English

What means it, I wonder, the odour of scent
That's on your lips always, of cinnamon blent.
It's suspicious this perfume whenever we meet:
For men always scented don't really smell sweet.

You fondle your mother and she fondles you:
You're her " brother" and she is your " sister."
Why those mischievous names, I should much like to know?
Why are you not her son when you've kissed her?
If you think that such conduct is merely a jest,
You're mistaken, my innocent " brother."
When a mother as " sister" would fain be addressed,
She is neither the one nor the other.

C RETE gave the mighty name Metellus bore,
Scipio a mightier gained on Afric shore,
But yet more grand the name from conquered Rhine
That, when a child, Germania made thine.
Thy sire and brother won the Jewish crown:
The wreath the Chatti send is all thine own.

Little book, when to Caesius Sabinus you come,
The bright shining star of his Umbrian home,
With friend Aulus Pudens, his townsman so true,
Even though he be busy he'll find time for you.
A thousand distractions may fill him with care,
But for my poor verses some hours he will spare;
For he loves to peruse them, and gives them their station
Second only to Turnus in his estimation.
What glory and fame you are going to win,
How many a lover will call you within.
Every banquet and market will echo your praise,

Shed a tear and so pass by
Here a little child doth lie,
Roman both by birth and name.
Who to death too early came.
Baby face and baby prattle
Could not save him in that battle.
Cruel Fate cut short his thread:
Little Urbicus lies dead.
May thy children happier be,
And live on surviving thee.

Some unguent rare was kept with care
In a small onyx dish.
Papilus came and smelt the same —
And now it's putrid fish!

These nuts at Saturn's feast to thee I send,
Dear Juvenal, my friend.
The rest to girls Priapus gave away,
With whom he loves to play.

If Flaccus delights in a long-eared fox-hare,
If Canius dotes on his Libyan fair,
If Publius' darling's a dear little bitch.
And Cronius' a monkey as black as a witch,
If a knavish ichneumon gives Marius pleasure,
And his talking magpie seems to Lausus a treasure,
If Glaucilla entwines round her neck chilly snakes,
Telesilla a tomb for her nightingale makes;
When they find their joy in such monsters as these,
Whom would not the face of fair Labycas please?

M ENOPHIL wore for all to see
A " ceinturon de chastete,"
Big enough for the company.

I thought he wished his voice to spare
And so this trusty guard did wear
To keep him from temptation clear.

But I was wrong: the other night,
When he was dancing full in sight,
It fell — he knows the game all right.

Since now our Roman peace the North refrains,
And war's grim trumpets cease their dreadful strains,
This little book to Marcellinus send,
For now to verse his leisure he can lend.
And if you wish the petty gift to increase
Send too a page to serve his hours of peace.
Not such a one as nursed by Getic cattle
On ice-bound rivers makes his hoopstick rattle,
But some young Lesbian boy whose cheeks glow warm,
Or Spartan yet unscourged by mother's arm.
He'll send to you instead from Hister's dales