CATULLUS TO HIS OWN FARMO Farm our own, Sabine or Tiburtine,
(For style thee "Tiburs" Who have not at heart
To hurt Catullus, whereas all that have
Wage any Wager thou be Sabine classed)
But whether Sabine or of Tiburs truer
To thy suburban Cottage fared I fain
And fro' my bronchials drave that cursèd cough
Which not unmerited on me my maw,
A-seeking sumptuous banquetings, bestowed.
For I requesting to be Sestius' guest
Read against claimant Antius a speech,
Full-filled with poisonous pestilential trash.
Hence a grave frigid rheum and frequent cough
Shook me till fled I to thy bosom, where
Repose and nettle-broth healed all my ills.
Wherefore recruited now best thanks I give
To thee for nowise punishing my sins:
Nor do I now object if noisome writs
Of Sestius hear I, but that cold and cough
And rheum may plague, not me, but Sestius' self
Who asks me only his ill writs to read.