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Don't wonder why no woman, Rufus, wants to place her tender thigh beneath you,
not even if you tempt her with the gift of a rare robe or with the delights of a
crystal-clear gem. A certain ill tale injures you, that you bear housed in the
valley of your armpits a grim goat. This everyone fears. It's no wonder: for it
is an exceeding ill beast, with whom no fair girl will sleep. Therefore, either
murder that cruel plague of their noses, or cease to marvel, "Why do they
fly?"
Catullus. The Carmina of Gaius Valerius Catullus. Leonard C. Smithers. London. Smithers. 1894.
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