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.

30 (Catullus)

Alfene immemor atque unanimis false sodalibus,
iam te nil miseret, dure, tui dulcis amiculi?
iam me prodere, iam non dubitas fallere, perfide?
nec facta impia fallacum hominum caelicolis placent.
quae tu neglegis, ac me miserum deseris in malis;
eheu quid faciant, dic, homines cuive habeant fidem?
certe tute iubebas animam tradere, inique, me
inducens in amorem, quasi tuta omnia mi forent.
idem nunc retrahis te ac tua dicta omnia factaque
ventos irrita ferre ac nebulas aereas sinis.
si tu oblitus es, at di meminerunt, meminit Fides,
quae te ut paeniteat postmodo facti faciet tui.

Alfenus, heedless, false to your concordant fellows,
Oh, have you now no pity, monster, for your sweet friend?
Now you don’t stick at betraying and cheating me, you traitor?
The disloyal acts of deceitful men don’t please the gods.
These truths you disregard and leave me in wretched straits;
Tell me, what should men do, or wherein put their trust?
You wretch, you ordered me to give my soul to you,
And led me into love, as if all were safe for me.
And now you withdraw yourself and let all you said and did,
Worthless, blow with the winds and through the airy clouds.
Maybe you’ve forgotten, but the gods and Faith have not,
And they’ll make sure you pay for your bad deed in the end.

50 (Catullus)

Hesterno, Licini, die otiosi
multum lusimus in meis tabellis,
ut convenerat esse delicatos:
scribens versiculos uterque nostrum
ludebat numero modo hoc modo illoc,
reddens mutua per iocum atque vinum.
Atque illinc abii tuo lepore
incensus, Licini, facetiisque,
ut nec me miserum cibus iuvaret
nec somnus tegeret quiete ocellos,
sed toto indomitus furore lecto
versarer, cupiens videre lucem,
ut tecum loquerer simulque ut essem.
At defessa labore membra postquam
semimortua lectulo iacebant,
hoc, iucunde, tibi poema feci,
ex quo perspiceres meum dolorem.
Nunc audax cave sis, precesque nostras,
oramus, cave despuas, ocelle,
ne poenas Nemesis reposcat a te.
Est vemens dea: laedere hanc caveto.


Licinius, we were idle yesterday
and played around a good deal in my notebook,
since we'd agreed that we'd be hedonists.
So each of us was playing, writing verses,
just ditties in this meter and in that one,
taking our turns in merriment and wine.
I went away so fired up by this,
Licinius, by your charm and wittiness,
my wretched self found food no consolation
and sleep could lay no quiet on my eyes,
but frenzied, driven wild, I rolled all over
the bed and longed to see the next day's light
so I could talk to you and be with you.
But when my limbs were tired from all this effort
and lay half-dead, exhausted on my bed,
I wrote this for you, my delightful friend,
so that you'd understand my suffering.
Now careful not to be too bold, and don't,
I beg you, darling, scoff at my entreaties,
or Nemesis will make you pay for it.
She's a harsh goddess: cross her at your peril.

Odes 4.7 (Horace)

Diffugere nives, redeunt iam gramina campis 
arboribusque comae; 
mutat terra vices et decrescentia ripas 
flumina praetereunt; 

Gratia cum Nymphis geminisque sororibus audet 
ducere nuda choros. 
immortalia ne speres, monet annus et almum 
quae rapit hora diem. 

frigora mitescunt zephyris, ver proterit aestas 
interitura, simul 
pomifer autumnus fruges effuderit, et mox 
bruma recurrit iners. 

damna tamen celeres reparant caelestia lunae; 
nos ubi decidimus, 
quo pius Aeneas, quo Tullus dives et Ancus, 
pulvis et umbra sumus. 

quis scit an adiciant hodiernae crastina summae 
tempora di superi? 
cuncta manus avidas fugient heredis, amico 
quae dederis animo. 

cum semel occideris et de te splendida Minos 
fecerit arbitria, 
non, Torquate, genus, non te facundia, non te 
restituet pietas; 

infernis neque enim tenebris Diana pudicum 
liberat Hippolytum, 
nec Lethaea valet Theseus abrumpere caro 
vincula Pirithoo.


