No, Melixo, little musician, thou art an honest friend. Yesterday thou didst not refuse to change thy flute for another when I despaired of accomplishing a love full of difficulties. But thou art safe. For I know well of what thou thinkest. Thou awaitest the end of this night of excesses which animates thee cruelly and in vain, and, at the first dawn, thou wilt run in the street, with thine only friend Psyllos, to thy little broken mattress. CXVI THE WARM GIRDLE “Thou thinkest thou lovest me no longer, Teleas, and since a month thou hast passed thy nights at the table, as though the fruits, the wines, the honey, could make thee forget my lips. Thou thinkest that thou lovest me no longer, poor fool!” Saying that, I loosened my moist girdle and I rolled it about his head. It was still quite warm with the heat of my body; the perfume of my skin issued from its fine meshes. He breathed it deeply, his eyes closed, then I felt that he returned to me and I even saw very clearly his reawakening desires that he hid not from me, but, as a ruse, I resisted him. “No, my friend. This evening, Lysippos possesses me. Farewell!” And I added, as I fled: “O gormand of fruits and greens! the little garden of Bilitis has only one fig, but it is good.” CXVII TO A HAPPY HUSBAND I envy thee, Agorakrites, for having a wife so zealous. It is she herself who attends to the stable, and in the morning, in place of making love, she gives drink to the cattle. Thou shouldst rejoice in her. How many others, wouldst thou say, dream of base pleasures, waking the night, sleeping the day, and yet demanding from adultery a criminal satiety? Yes; thy wife labors in the stable. They say even that she has a thousand tendernesses for the youngest of thine asses. Ah! Ha! there is a good animal. He has a black spot over his eyes. They say that she plays between his hoofs, under his soft gray belly.... But those who say that are slanderers. If thine ass pleases her, Agorakrites, it is without doubt that she recalls thy look in his. CXVIII TO A WANDERER The love of women is the most beautiful of all that mortals experience, and thou wouldst think so, Kleo, if thou hadst a truly voluptuous soul; but thou dreamest only vanities. Thou losest thy nights in cherishing youths who are ungrateful to us. Therefore regard them! How ugly they are! Compare to their round heads, our thick hair; seek our white breasts upon their chests. Beside their narrow flanks, consider our luxuriant hips, broad, hollowed couches for lovers. Say, above all, what human lips, except hers who wishes it, can elaborate the pleasures?