No More Learning

But thou in countergift mere loves shalt take
Or aught of sweeter taste or fairer make: 10
I'll give thee unguent lent my girl to scent
By every Venus and all Cupids sent,
Which, as thou savour, pray Gods interpose
And thee, Fabullus, make a Naught-but-nose.

Thou shalt feast well with me, my Fabullus, in a few days, if the gods
favour thee, provided thou dost bear hither with thee a good and great
feast, not forgetting a fair damsel and wine and wit and all kinds of
laughter. Provided, I say, thou dost bear hither these, our charming one,
thou wilt feast well: for thy Catullus' purse is brimful of cobwebs. But in
return thou may'st receive a perfect love, or whatever is sweeter or more
elegant: for I will give thee an unguent which the Loves and Cupids gave
unto my girl, which when thou dost smell it, thou wilt entreat the gods to
make thee, O Fabullus, one total Nose!

XIIII.

Ni te plus oculis meis amarem,
Iocundissime Calve, munere isto
Odissem te odio Vatiniano:
Nam quid feci ego quidve sum locutus,
Cur me tot male perderes poetis? 5
Isti di mala multa dent clienti,
Qui tantum tibi misit inpiorum.
Quod si, ut suspicor, hoc novum ac repertum
Munus dat tibi Sulla litterator,
Non est mi male, sed bene ac beate, 10
Quod non dispereunt tui labores.
Di magni, horribilem et sacrum libellum
Quem tu scilicet ad tuum Catullum
Misti, continuo ut die periret,
Saturnalibus, optimo dierum! 15
Non non hoc tibi, salse, sic abibit:
Nam, si luxerit, ad librariorum
Curram scrinia, Caesios, Aquinos,
Suffenum, omnia colligam venena,
Ac te his suppliciis remunerabor. 20
Vos hinc interea (valete) abite
Illuc, unde malum pedem attulistis,
Saecli incommoda, pessimi poetae.

XIIIIb.

Siqui forte mearum ineptiarum
Lectores eritis manusque vestras 25
Non horrebitis admovere nobis,
* * * *

XIIII.

TO CALVUS, ACKNOWLEDGING HIS POEMS.

Did I not liefer love thee than my eyes
(Winsomest Calvus!
), for that gift of thine
Certes I'd hate thee with Vatinian hate.
Say me, how came I, or by word or deed,
To cause thee plague me with so many a bard? 5
The Gods deal many an ill to such a client,
Who sent of impious wights to thee such crowd.
But if (as guess I) this choice boon new-found
To thee from "Commentator" Sulla come,
None ill I hold it--well and welcome 'tis, 10
For that thy labours ne'er to death be doom'd.
Great Gods! What horrid booklet damnable
Unto thine own Catullus thou (perdie! )
Did send, that ever day by day die he
In Saturnalia, first of festivals. 15
No! No! thus shall't not pass wi' thee, sweet wag,
For I at dawning day will scour the booths
Of bibliopoles, Aquinii, Caesii and
Suffenus, gather all their poison-trash
And with such torments pay thee for thy pains. 20
Now for the present hence, adieu! begone
Thither, whence came ye, brought by luckless feet,
Pests of the Century, ye pernicious Poets.

XIIIIb.

An of my trifles peradventure chance
You to be readers, and the hands of you 25
Without a shudder unto us be offer'd
* * * *

Did I not love thee more than mine eyes, O most jocund Calvus, for thy gift
I should abhor thee with Vatinian abhorrence. For what have I done or what
have I said that thou shouldst torment me so vilely with these poets? May
the gods give that client of thine ills enow, who sent thee so much trash!