The snows have fled, and now the grass returns
To fields and leaves to trees;
The earth is changing seasons, and the rivers
Flow ebbing past their banks;

The sister Graces and the Nymphs now dare
Naked to lead the dance.
"Hope not to cheat death," warn the year and hour
That steals the kindly day.

 The frosts melt with the west winds, summer drives
The spring away, to die
When fruitful autumn pours its harvest out;
Soon sluggish cold returns.

Yet the swift moons repair their heavenly hurts;
But when we have gone down
Where good Aeneas, Tullus, Ancus are,
We are but dust and shadow.

 Who knows if the gods above will add tomorrow
To the total of your days?
All gifts will slip from your heir's greedy hands
That you gave to your own dear soul.

 When once you die and Minos has declared
His noble judgement on you,
Not birth, nor eloquence, nor faith, Torquatus,
Will ever bring you back.

Diana has not freed from Hades' shades
The chaste Hippolytus,
And Theseus cannot tear the chains of Lethe
From dear Pirithoos.

Odes 1.5 (Horace)

Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa 
perfusus liquidis urget odoribus 
 grato, Pyrrha, sub antro? 
 cui flavam religas comam, 

simplex munditiis? heu quotiens fidem 
mutatosque deos flebit et aspera 
  nigris aequora ventis 
  emirabitur insolens, 

qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea, 
qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem 
 sperat, nescius aurae 
 fallacis! miseri, quibus 

intemptata nites! me tabula sacer 
votiva paries indicat uvida 
 suspendisse potenti 
 vestimenta maris deo.

Who woos you on a bed of roses?

What slim boy bathed in perfumes, Pyrrha,

In a delightful cave? For whom

Do you bind up your flaxen hair,

Artfully artless? Ah, how often

Will he bewail the faithless gods

And marvel at the seas all harsh

With black winds, unaccustomed sight;

The boy who now so trustingly

Enjoys you, golden, hopes you will

Be ever clear and lovable,

Pays no mind to the fickle breeze!

Unhappy those for whom you shine

Unproved! The sacred wall attests:

A shipwrecked sailor, I hung up

My sodden clothes for the sea-god.

101 (Catullus)

Multas per gentes et multa per aequora vectus
advenio has miseras, frater, ad inferias,
ut te postremo donarem munere mortis
et mutam nequiquam alloquerer cinerem.
Quandoquidem fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum.
Heu miser indigne frater adempte mihi,
nunc tamen interea haec, prisco quae more parentum
tradita sunt tristi munere ad inferias,
accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu,
atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.

Borne across many lands and many seas,
I come to your pyre alone,
Brother, to give you death’s last gift, and speak
To silent ash and bone.
For fate has taken you away unjustly,
Poor brother, lost to me!
Yet since it is the custom of our fathers
To make this obsequy,
Let me do my sad duty to your grave;
Accept these gifts that I
Wash with a brother’s tears; and then forever
Hail, brother, and—goodbye.

16 (Catullus)

Put under a cut for obscenity. Catullus was very...effective with his invective.

Medea, Third Choral Ode "The Fates of the Argonauts" (Seneca)

