76 (Catullus)

Siqua recordanti benefacta priora voluptas 
    est homini, cum se cogitat esse pium, 
nec sanctam violasse fidem, nec foedere nullo 
    divum ad fallendos numine abusum homines, 
multa parata manent in longa aetate, Catulle, 
    ex hoc ingrato gaudia amore tibi. 
nam quaecumque homines bene cuiquam aut dicere possunt 
    aut facere, haec a te dictaque factaque sunt. 
omnia quae ingratae perierunt credita menti. 
    quare iam te cur amplius excrucies? 
quin tu animo offirmas atque istinc teque reducis, 
    et dis invitis desinis esse miser? 
difficile est longum subito deponere amorem, 
    difficile est, verum hoc qua lubet efficias: 
una salus haec est. hoc est tibi pervincendum, 
    hoc facias, sive id non pote sive pote. 
o di, si vestrum est misereri, aut si quibus umquam 
    extremam iam ipsa in morte tulistis opem, 
me miserum aspicite et, si vitam puriter egi, 
    eripite hanc pestem perniciemque mihi, 
quae mihi subrepens imos ut torpor in artus 
    expulit ex omni pectore laetitias. 
non iam illud quaero, contra me ut diligat illa, 
    aut, quod non potis est, esse pudica velit: 
ipse valere opto et taetrum hunc deponere morbum. 
    o di, reddite mi hoc pro pietate mea.


If a man takes delight in recollecting past
    good deeds, when he reflects that he is faithful,
And has betrayed no holy trust, nor has abused
    the gods in sacred pacts to cheat a mortal,
Then many joys remain in your long life, Catullus,
    stored up for you from this, your thankless love.
For anything that men can say or do that's good
    for someone else, all this you've said and done;
And all of this is lost, pledged to a thankless mind.
    Why, then, should you now torture yourself further?
Why not shore up your spirit, tear yourself away,
    and, since the gods don't wish it, don't be wretched?
It's hard to quickly do away with lasting love;
    it's hard, but still somehow you must achieve this.
This is your one salvation, you must conquer this,
    you must do this, impossible or not.
O gods, if you can pity, or if ever you
    have helped men in the throes of death itself,
Look on my wretchedness, and if I have lived purely,
    relieve me of this plague and pestilence!
It worms its way into my limbs, a deadly languor,
    and from my heart it drives out happiness.
I do not ask that she should love me in return,
    or should (impossible!) wish to be chaste,
But that I may be strong and cast off this disease.
    O gods, I have been faithful—grant me this.