My mind's sunk so low, Claudia, because of you, wrecked itself on your account so bad already, that I couldn't like you if you were the best of women, -or stop loving you, no matter what you do.

Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!

Brother, hello and good-bye. Frater, ave atque vale

What women say to lovers, you'll agree, One writes on running water or on air.

Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all.

I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.

I write of youth, of love, and have access by these to sing of cleanly wantonness.