nulla vis flammae tumidive venti
tanta, nec teli metuenda torti,
quanta cum coniunx viduata taedis
ardet et odit;
non ubi hibernos nebulosus imbres
Auster advexit properatque torrens
Hister et iunctos vetat esse pontes
ac vagus errat;
non ubi impellit Rhodanus profundum,
aut ubi in rivos nivibus solutis
sole iam forti medioque vere
tabuit Haemus.
caecus est ignis stimulatus ira
nec regi curat patiturve frenos
aut timet mortem: cupit ire in ipsos
obvius enses.
parcite, o divi, veniam precamur,
vivat ut tutus mare qui subegit.
sed furit vinci dominus profundi
regna secunda.
ausus aeternos agitare currus
immemor metae iuvenis paternae
quos polo sparsit furiosus ignes
ipse recepit.
constitit nulli via nota magno:
vade qua tutum populo priori,
rumpe nec sacro violente sancta
foedera mundi.
quisquis audacis tetigit carinae
nobiles remos nemorisque sacri
Pelion densa spoliavit umbra,
quisquis intravit scopulos vagantes
et tot emensus pelagi labores
barbara funem religavit ora
raptor externi rediturus auri,
exitu diro temerata ponti
iura piavit.
exigit poenas mare provocatum:
Tiphys in primis, domitor profundi,
liquit indocto regimen magistro;
litore externo, procul a paternis
occidens regnis tumuloque vili
tectus ignotas iacet inter umbras.
aulis amissi memor inde regis
portibus lentis retinet carinas
stare querentes.
ille vocali genitus Camena,
cuius ad chordas modulante plectro
restitit torrens, siluere venti,
cum suo cantu volucris relicto
adfuit tota comitante silva,
Thracios sparsus iacuit per agros,
at caput tristi fluitavit Hebro:
contigit notam Styga Tartarumque,
non rediturus.
stravit Alcides Aquilone natos,
patre Neptuno genitum necavit
sumere innumeras solitum figuras:
ipse post terrae pelagique pacem,
post feri Ditis patefacta regna
vivus ardenti recubans in Oeta
praebuit saevis sua membra flammis
tabe consumptus gemini cruoris,
munere nuptae.
stravit Ancaeum violentus ictu
saetiger; fratrem, Meleagre, matris
impius mactas morerisque dextra
matris iratae: meruere cuncti
morte quod crimen tener expiavit
Herculi magno puer inrepertus,
raptus, heu, tutas puer inter undas.
ite nunc, fortes, perarate pontum
fonte timendo.
Idmonem, quamvis bene fata nosset,
condidit serpens Libycis harenis;
omnibus verax, sibi falsus uni
concidit Mopsus caruitque Thebis.
ille si vere cecinit futura,
exul errabit Thetidis maritus;
fulmine et ponto moriens Oileus
*pro suo gnatus* patrioque pendet
crimine poenas.

igne fallaci nociturus Argis

Nauplius praeceps cadet in profundum;
coniugis fatum redimens Pheraei
uxor impendes animam marito.
ipse qui praedam spoliumque iussit
aureum prima revehi carina
[ustus accenso Pelias aeno]
arsit angustas vagus inter undas.
iam satis, divi, mare vindicastis:
parcite iusso.

No force of flame or swelling wind,
Nor brandished spear, is half as great
As a wife of wedding-torches robbed
Who burns with hate;

Nor when the cloudy South Wind brings
The winter rains, and Hister roars
In wandering torrents, bursts each bridge
That spans its shores;

Nor when the Rhone strikes at the deep,
Nor when with streams of melting snows,
As the sun is strong at height of spring,
The Haemus flows.

Blind is the fire that anger feeds:
It brooks no rule, the bridle spurns,
And fears not death; to rush at swords
Headlong it burns.

Spare and forgive, ye gods, we pray;
May he who tamed the sea live on.
But the wrath of the lord of the deep is roused—
The next realm's won.

When the boy dared play the charioteer,
Unmindful of his father's track,
The fires he flung across the sky
Himself did rack.

The well-known path has no great cost;
The past's safe ways be the ways for thee,
And do not break the sacred bond
Of Earth's decree.

Whoever touched the noble oars
Of that bold ship, and the thick shade
Of sacred woods from Pelion stripped,
And into the Rocks that Wander strayed,
And strove so greatly on the sea,
And anchored on barbarian shores
To seize their gold and homeward bend,
Paid for the ocean's outraged laws
With dreadful end.

The sea, once roused, exacts her toll:
First Tiphys, whom the deep obeyed,
Left his helm to untaught hands,
And far from his father's realm is laid;
His bones rest in a humble tomb
'Mid unknown shades on a foreign strand,
And Aulis mourns its absent lord,
And its complaining ships must stand
In harbor moored.

The musical Camena's son—
Whose chords, when plectrum touched his string,
Made torrents pause and winds fall mute,
Made the songbird cease to sing
And draw near, the whole wood behind—
On Thracian fields his corpse they strew,
His head floats down sad Hebrus river
To the Styx and Tartarus he knew,
To dwell for ever.

Alcides slew Aquilo's sons,
And him of Neptune's getting, who
Assumed innumerable shapes;
But after bringing concord to
The land and sea, and opening
The realms of Dis, he, lying doomed
On burning Oeta, gave up life
And limbs, by twofold gore consumed,
Gift of his wife.

The fierce boar struck Ancaeus down;
Disloyal Meleager, you,
Slaughtering mother's brother, die
By mother's hand. They earned it, true,
But what sin did the boy's death pay
Whom mighty Hercules sought in vain,
Seized in the shallows, wretched waif?
Go, brave hearts, plough the watery main—
A spring's not safe.

Idmon, though well he knew the fates,
A snake entombed in Libyan sand;
Prophet for all but self alone
Died Mopsus, far from Theban land.
If he has sung the future true,
Then Thetis' mate will exiled stray;
By thunderbolt and ocean slain,
Oelius' son for his crime will pay
And his sire's stain.

With false fire seeking Argos' harm,
Into the deep will Nauplius fall;
For your Pheraean spouse's fate,
Wife, you'll trade away your soul.
The man who bade the first ship bring
The golden spoils, 'neath cauldron lid
Was roasted, in its trapped waves rolled.
The sea's avenged; spare him who did
As he was told.

Odes 4.11 (Horace)

Est mihi nonum superantis annum
plenus Albani cadus, est in horto,
Phylli, nectendis apium coronis,
est hederae uis

multa, qua crinis religata fulges,
ridet argento domus, ara castis
uincta uerbenis auet immolato
spargier agno;

cuncta festinat manus, huc et illuc
cursitant mixtae pueris puellae,
sordidum flammae trepidant rotantes
uertice fumum.

Vt tamen noris quibus aduoceris
gaudiis, Idus tibi sunt agendae,
qui dies mensem Veneris marinae
findit Aprilem,

iure sollemnis mihi sanctiorque
paene natali proprio, quod ex hac
luce Maecenas meus affluentis
ordinat annos.

Telephum, quem tu petis, occupauit
non tuae sortis iuuenem puella
diues et lasciua tenetque grata
compede uinctum.

Terret ambustus Phaethon auaras
spes et exemplum graue praebet ales
Pegasus terrenum equitem grauatus
Bellerophontem,

semper ut te digna sequare et ultra
quam licet sperare nefas putando
disparem uites. Age iam, meorum
finis amorum

(non enim posthac alia calebo
femina), condisce modos, amanda
uoce quos reddas; minuentur atrae
carmine curae.


There is in my cellar a jug of Alban--
more than nine years aging--and in the garden,
Phyllis, there is parsley for weaving garlands,
there are abundant

ivy leaves to bind back your shining hair; the
whole house laughs with silver, and the blest altar
bound with sacred greenery begs the touch of
sacrificed lamb's blood.

All the household's running about in tumult
here and there, the lads and the maidens mingled,
and the dancing flames to the heights are shaking
soot-blackened smoke plumes.

But so you might know the occasion for this
call to joys: we herald the Ides of April,
happy day that cuts into halves the month of
ocean-born Venus;

day I hold in rightful regard, more sacred
almost than my own natal day, for from this
morning my Maecenas adds up his flowing
years as they pass by.

Telephus, whom you are pursuing--that boy
far above your station--is in the clutches
of a lusty rich girl who holds him bound in
pleasure's glad shackles.

Burning Phaethon warns against greedy hopes, and
Pegasus, who balked at Bellerophon, his
earthbound rider, offers to us a weighty
lesson in this vein:

that you always follow the fitting path, and
think it wrong to hope more than is permitted;
shun unequal matches. But come now, lovely
last of my lovers

(after this no woman shall heat my blood), and
learn a verse or two, then with your enchanting
voice recite them; so dark and gloomy cares in
song will diminish.

Satire 4.23-52 (Persius)

Cut for obscenity.

Epigrams 3.65 (Martial)

quod spirat tenera malum mordente puella,
quod de Corycio quae uenit aura croco;
uinea quod primis cum floret cana racemis,
gramina quod redolent, quae modo carpsit ouis;
quod myrtus, quod messor Arabs, quod sucina trita,
pallidus Eoo ture quod ignis olet;
gleba quod aestiuo leuiter cum spargitur imbre,
quod madidas nardo passa corona comas:
hoc tua, saeue puer Diadumene, basia fragrant.
quid si tota dares illa sine inuidia?

The scent an apple breathes when a sweet girl bites it,
the scent that from Corycian saffron wafts,
the scent of silver vines with first grapes blooming,
the scent of grass new-cropped by grazing sheep,
of myrtle, Arab harvesters, rubbed amber,
of fire pale with incense of the East,
of earth bedewed by gentle rain in summer,
of garlands worn on tresses drenched with nard;
all these, you cruel boy, perfume your kisses.
What if you gave them all without ill will?