V4 Latijn: Catullus

An equal foe, pale envy, late drew near,

And thus suggested in Apollo's ear;

I hate the bard, who pours not forth his song,

In swelling numbers, loud, sublime, and strong;

No lofty lay should in low murmurs glide,

But wild as waves, and sounding as the tide.

Fierce with his foot, indignant Phoebus spurn'd

Th' invidious monster, and in wrath return'd;

Wide rolls Euphrates' wave, but foil'd with mud,

And dust and slime pollute the swelling flood:

For Ceres still the fair Melissæ bring

The purest water from the smallest spring,

That softly murm'ring creeps along the plain,

And falls, with gentle cadence, to the main.

Passer, deliciae meae puella,

quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere,

cui primum digitum dare appetenti

et acris solet incitare morsus,

cum desiderio meo nitenti

carum nescio quid lubet iocari,

et solaciolum sui doloris,

credo, ut tum gravis acquiescat ardor:

tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem

et tristis animi levare curas!

Passer, deliciae meae puella,

quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere,

cui primum digitum dare appetenti

et acris solet incitare morsus,

cum desiderio meo nitenti

carum nescio quid lubet iocari,

et solaciolum sui doloris,

credo, ut tum gravis acquiescat ardor:

tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem

et tristis animi levare curas!

Passer, deliciae meae puella,

quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere,

cui primum digitum dare appetenti

et acris solet incitare morsus,

cum desiderio meo nitenti

carum nescio quid lubet iocari,

et solaciolum sui doloris,

credo, ut tum gravis acquiescat ardor:

tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem

et tristis animi levare curas!