Addressed to afriend named Gallus; not Cornelius Gallus, the elegiac poet, though.
1 You invidious creep! Shut your annoying mouth alreadyand let us go our course as we are, equals!
What do you want, idiot? To experience my madness?
Poor boy, you're rushing into a hellhole!
You'll drag swollen feet through hideous fires,
and drink all Thessaly's poisons.
This woman cannot be compared to your tramps!
To get angry softly is not her style.
But let's say by chance she's not contrary to your wishes—
then she'll give you a million problems!
She won't let you sleep, she won't let you out of her sight.
One woman, she shackles the raging spirits of strongmen.
Oh, how often you'll run to my door, contemptible twit,
your strong words collapsing in a sob.
Tremulous horror will rise up with mournful tears,
fear leave an ugly mark on your face.
You won't find the words you want for your complaint,
and you won't know who or where you are, you loser!
Then by force you'll learn how heavy is her bondage,
and what it means to leave her house rejected.
Then you'll no longer wonder at my frequent pallor
or why my whole body is often null.
As a lover, your nobility will be of no use to you:
Love doesn't yield to old ghosts.
Because if you have left the smallest clues of your guilt,
how quickly you'll become the whipping boy!
Don't expect to find solace then from me
when I have no cure for my own ills.
No. Miserable together, we will be forced
by a shared passion to cry on one another's shoulder.
That's why you should desist from seeking to know, Gallus,
what my Cynthia is capable of: once called, she comes with a price.