ON LESBIA WHO ENDED BADLYCaelius! That Lesbia of ours, that Lesbia,
That only Lesbia by Catullus loved,
Than self, far fondlier, than all his friends,
She now Where four roads fork, and wind the wynds
Husks the high-minded scions Remus-sprung.
Not if I feigned me that guard of Crete,
Not if with Pegasèan wing I sped,
Or Ladas I or Perseus plumiped,
Or Rhesus borne in swifty car snow-white:
Add the twain foot-bewing'd and fast of flight,
And of the cursive' winds require the blow:
All these (Camérius!) couldst on me bestow.
Tho' were I wearied to each marrow bone
And by many o' languors clean forgone
Yet I to seek thee (friend!) would still assay.