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Ad amicam, a cuius amore discedere non potest

Long have I borne much, mad thy faults me make:
Dishonest love my wearied brest forsake,
Now have I freed my selfe, and fled the chaine,
And what I have borne, shame to beare againe.
We vanquish, and tread tam'd love under feete,
Victorious wreathes at length my Temples greete.
Suffer, and harden: good growes by this griefe,
Oft bitter juice brings to the sicke reliefe.
I have sustainde so oft thrust from the dore,
To lay my body on the hard moist floore.
I know not whom thou lewdly didst imbrace,
When I to watch supplyed a servants place.
I saw when forth a tyred lover went,
His side past service, and his courage spent.
Yet this is lesse, then if he had seene me,
May that shame fall mine enemies chance to be.
When have not I fixt to thy side close layed?
I have thy husband, guard, and fellow plaied.
The people by my company she pleasd,
My love was cause that more mens love she seazd.
What should I tell her vaine tongues filthy lyes,
And to my losse God-wronging perjuries?
What secret becks in banquets with her youths,
With privy signes, and talke dissembling truths?
Hearing her to be sicke, I thether ranne,
But with my rivall sicke she was not than.
These hardned me, with what I keepe obscure,
Some other seeke, who will these things endure.
Now my ship in the wished haven crownd,
With joy heares Neptunes swelling waters sound.
Leave thy once powerfull words, and flatteries,
I am not as I was before, unwise.
Now love, and hate my light brest each way move;
But victory, I thinke, will hap to love.
Ile hate, if I can; if not, love gainst my will:
Bulles hate the yoake, yet what they hate have still.
I flie her lust, but follow beauties creature;
I loath her manners, love her bodies feature.
Nor with thee, nor without thee can I live,
And doubt to which desire the palme to give.
Or lesse faire, or lesse lewd would thou mightst bee,
Beauty with lewdnesse doth right ill agree.
Her deeds game hate, her face entreateth love:
Ah, she doth more worth then her vices prove.
Spare me, O by our fellow bed, by all
The Gods who by thee to be perjurde fall,
And by thy face to me a powre divine,
And by thine eyes whose radiance burnes out mine.
What ere thou art mine art thou: choose this course,
Wilt have me willing, or to love by force?
Rather lie hoist up saile, and use the winde,
That I may love yet, though against my minde.

load focus English (various, 1855)
load focus Latin (R. Ehwald, 1907)
hide References (2 total)
  • Commentary references to this page (2):
    • E. T. Merrill, Commentary on Catullus, 35
    • John Conington, Commentary on Vergil's Aeneid, Volume 2, 10.3
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