Lycoris has buried all the female friends she had, Fabianus:
would she were the friend of my wife!

Lycoris has buried all the female friends she had, Fabianus:
would she were the friend of my wife!

Sir Drake whom well the world's end knew
Which thou did'st compass round,
And whom both Poles read more

Sir Drake whom well the world's end knew
Which thou did'st compass round,
And whom both Poles of heaven once saw
Which North and South do bound,
The stars above would make thee known,
If men here silent were;
The sun himself cannot forget
His fellow traveller.

Since your legs, Phoebus, resemble the horns of the moon, you
might bathe your feet in a cornucopia.

Since your legs, Phoebus, resemble the horns of the moon, you
might bathe your feet in a cornucopia.

The diamond's virtues well might grace
The epigram, and both excel
In brilliancy in smallest space,
read more

The diamond's virtues well might grace
The epigram, and both excel
In brilliancy in smallest space,
And power to cut as well.

You are pretty,--we know it; and young,--it is true; and rich,--
who can deny it? But when you praise yourself read more

You are pretty,--we know it; and young,--it is true; and rich,--
who can deny it? But when you praise yourself extravagantly,
Fabulla, you appear neither rich, nor pretty, nor young.

Never think of leaving perfumes or wine to your heir. Administer
these yourself, and let him have your money.

Never think of leaving perfumes or wine to your heir. Administer
these yourself, and let him have your money.

And have you been able, Flaccus, to see the slender Thais? Then,
Flaccus, I suspect you can see what read more

And have you been able, Flaccus, to see the slender Thais? Then,
Flaccus, I suspect you can see what is invisible.

In whatever place you meet me, Postumus, you cry out immediately,
and your very first words are, "How do read more

In whatever place you meet me, Postumus, you cry out immediately,
and your very first words are, "How do you do?" You say this,
even if you meet me ten times in one single hour: you, Postumus,
have nothing, I suppose, to do.

Thou art so witty, profligate and thin,
At once we think thee Satan, Death and Sin.

Thou art so witty, profligate and thin,
At once we think thee Satan, Death and Sin.