1, 2a, 2b, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

10, 11, 12, 13, 14a, 14b, 15, 16, 17

Poem 6:  You'd tell Catullus, Flavius

Flavi delicias tuas Catullo,

ni sint illepidae atque inelegantes,

uelles dicere nec tacere posses.

uerum nescio quid febriculosi

scorti diligis: hoc pudet fateri.

nam te non uiduas iacere noctes

nequiquam tacitum cubile clamat

sertis ac Syrio fragrans oliuo,

puluinusque peraeque et hic et ille

attritus, tremulique quassa lecti

argutatio inambulatioque.

nam non ista ualet nihil tacere.

cur? non tam latera ecfututa pandas,

ni tu quid facias ineptiarum.

quare, quidquid habes boni malique,

dic nobis. uolo te ac tuos amores

ad caelum lepido uocare uersu.

You’d tell Catullus, Flavius,

about your sweetheart (you couldn’t be silent),

unless she’s charmless and uncultured!

No doubt you love some sort of poxy

pro, but are ashamed to confess.                                    5

For your bed, fragrant with Syrian oil

and garlands, shouts (despite its lack

of speech) you don’t sleep mateless nights,

as does your pillow, puckered the same

here and there – and the cranky creaking                      10

and shaking of the trembling bedstead!

But it’s pointless keeping stum. Why?

You wouldn’t show such fucked-out flanks

if you weren’t doing something silly!

So, good or bad, whatever you’ve got,                           15

tell us. I want to exalt both you

and your love to the sky with my elegant verse.

Notes
Flavius is unknown.

The Latin metre is hendecasyllables; the English metre is iambic tetrameters.