So new, so smooth, my dainty book,
A gift for whom? Cornelius, look,
‘Tis yours: for you in early days
Were ever wont my rhymes to praise.[Cui dono lepidum novum libellum
arido modo pumice expolitum?
Corneli, tibi; namque tu solebas
meas esse aliquid putare nugas.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 1 “To Cornelius Nepos,” ll. 1-4 [tr. MacNaghten (1925)]
(Source)
Dedication of the collection (though the canonical collection of Catullus's poems is dubious in its provenance).
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
With pumice dry just polish'd fine,
To whom present this book of mine;
This little volume smart, and new? --
Cornelius, I will give it you:
For then you oft were wont to say
Some trifling merit had my lay.
[tr. Nott (1795)]
My little volume is complete,
With all the care and polish neat
That makes it fair to see:
To whom shall I then, to whose praise,
Inscribe my lively, graceful lays?
Cornelius, friend, to thee.
[tr. Lamb (1821)]
My little volume is complete,
And with the pumice made as neat
As tome need wish to be;
And now what patron shall I choose
For thee gay sallies of my muse?
Cornelius, whom but thee?
For though they are but trifles, thou
Some value didst to them allow.
[tr. T. Martin (1861), st. 1-2]
To what dear friend, say, shall I dedicate
My smart new book, just trimm'd with pumice dry?
To thee, Cornelius -- for, in years gone by,
Thou was accustom'd my light lays to rate
As something more than trifles.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]
My little book, that's neat and new,
Fresh polished with dry pumice stone,
To whom, Cornelius, but to you,
Shall this be sent, for you alone --
(Who used to praise my lines, my own) ....
[tr. Lang (1888)]
To thee (Cornelius!); for wast ever fain
To deem my trifles somewhat boon contain.
[tr. Burton (1893)]
To whom inscribe my charming new book -- just out and with ashen pumice polished? Cornelius, to you! for you used to deem my triflings of account.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]
To whom am I to present my pretty new book, freshly smoothed off with dry pumice stone? To you, Cornelius: for you used to think that my trifles were worth something, long ago.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]
To whom shall I offer this book, young and sprightly,
Neat, polished, wide-margined, and finished politely?
To you, my Cornelius ....
[tr. Stewart (1915)]
To whom shall I offer my new little book
Looking as polished as parchment can look?
Cornelius, to thee, for 'twa thou who didst prize
My trifles as something e'en then in thine eyes.
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923)]
To whom this dainty booklet polished new
With pumice stone? Cornelius, to you.
For you were wont my versicles to praise
As things of value in those bygone days.
[tr. Wright (1926), ch. 3]
Who shall receive my new-born book,
my poems, elegant and shy,
neatly dressed and polished?
You, Cornelius,
shall by my single patron,
for, long ago, you praised my slender lines and stanzas.
[tr. Gregory (1931)]
Whom do I give my neat little volume
slicked dry and made fashionable with pumice?
Cornelius, to you: remindful that you
used to dwell on my scantlings as something great.
[tr. Zukofsky (1959)]
To whom will I give this sophisticated,
abrasively accomplished new collection?
To you, Cornelius! You had the habit
of making much of my poetic little.
[tr. C. Martin (1979)]
To whom do I send this fresh little book
of wit, just polished off with dry pumice?
To you, Cornelius: since you were accustomed
to consider my trifles worth something
even then.
[tr. Kline (2001)]
To whom do I dedicate this charming slim volume,
just now polished with dry pumice stone?
For you Cornelius, for you were accustomed to think
that my scribblings were something.
[tr. Ozlem (2003)]
Who's the dedicatee of my new witty
booklet, all fresh-polished with abrasive?
You, Cornelius: for you always used to
feel my trivia possessed some substance.
[tr. Green (2005)]
To whom to give this charming little book
dryly polished with a pumice stone?
To you, Cornelius: you used to think
my trivial little scribbles worth a look.
[Source (2011)]
Who is it I should give my little book to,
So pretty in its pumice-polished covers?
Cornelius, I'll give my book to you:
Because you used to think my nothings somethings.
[tr. Ferry (2012)]
To whom do I give this pleasing new little book,
Just now smoothed with dry pumice?
To you, Cornelius: For you were accustomed
To consider my trifles to be something.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017)]
To whom do I give this elegant new booklet,
polished just now with dry pumice?
To you, Cornelius! Since you always
thought my doggerel was worth something.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]
Quotations by:
Catullus
Whatever then its value be,
Accept this little book from me;
And, o protecting Virgin, deign
It may for centuries remain![Quare habe tibi quidquid hoc libelli
qualecumque, quod, o patrona virgo,
plus uno maneat perenne saeclo.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 1 “To Cornelius Nepos,” ll. 8-10 [tr. Nott (1795), l. 11ff.]
(Source)
Dedicating the book to his friend and patron, as well as to Pallas Athena.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
Then take the book I now address,
Though small its size, its merit less,
'Tis all thy friend can give;
And let me, guardian Muse, implore
That when at least one age is o'er,
This volume yet may live.
[tr. Lamb (1821), st. 3]
Then take this little book, whae'er
Of good or bad it store;
And grant, oh guardian Muse, that it
May keep the flavour of its wit
A century or more.
[tr. T. Martin (1861), st. 3]
Wherefore accept my tiny leaves, I pray,
Such as they are, -- and, Patron Goddess, give
This boon: that still perennial they may live
After a century has roll'd away.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]
Therefore welcome it, yours the little outcast,
This slight volume. O yet, supreme awarder,
Virgin, save it in ages on for ever.
[tr. Ellis (1871), st. 4]
So take, whate'er its worth may be,
My Book, -- but, Lady and Queen of Song,
This one gift I crave of thee,
That it may live for ages long!
[tr. Lang (1888)]
Then take thee whatso in this booklet be,
Such as it is, whereto O Patron Maid
To live down Ages lend thou lasting aid!
[tr. Burton (1893)]
Therefore take this booklet, such as it is, and, O Virgin Patroness, may it outlive generations more than one.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]
So take and keep for your own this little book, such as it is, and whatever it is worth; and may it, O Virgin my patroness, live and last for more than one century.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]
Accept, therefore, this little book and all that it contains, such as it is; and, O guardian maiden, ordain that it shall outlive this generation.
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]
So take my small book -- if it meet with your favor,
The passing of years cannot dull its sweet savor.
[tr. Stewart (1915)]
Do thou then accept this booklet, I pray;
And grant, Virgin muse, that, if such be its worth,
It outlive the one age that has given it birth.
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923)]
Therefore the book how slight soe'er,
Be yours: and thou, kind Muse, prolong
More than one age my timeless song.
[tr. MacNaghten (1925)]
Wherefore, dear friend, this humble volume take,
With all its imperfections, for my sake;
Which with Minerva's favour yet may last
When you and I into the dust have passed.
[tr. Wright (1926)]
Then, take this little book
for what it is, my friend.
Patroness and Muse,
keep these poems green for
a day or so beyond a hundred years.
O Virgin!
[tr. Gregory (1931)]
And so it's yours; I hand this slim book over,
such as it is -- for the sake of its patron
may it survive a century or better.
[tr. C. Martin (1979)]
Then take this little book for your own: whatever
it is, and is worth: virgin Muse, patroness,
let it last, for more lives than one.
[tr. Kline (2001)]
For that reason have for yourself whatever this little book is,
and whatever you like, oh patron maiden,
let it last a long time, for more than one generation!
[tr. Ozlem (2003)]
So take this little booklet, this mere trifle,
whatever it may be worth -- and Patron Virgin,
let it outlast at least one generation!
[tr. Green (2005)]
Book of mine for what it’s worth; whatever;
And oh, patroness Virgin, grant that it shall
Live and survive beyond the century.
[tr. Ferry (2012)]
For this reason have for yourself whatever this is of a little book,
Such as it is; O virgin patron,
That it may endure for more than one age.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017)]
So keep for yourself this little book of some sort.
May it last, O generous goddess!,
more than one long age.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]
Ye Venuses and Cupids mourn,
Ye whom the graces most adorn,
Come, and your tears of sorrow shed:
My Lesbia’s little bird is dead.[Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque
et quantum est hominum venustiorum!
passer mortuus est meae puellae,
passer, deliciae meae puellae.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 3 “Death of the Sparrow,” ll. 1-4 [tr. Bliss (1872)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
Mourn all ye Loves! ye Graces mourn!
My Lesbia's fav'rite sparrow's gone!
Ye men for wit, for taste, preferr'd,
Lament my girl's departed bird!
[tr. Nott (1795)]
Mourn, all ye loves and graces; mourn,
Ye wits, ye gallant, and ye gay;
Death from my fair her bird has torn,
Her much-loved Sparrow's snatch'd away.
[tr. Lamb (1821)]
Loves and Graces, mourn with me,
Mourn, fair youths, where'er ye be!
Dead my Lesbia's sparrow is,
Sparrow, that was all her bliss.
[tr. T. Martin (1861)]
Ye Graces! mourn, oh mourn!
Mourn, Cupids Venus-born!
And loveliest sons of earth, where'er ye are !
Dead is now my darling's sparrow --
Sparrow of my "winsome marrow,"
Than her very eyes, oh! dearer to her far.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]
Weep each heavenly Venus, all the Cupids,
Weep all men that have any grace about ye.
Dead the sparrow, in whom my love delighted,
The dear sparrow, in whom my love delighted.
[tr. Ellis (1871)]
Weep every Venus, and all Cupids wail,
And men whose gentler spirits still prevail.
Dead is the Sparrow of my girl, the joy,
Sparrow, my sweeting's most delicious toy.
[tr. Burton (1893)]
O mourn, you Loves and Cupids, and all men of gracious mind. Dead is the sparrow of my girl, sparrow, darling of my girl.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]
Mourn, all ye Loves, ye Loves and Cupids, mourn,
Make moan for heaviness, ye gallants bright,
For Lesbia's bird, my Lesbia weeps forlorn;
He's dead -- poor, pretty bird -- my love's delight!
[tr. Harman (1897)]
Mourn, ye Graces and Loves, and all you whom the Graces love. My lady's sparrow is dead, the sparrow my lady's pet.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]
Mourn, all ye Graces, mourn, ye Sons of Love, and all whose hearts engender pity. The sparrow of my beloved is no more; that sparrow, the delight of my beloved.
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]
Weep, weep, ye Loves and Cupids all,
And ilka Man o’ decent feelin’:
My lassie’s lost her wee, wee bird,
And that’s a loss, ye’ll ken, past healin’.
[tr. Davies (1912)]
Let Venus bow her head in grief,
And tears drown Cupid's eyes in sorrow,
And men of feeling everywhere
Forget to smile -- until tomorrow.
My lady's little bird lies dead,
The bird that was my lady's prize.
[tr. Stewart (1915)]
Weep, ye gods of love and pleasure,
Weep, all all ye of finer clay,
Weep, my darling's lost her treasure,
Mourn her sparrow passed away!
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923)]
Mourn Loves and Graces all, and you
Of men the lovelier chosen few.
The sparrow of my love is dead,
The playmate of my love is sped.
[tr. MacNaghten (1925)]
Dress now in sorrow, O all
you shades of Venus,
and your little cupids weep.
My girl has lost her darling sparrow.
[tr. Gregory (1931)]
Lament, o graces of Venus, and Cupids,
and cry out loud, men beloved by Her graces.
Pass here, it's dead, meant so much to my girl, the
sparrow, the jewel that delighted my girl.
[tr. Zukofsky (1959)]
Mourn, oh Cupids and Venuses,
and whatever there is of rather pleasing men:
the sparrow of my girlfriend has died,
the sparrow, delight of my girl.
[tr. Sullvan (1997)]
Mourn, O you Loves and Cupids
and such of you as love beauty:
my girl’s sparrow is dead,
sparrow, the girl’s delight.
[tr. Kline (2001)]
Mourn, Cupids all, every Venus,
and whatever company still exists of caring people:
Sparrow lies dead, my own true sweegheart's sparrow.
[tr. Green (2005)]
Mourn, Oh Venuses and Cupids
And all men of finer feeling
The sparrow of my girl has died,
the sparrow, my lady's pet.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017)]
Mourn, O Venuses and Cupids
and however many there are of more charming people:
my girl's sparrow is dead --
the sparrow, delight of my girl.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]
But now in the shadows
It goes to the bourne
Of Orcus remorseless
Whence none may return.[Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum
Illuc unde negant redire quemquam.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 3 “Death of the Sparrow,” ll. 11-12 [tr. