PENTADII. Non est, fulleris, haec beata non est Quod vos creditis esse, vita non est: Fulgentes manibus videre gemmas Et testudineo jacere lecto, Aut pluma latus abdidisse molli, Aut auro bibere, aut cubare cocco; Regales dapibus gravare mensas, Et quicquid Lybico secatur arvo; Non una positum tenere cella: Sed nullos trepidum timere casus, Nec vano populi favore tangi, Et stricto nihil aestuare ferro: Hoc quisquis poterit, licebit illi Fortunam moveat loco superbus. ENGLISHED. It is not, y' are deceav'd, it is not blisse What you conceave a happy living is: To have your hands with rubies bright to glow, Then on your tortoise-bed your body throw, And sink your self in down, to drink in gold, And have your looser self in purple roll'd; With royal fare to make the tables groan, Or else with what from Lybick fields is mown, Nor in one vault hoard all your magazine, But at no cowards fate t' have frighted bin; Nor with the peoples breath to be swol'n great, Nor at a drawn stiletto basely swear. He that dares this, nothing to him's unfit, But proud o' th' top of fortunes wheel may sit. <--------------------> AD M. T. CICERONEM. CATUL EP. 50. Disertissime Romuli nepotum, Quot sunt, quotque fuere, Marce Tulli, Quotque post alios erunt in annos, Gratias tibi maximas Catullus Agit, pessimus omnium poeta: Tanto pessimus omnium poeta, Quanto tu optimus omnium patronus. TO MARCUS T. CICERO. IN AN ENGLISH PENTASTICK. Tully to thee, Rome's eloquent sole heir, The best of all that are, shall be, and were, I the worst poet send my best thanks and pray'r: Ev'n by how much the worst of poets I, By so much you the best of patrones be. <--------------------> AD JUVENCIUM. CAT. EP. 49. Mellitos oculos tuos, Juvenci, Si quis me sinat usque basiare, Usque ad millia basiem trecenta; Nec unquam videat satur futurus: Non si densior aridis aristis, Sit nostrae seges osculationis. TO JUVENCIUS. Juvencius, thy fair sweet eyes If to my fill that I may kisse, Three hundred thousand times I'de kisse, Nor future age should cloy this blisse; No, not if thicker than ripe ears The harvest of our kisses bears. <--------------------> DE PUERO ET PRAECONE. CATUL. Cum puero bello praeconem qui videt esse, Quid credat, nisi se vendere discupere? CATUL. With a fair boy a cryer we behold, What should we think, but he would not be sold?<99.1> <99.1> Lovelace has made nonsense of this passage. We ought to read rather, "but that he would be sold!" <--------------------> PORTII LICINII. Si Phoebi soror es, mando tibi, Delia, causam, Scilicet, ut fratri quae peto verba feras: Marmore Sicanio struxi tibi, Delphice, templum, Et levibus calamis candida verba dedi. Nunc, si nos audis, atque es divinus Apollo, Dic mihi, qui nummos non habet unde petat.