Catullus 69

Do not wonder, Rufus, why no woman wants to place her soft thigh under you, not if you loosen that one with a gift of a fine garment or luxuries of transparent stone. A certain evil tale hurts you, in which it is said a savage goat lives under the vale of your upper arms. Everyone fears this, and no wonder: for the beast is very evil, and the sort with which a pretty girl does not lie. Therefore either kill the harsh curse of noses or cease to wonder why they flee.

Catullus 68, lines 1-40

The fact that, overwhelmed by fate and bitter calamity, you sent this little letter written with tears that I might lift (you) up, shipwrecked, tossed out by the foaming waves of the sea, and bring (you) back from the threshold of death, whom abandoned in a celibate bed neither holy Venus endures to rest in soft sleep nor the Muses delight with the sweet song of the old writers when your anxious mind keeps vigil: this is pleasing to me, because you call me a friend to you and you seek the gifts of both the Muses and of Venus from this (source). But lest my own setbacks be unknown to you, Manius, and lest you think that I hate the duty of a guest, receive by which waves of fortune I myself am plunged lest you seek happy gifts from one more wretched. At which time the white garment was first handed to me, when the flowery age delivered a pleasant spring, I played plenty enough: the goddess, who mixes sweet bitterness with cares, is not unaware of us. But fraternal death has stolen this whole enthusiasm with its grief. O brother, stolen from wretched me, you, dying, you have broken my rewards, brother, our whole home has been buried together with you, all our joys have died together with you, which your sweet love used to nourish in life. At whose death, I put to flight from my whole mind these pursuits and all pleasures of the spirit. Therefore what you write, (that it is) shameful for Catullus to be in Verona, because here whoever from the better known (race) warms cold limbs in an empty bed, this Manius is not shameful, more—it is wretched. You will forgive, therefore, if I do not assign these gifts, which grief steals from me, to you when I cannot. For, as for the fact that there is not a great plenty of writings with me, this happens because we live at Rome: that is home, that is my residence, there my age is consumed; hither one little book casket from many follows me. Although this (lit. which) is so, I would not want you to decide that I do this from a spiteful mind or with a not generous enough spirit, because not enough of either (poetry) has been provided to you asking: I would offer voluntarily if there were any abundance.

Catullus 65

Although care calls me, finished by continual grief from the learned maidens, Ortalus, and the thought of my mind cannot bring out the sweet offspring of the Muses, by such great evils is it itself in turmoil—for the flowing wave from Lethe’s recent surge besets the pale foot of my brother, whom Trojan land on Rhoeteum’s shore crushes stolen from our eyes. Will I never afterward see you, brother more loveable than life? But certainly I will always love (you), I will always sing sad songs about your death, such as Daulias (Procne) sings under the dense shadows of the branches, lamenting the fate(s) of squandered Itylus. But yet in such great laments, Ortalus, I send you these translated lines of the son of Battus (Callimachus), lest you think your words have slipped from my mind, entrusted in vain to the wandering winds, as an apple, sent as secret gift of her promised runs from the chaste lap of the maiden, which is shaken out, placed under the soft cloak of the forgetful wretch, while she jumps up at the arrival of her mother, and that is pushed headlong with a downward course; a guilty blush remains on this one’s sad face.

Horace Ode 2.14

Alas Postumus, the swift years slip by, Postumus, nor will piety convey delay to wrinkles and pressing old age and unconquerable death: not if, however many days pass, friend, you would appease with three hundred bulls inexorable Pluto, who imprisons three full Geryon and Tityon with his sad wave to be crossed certainly by all, whoever feeds on the offering of the earth, whether kings or poor colonists we will be. In vain we will be free from bloody Mars and broken waves of the raucous Adriadic, in vain through the autumns we will fear the south wind harmful to bodies: black Cocytos must be seen wandering with its languid flow and the notorious offspring of Danaus and Sisyphus, son of Aeolus, sentenced to (lit. of) long labor: the earth must be left and our home and pleasing wife, nor of these trees which you tend except the hated cypresses will any follow you, their brief master: a worthier heir will use up the Caecuban protected by a hundred keys and he will stain your pavement with proud pure wine, too strong for the meals of priests.

Horace Ode 2.10

You will live more rightly, Licinius, by not always pressing the deep nor by hugging too much the uneven shore while you prudently bristle at the storms. Whoever approves the golden mean, safely lacks the filth of a dilapidated house, soberly lacks enviable palace. The huge pine is shaken more savagely by the winds, and lofty turrets topple in ruin with a heavier fall, and lightening strikes highest mountains. The well prepared heart hopes in hostile (times), fears the other lot in favorable (times). Jupiter brings back hideous winters, he likewise removes (them). If (it goes) badly now, it will not one day also be so. One day Apollo rouses the Muse being silent with his lyre and does not always stretch his bow. In poor affairs appear bold and brave; wisely you likewise will draw back swollen sails in a too favorable wind.

Horace Ode 2.7

O often lead at the final monent with me with Brutus as leader of the campaign, who restored you as a Quiritis to paternal gods and the Italian sky, Pompeius, first of my comrades? With whom I often broke the lingering day with wine, wreathed (in respect to) my hair with Syrian ointment-plant. With you I knew Philippi and swift flight, my little shield having been not well left behind, when courage broke and threatening ones touched the base ground with the chin. But swift Mercury lifted me fearful in a dense cloud through the enemies; a wave swallowing you down again into the war bore (you) in boiling seas. Therefore render the feast owed to Jove and lay down a side weary from long campaign under my laurel, nor spare the jars arranged for you. Fill the light drinking-cup with Massic causing forgetfulness; pour perfumed oils from spacious shells. Who undertakes to hasten for garlands of moist celery and myrtle? Whom will Venus designate overseer of the drinking? I shall revel not more sanely than Edonians: with my friend recovered it is sweet for me to be wild.

Horace Ode 2.3

Remember to keep an even spirit in difficult matters, not otherwise in good (times a spirit) held from immoderate joy, Delius, soon to die, whether you live sad at every moment or you delight yourself in distant meadow, bent back with familiar Falernian from within (the cellar) through feast days. To what do the huge pine and white poplar love to join hospitable shade with their branches? Why does the swift water strive to waver with slanting stream? Order (them) to bear here the wine and perfumed oils and too brief flowers of the charming rose, while means and age and the black thread of the three sisters allow. You will yield purchased glades and home and the farmhouse which the yellow Tiber washes; you will yield and your heir will posses your riches piled high. Whether you linger under the sky (lit. god) rich (and) born from ancient Inachus or poor and from the lowest race is no difference (when you are) a victim of Orcus pitying nothing. We are all gathered to the same (place), the lot of all later (or) sooner is turned about to leave from the urn and about to put us on a skiff for eternal exile.