Aurelius & Furius, true comrades, whether Catullus penetrates to where in outermost India booms the eastern ocean's wonderful thunder; whether he stops with Arabs or Hyrcani, Parthian bowmen or nomadic Sagae; or goes to Egypt, which the Nile so richly dyes, overflowing; even if he should scale the lofty Alps, or summon to mind the mightiness of Caesar viewing the Gallic Rhine, the dreadful Britons at the world's far end-- you're both prepared to share in my adventures, and any others which the gods may send me. Back to my girl then, carry her this bitter message, these spare words: May she have joy & profit from her cocksmen, go down embracing hundreds all together, never with love, but without interruption wringing their balls dry; nor look to my affection as she used to, for she has left it broken, like a flower at the edge of a field after the plowshare brushes it, passing.
From The Poems of Catullus, translated by Charles Martin and published by Johns Hopkins University Press. © 1989 by Charles Martin. Used with permission. All rights reserved.