Robinson Ellis - Catullus (Part XIV) lyrics

Calvus, save that as eyes thou art beloved, I could verily loathe thee for the morning's Gift, Vatinius hardly more devoutly. Slain with poetry! done to d**h with abjects! O what syllable earn'd it, act allow'd it? Gods, your malison on the sorry client Sent that rascally rabble of malignants. Yet, if, freely to guess, the gift recherché Some grammarian, haply Sulla, sent thee; I repine not; a dear delight, a triumph This, thy drudgery thus to see rewarded. Gods! an horrible and a deadly volume! Sent so faithfully, friend, to thy Catullus, Just to k** him upon a day, the festive, Saturnalia, best of all the season. Sure, a drollery not without requital. For, come dawn, to the cases and the bookshops I; there gather a Caesius and Aquinus, With Suffenus, in every wretch a poison: Such plague-prodigy thy remuneration! Now good-morrow! away with evil omen Whence ill destiny lamely bore ye, clumsy Poet-rabble, an age's execration!