d aught sweet or tender ariseth,
Calvus, of our dim grief's common humanity born;
When to a love long cold some pensive pity recals us,
When for a friend long lost wakes some unhappy regret;
Not so deeply, be sure, Quintilia's early departing 5
Grieves her, as in thy love dureth a plenary joy.

XCVIII.

Asks some booby rebuke, some prolix prattler a judgment?
Vettius, all were said verily truer of you.
Tongue so noisome as yours, come chance, might surely on order
Bend to the mire, or lick dirt from a beggarly shoe.
Would you on all of us, all, bring, Vettius, utterly ruin? 5
Speak; not a doubt, 'twill come utterly, ruin on all.

XCIX.

Dear one, a kiss I stole, while you did wanton a-playing,
Sweet ambrosia, love, never as honily sweet.

Dearly the deed I paid for; an hour's long misery waning
Ended, as I agoniz'd hung to the point of a cross,
Hoping vain purgation; alas! no potion of any 5
Tears could abate that fair angriness, youthful as you.

Hardly the sin was in act, your lips did many a falling
Drop dilute, which anon every finger away
Cleansed apace, lest still my mouth's infection abiding
Stain, like slaver abhorr'd breath'd from a foul fricatrice. 10

Add, that a booty to love in misery me to deliver
You did spare not, a fell worker of all agonies,
So that, again transmuted, a kiss ambrosia seeming
Sugary, turn'd to the strange harshness of harsh hellebore.

Then such dolorous end since your poor lover awaiteth, 15
Never a kiss will I venture, a theft any more.

C.

Quintius, Aufilena; to Caelius, Aufilenus;
Lovers each, fair flower either of youths Veronese.
One to the brother bends, and one to the sister. A noble
Friendship, if e'er was true friendship, a rare brotherhood.

Ask me to which I lean? You, Caelius: yours a devotion 5
Single, a faith of tried quality, steady to me;
Into my inmost veins when love sank fiercely to burn them.
Mighty be your bright love, Caelius, happy be you!

CI.

Borne o'er many a land, o'er many a level of ocean,
Here to the grave I come, brother, of holy repose,
Sadly the last poor gifts, death's simple duty, to bring thee;
Unto the silent dust vainly to murmur a