Take Caecilius, him the tender-hearted Bard, my paper, a wish from his Catullus. Come from Larius, haste to leave the new-built Comum's watery city, seek Verona. Some particular intimate reflexions One would tell thee, a friend we love together. So he'll quickly devour the way, if only He's no b**by; for all a snowy maiden Chide imperious, and her hands around him Both in jealousy clasp'd, refuse departure. She, if only report the truth bely not, Doats, as hardly within her own possession. For since lately she read his high-preluding Queen of Dindymus, all her heart is ever Melting inly with ardour and with anguish. Maiden, laudable is that high emotion, Muse more rapturous, you, than any Sappho. The Great Mother he surely sings divinely.