Catullus 60

Surely a lion on African mountains or a Scylla, barking from the lowest part of her loins, bore you with so hard and vile a mind that you hold in contempt the voice of supplication in the last and final crisis, ah (you of) too wild a heart!

Catullus 51

That man seems to me to be a god, that man, if it is right, surpasses the gods, who sitting opposite (you) again and again sees and hears you sweetly laughing, (a thing) which tears all senses from wretched me: for as soon as I have caught sight of you, Lesbia, there is nothing of a voice left in my mouth, but my tongue grows numb, a thin flame runs down under my limbs, my ears ring with their own sound, my lights are covered with a twin night. Leisure, Catullus, is a bother to you; you rejoice and exult too much in leisure; leisure has ruined both kings and beautiful kingdoms before.

Catullus 50

Yesterday, Licinius, at our leisure we played much on my tablets, a it had been agreed to be frisky: each of us writing little verses was playing at one time in this number, at another time in that, returning reciprocities through joke and wine. And thence I left, inflamed by your charm and wits, Licinius, so that neither did food aid me nor sleep touch my eyes with rest, but untamable with madness I tossed and turned over the whole bed, desiring to see the light so that I might speak with you and at the same time be (with you). But after my limbs, tired with the effort, lay half dead on the little bed, I made this poem for you, pleasant one, from which you might appreciate my pain. Now beware lest you be rash and beware lest you spurn our prayers, we beg, darling, lest Nemesis demand penalties from you; she is a violent goddess: beware lest she harm (you).

Catullus 46

Now spring brings back unchilled warmth, now the madness of the equinoctial sky grows quiet with the pleasant breezes of the Zephyr. May the Phrygian fields be left, Catullus, and the rich land of steamy Nicaea: let us fly to the bright cities of Asia. Now the anticipating mind yearns to wander, now happy feet grow strong with eagerness. O sweet band of companions, goodbye, whom, having set off far from home, varied roads call back variously.

Catullus 45

Septimius, holding Acme, his love(s), in his lap, said “My Acme, unless I love you to destruction, I am prepared to love (you) hereafter continuously for all the years, as much as one who is able to die entirely, let me come alone in Lydia and scorched India in the path of a grey eyed lion.” As he said this, Love sneezed his approval on the left as before on the right. But Acme, lifting up her head lightly and having kissed the intoxicated eyes of the sweet boy with that rosy mouth said thus, “My life, little Septimius, thus let us serve continuously this one master so that a greater and sharper fire burns more sweetly in my soft marrow.” As she said this Love sneezed his approval on the left as before on the right. Now having set out from a good auspice they love (and) are loved with equal spirits. Wretched little Septimius wanted his one Acme more than Syrias and Brittains: faithful Acme makes delights and pleasures in Septimius alone. Who has seen any happier men, who (has seen) a more auspicious Venus?

Catullus 44

Our farm, whether Sabine or Tibertine—for the say that you are Tibertine, for whom it is not in their heart to hurt Catullus; but for whom it is in the heart, at whatever bet they contend that you are Sabine—but whether you are Sabine or more truly Tibertine, I was gladly in your villa close to the city, and I drove out a bad cough, which my belly gave to me not undeserving while I sought (lit. am seeking) a rich dinner. For while I wanted to be Sestius’ dinner companion, I read his speech against the candidate Antius, full of poison and pestilence. Hereupon a chill head-cold and frequent cough shook me right up until I fled into your lap and restored myself with both rest and nettle. Therefore restored, I give you greatest thanks because you did not avenge my error. Nor now do pray if I receive horrible writings of Sestius but that the chill bear a head-cold and cough not to me but to Sestius, who calls me then when I read (his) bad book.

Catullus 43

Greetings girl with neither a short nose nor a pretty foot nor black eyes nor long fingers not a dry mouth nor an entirely elegant tongue. Girlfriend of the debtor Formianus, does the province say that your are pretty? Are you to be compared with our Lesbia? O unwise and graceless age!