Flavius' Girl

Flāvī, dēliciās tuās Catullō,

nī sint illepidae atque inēlegantēs,

vellēs dīcere nec tacēre possēs.

Vērum nescio quid febrīculōsī

scortī dīligis: hoc pudet fatērī.

Nam tē nōn viduās iacēre noctēs

nēquīquam tacitum cubīle clāmat

sertīs ac Syriō fragrāns olīvō,

pulvīnusque peraequē et hic et ille

attrītus, tremulīque quassa lectī

argūtātiō inambulātiōque.

Nam nīl stupra valet nihil tacēre.

Cūr? nōn tam latera ecfutūta pandās,

nī tū quid faciās ineptiārum.

Quārē, quidquid habēs bonī malīque,

dīc nōbīs. Volo tē ac tuōs amōrēs

ad caelum lepidō vocāre versū.

Translation

Flavius, of your darling to Catullus,

if she were not unpretty and inelegant,

you'd be wanting to speak nor could keep quiet.

But you love I don't know what of a feverish

harlot: it shames you to admit this.

For that you don't spend the nights single

your speechless bed screams in vain,

fragrant with garlands and Syrian oil,

and the mattress equally on this side and that

worn away, and the creaking and

movement of your shaking bed.

There's no point in being quiet about your debauchery.

Why, you wouldn't reveal such sexually tired

sides unless you were doing something silly.

So, whatever good and bad you have,

tell us. I want to summon you and

your love to heaven in my witty verse.

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