

The Suns can westward sink again to rise But we, extinguished once our tiny light, 5 Perforce shall slumber through one lasting night!

Kiss me a thousand times, then hundred more, Then thousand others, then a new five-score, Still other thousand other hundred store.

Last when the sums to many thousands grow, 10 The tale let's trouble till no more we know, Nor envious wight despiteful shall misween us Knowing how many kisses have been kissed between us.

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love, and count all the mumblings of sour age at a penny's fee. Suns set can rise again: we when once our brief light has set must sleep through a perpetual night. Give me of kisses a thousand, and then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then another thousand without resting, then a hundred. Then, when we have made many thousands, we will confuse the count lest we know the numbering, so that no wretch may be able to envy us through knowledge of our kisses'

number.

VI.

Flavi, delicias tuas Catullo, Nei sint inlepidae atque inelegantes, Velles dicere, nec tacere posses.

Verum nescioquid febriculosi Scorti diligis: hoc pudet fateri. 5 Nam te non viduas iacere noctes Nequiquam tacitum cubile clamat Sertis ac Syrio fragrans olivo, Pulvinusque peraeque et hic et ille Attritus, tremulique qua.s.sa lecti 10 Argutatio inambulatioque.

Nam nil stupra valet, nihil, tacere.

Cur? non tam latera ecfututa pandas, Nei tu quid facias ineptiarum.

Quare quidquid habes boni malique, 15 Dic n.o.bis. volo te ac tuos amores Ad caelum lepido vocare versu.

VI.

TO FLAVIUS: MIS-SPEAKING HIS MISTRESS.

Thy Charmer (Flavius!) to Catullus' ear Were she not manner'd mean and worst in wit Perforce thou hadst praised nor couldst silence keep.

But some enfevered jade, I wot-not-what, Some piece thou lovest, blus.h.i.+ng this to own. 5 For, nowise 'customed widower nights to lie Thou 'rt ever summoned by no silent bed With flow'r-wreaths fragrant and with Syrian oil, By mattress, bolsters, here, there, everywhere Deep-dinted, and by quaking, shaking couch 10 All crepitation and mobility.

Explain! none wh.o.r.edoms (no!) shall close my lips.

Why? such outfuttered flank thou ne'er wouldst show Had not some fulsome work by thee been wrought.

Then what thou holdest, boon or bane be pleased 15 Disclose! For thee and thy beloved fain would I Upraise to Heaven with my liveliest lay.

O Flavius, of thy sweetheart to Catullus thou would'st speak, nor could'st thou keep silent, were she not both ill-mannered and ungraceful. In truth thou affectest I know not what hot-blooded wh.o.r.e: this thou art ashamed to own. For that thou dost not lie alone a-nights thy couch, fragrant with garlands and Syrian unguent, in no way mute cries out, and eke the pillow and bolsters indented here and there, and the creakings and joggings of the quivering bed: unless thou canst silence these, nothing and again nothing avails thee to hide thy wh.o.r.edoms. And why? Thou wouldst not display such drained flanks unless occupied in some tomfoolery. Wherefore, whatsoever thou hast, be it good or ill, tell us! I wish to laud thee and thy loves to the sky in joyous verse.

VII.

Quaeris, quot mihi basiationes Tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque.

Quam magnus numerus Libyssae arenae Lasarpiciferis iacet Cyrenis, Oraclum Iovis inter aestuosi 5 Et Batti veteris sacrum sepulcrum, Aut quam sidera multa, c.u.m tacet nox, Furtivos hominum vident amores, Tam te basia multa basiare Vesano satis et super Catullost, 10 Quae nec pernumerare curiosi Possint nec mala fascinare lingua.

VII.

TO LESBIA STILL BELOVED.

Thou ask'st How many kissing bouts I bore From thee (my Lesbia!) or be enough or more?

I say what mighty sum of Lybian-sands Confine Cyrene's Laserpitium-lands 'Twixt Oracle of Jove the Swelterer 5 And olden Battus' holy Sepulchre, Or stars innumerate through night-stillness ken The stolen Love-delights of mortal men, For that to kiss thee with unending kisses For mad Catullus enough and more be this, 10 Kisses nor curious wight shall count their tale, Nor to bewitch us evil tongue avail.

Thou askest, how many kisses of thine, Lesbia, may be enough and to spare for me. As the countless Libyan sands which strew the spicy strand of Cyrene 'twixt the oracle of swelt'ring Jove and the sacred sepulchre of ancient Battus, or as the thronging stars which in the hush of darkness witness the furtive loves of mortals, to kiss thee with kisses of so great a number is enough and to spare for pa.s.sion-driven Catullus: so many that prying eyes may not avail to number, nor ill tongues to ensorcel.

VIII.

Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, Et quod vides perisse perditum ducas.

Fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles, c.u.m vent.i.tabas quo puella ducebat Amata n.o.bis quantum amabitur nulla. 5 Ibi illa multa tum iocosa fiebant, Quae tu volebas nec puella nolebat.

Fulsere vere candidi tibi soles.

Nunc iam illa non vult: tu quoque, inpotens, noli Nec quae fugit sectare, nec miser vive, 10 Sed obstinata mente perfer, obdura.

Vale, puella. iam Catullus obdurat, Nec te requiret nec rogabit invitam: At tu dolebis, c.u.m rogaberis nulla.

Scelesta, vae te! quae tibi manet vita! 15 Quis nunc te adibit? cui videberis bella?

Quem nunc amabis? cuius esse diceris?