My Cinna's Zmyrna finally, after the ninth harvest it was begun,
and after the ninth winter it was published, when Hortensius meanwhile five
hundred thousand [lines] in one [year] ...
Zmyrna will be sent to the curving waves of innermost Satrachus,
hoary ages will roll out Zmyrna long hence. But Volusius'
Annals will die at Padua itself, and will often furnish loose wrappings for
mackerel. May the short works of my comrade remain in my heart; as for the
people, let them rejoice in bloated Antimachus.
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