Lucius Seneca - Yale Required Reading - Collected Works (Vol. 2)

Son; his brother a fair lady, delightfuller yet.

Gallant sure is Gallus, a pair so dainty uniting;

Lovely the lady, the lad lovely, a company sweet.

Foolish sure is Gallus, an o'er-incurious husband;

Uncle, a wife once taught luxury, stops not at one.

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Lesbius, handsome is he. Why not? if Lesbia loves him

Far above all your tribe, angry Catullus, or you.

Only let all your tribe sell off, and follow, Catullus,

Kiss but his handsome lips children, a plenary three.

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What? not in all this city, Juventius, ever a gallant

Poorly to win love's fresh favour of amorous you,

Only the lack-love signor, a wretch from sickly Pisaurum,

Guest of your hearth, no gilt statue as ashy as he?

Now your very delight, whose faithless fancy Catullus

Banisheth, Ah light-reck'd lightness, apostasy vile!

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Wouldst thou, Quintius, have me a debtor ready to owe thee

Eyes, or if earth have joy goodlier any than eyes?

One thing take not from me, to me more goodly than even

Eyes, or if earth have joy goodlier any than eyes.

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Lesbia while her lord stands near, rails ever upon me.

This to the fond weak fool seemeth a mighty delight.

Dolt, you see not at all. Could she forget me, to rail not,

Nought were amiss; if now scold she, or if she revile,

'Tis not alone to remember; a shrewder stimulus arms her,

Anger; her heart doth burn verily, thus to revile.

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Stipends Arrius ever on opportunity shtipends , Ambush as hambush still Arrius used to declaim. Then, hoped fondly the words were a marvel of articulation, While with an h immense ' hambush ' arose from his heart. So his mother of old, so e'en spoke Liber his uncle, Credibly; so grandsire, grandam alike did agree.

Syria took him away; all ears had rest for a moment;

Lightly the lips those words, slightly could utter again.

None was afraid any more of a sound so clumsy returning;

Sudden a solemn fright seized us, a message arrives.

'News from Ionia country; the sea, since Arrius enter'd,

Changed; 'twas Ionian once, now 'twas Hionian all.'

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Half I hate, half love. How so? one haply requireth.

Nay, I know not; alas feel it, in agony groan.

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Lovely to many a man is Quintia; shapely, majestic,

Stately, to me; each point singly 'tis easy to grant.

'Lovely' the whole, I grant not; in all that bodily largeness,

Lives not a grain of salt, breathes not a charm anywhere.

Lesbia—she is lovely, an even temper of utmost

Beauty, that every charm stealeth of every fair.

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Ne'er shall woman avouch herself so rightly beloved,

Friend, as rightly thou art, Lesbia, lovely to me.

Ne'er was a bond so firm, no troth so faithfully plighted,

Such as against our love's venture in honour am I.

Now so sadly my heart, dear Lesbia, draws me asunder,

So in her own misspent worship uneasily lost,

Wert thou blameless in all, I may not longer approve thee,

Do anything thou wilt, cannot an enemy be.

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If to a man bring joy past service dearly remember'd,

When to the soul her thought speaks, to be blameless of ill;

Faith not rudely profan'd, nor in oath or charter abused

Heaven, a God's mis-sworn sanctity, deadly to men.

Then doth a life-long pleasure await thee surely, Catullus,

Pleasure of all this love's traitorous injury born.

Whatso a man may speak, whom charity leads to another,

Whatso enact, by me spoken or acted is all.

Waste on a traitorous heart, nor finding kindly requital.

Therefore cease, nor still bleed agoniz'd any more.

Make thee as iron a soul, thyself draw back from affliction.

Yea, tho' a God say nay, be not unhappy for aye.

What? it is hard long love so lightly to leave in a moment?

Hard; yet abides this one duty, to do it: obey.

Here lies safety alone, one victory must not fail thee.

One last stake to be lost haply, perhaps to be won.

O great Gods immortal, if you can pity or ever

Lighted above dark death's shadow, a help to the lost;

Ah! look, a wretch, on me; if white and blameless in all I

Liv'd, then take this long canker of anguish away.

If to my inmost veins, like dull death drowsily creeping,

Every delight, all heart's pleasure it wholly benumbs.

Not anymore I pray for a love so faulty returning,

Not that a wanton abide chastely, she may not again.

Only for health I ask, a disease so deadly to banish.

Gods vouchsafe it, as I ask, that am harmless of ill.

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Rufus, a friend so vainly believ'd, so wrongly relied in,

(Vainly? alas the reward fail'd not, a heavier ill;)

Could'st thou thus steal on me, a lurking viper, an aching

Fire to the bones, nor leave aught to delight any more?

Nought to delight any more! ah cruel poison of equal

Lives! ah breasts that grew each to the other awhile!

Yet far most this grieves me, to think thy slaver abhorred

Foully my own love's lips soileth, a purity rare.

Thou shalt surely atone thine injury: centuries harken,

Know thee afar; grow old, fame, to declare him anew.

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Gellius, how if a man in lust with a mother, a sister

Rioteth, one uncheck'd night, to iniquity bare?

How if a man's dark passion an aunt's own chastity spare not?

Canst thou tell what vast infamy lieth on him?

Infamy lieth on him, no farthest Tethys, or ancient

Ocean, of hundred streams father, abolisheth yet.

Infamy none o'ersteps, nor ventures any beyond it.

Not tho' a scorpion heat melt him, his own paramour.

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Gellius—he's full meagre. It is no wonder, a friendly

Mother, a sister is his loveable, healthy withal.

Then so friendly an uncle, a world of pretty relations.

Must not a man so blest meagre abide to the last?

Yea, let his hand touch only what hands touch only to trespass;

Reason enough to become meagre, enough to remain.

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Rise from a mother's shame with Gellius hatefully wedded,

One to be taught gross rites Persic, a Magian he.

Weds with a mother a son, so needs should a Magian issue,

Save in her evil creed Persia determineth ill.

Then shall a son, so born, chant down high favour of heaven,

Melting lapt in flame fatly the slippery caul.

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Think not a hope so false rose, Gellius, in me to find thee

Faithful in all this love's anguish ineffable yet,

For that in heart I knew thee, had in thee honour imagin'd,

Held thee a soul to abhor vileness or any reproach.

Only in her, I knew, thou found'st not a mother, a sister,

Her that awhile for love wearily made me to pine.

Yea tho' mutual use did bind us straitly together,

Scarcely methought could lie cause to desert me therein.

Thou found'st reason enow; so joys thy spirit in every

Shame, wherever is aught heinous, of infamy born.