My dear Licinius, yesterday
We sported in our pleasant way;
Tablets in hand--and at our leisure,
In verse as various as the measure,
Scribbling between our wine and laughter.
But when we parted, mark the after
Vexation;--conquered, and hard hit
By your all-overpowering wit,
I could not eat--nor yet would Sleep
His softly-soothing fingers keep
Upon my weary lids: all night}
I toss'd, I turned from left to right}
Impatient for the morning light,}
That I might talk with you, and be
Again in your society.
But when my limbs, as 'twere half dead,
Were lying on my restless bed,
I made these lines--which, my good friend,
That you may know my pains, I send.
Now, though so free, so bold to dare,
So apt to scoff--good sir, beware
Lest with the eye of your disdain
You view these lines, my vow, my pain.
Beware of Nemesis, beware!--
For Vengeance, should I cry aloud--
She hears--and punishes the proud.
GRATIAN.--Those last lines are very grave: are they not too much so for
the intended play of this mock anger? Let us have your version, Master
Curate.
CURATE.--I am sure you think one version quite enough. I did not
translate it; and believe we must now turn over many pages, and then I
have little more to offer.
GRATIAN.--(Turning over the leaves of Catullus.) Here I see is that
beautiful passage in his "Carmen Nuptiale."
"Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis."
AQUILIUS.--Which did not escape the tasteful, though bold Ariosto. I
have made a weak attempt to translate the passage; and as it stands in
the middle of a long piece, I have taken it out as a sonnet. I will read
it:--