Cornificius! 'Tis ill with thy Catullus,
'Tis ill (by Hercules) distressfully:
Iller and iller every day and hour.
Whose soul (as smallest boon and easiest)
With what of comfort hast thou deign'd console? 5
Wi' thee I'm angered! Dost so prize my love?
Yet some consoling utterance had been well
Though sadder 'twere than Simonídean tears.
'Tis ill, Cornificius, with thy Catullus, 'tis ill, by Hercules, and most
untoward; and greater, greater ill, each day and hour! And thou, what
solace givest thou, e'en the tiniest, the lightest, by thy words? I'm wroth
with thee. Is my love but worth this? Yet one little message would cheer
me, though more full of sadness than Simonidean tears.