GRATIAN.--Ah! it is an old story--and not the worse for that--come, Mr Curate, show up Catullus in his true motley. He was privileged at his age to play the fool--so are we all at one time or another, if we do it not too wisely. A wise fool is the only Asinine.--Now for Catullus's folly. CURATE.--Thus, then, to himself:-- AD CATULLUM. Sad Catullus, cease your moan, Or your folly you'll deplore; What you see no more your own, Think of as your own no more. Once the suns shone on you clearly, When it was your wont to go Seeking her you loved so dearly,-- Will you e'er love woman so? Then those coquetries amusing Were consented to by both-- Done at least of your free choosing, Nor was she so very loth. Then, indeed, the suns shone clearly, Now their light is half gone out; She is loth--and you can merely Learn the way to do without. Cease, then, your untimely wooing, Steel your purpose, and be strong; If she flies you, why, pursuing, Make your sorrow vain and long? Farewell, Fair!--Catullus hardens; Where he is, will he remain; He is not a man who pardons One that must be asked again. She'll be sad in turn, the charmer, When the shades of eventide Bring no gallants to alarm her, No Catullus to her side. Lost to every sense of duty, Say, what can you, will you do? Who'll find out that you have beauty? Who'll be loved in turn by you? Whose will you be called of right? Whom will you in future kiss? Whose lips will you have to bite?-- O Catullus, keep to this! GRATIAN.--Well, now, I think your choice of metre a little too much of the measured elegiac, for the bursts of alternate passion, love, and anger--those sudden breaks of vexation, which I see, or fancy I see, in the original Latin. Now, Aquilius, let us hear you personate the "vexed lover." AQUILIUS. AD SEIPSUM.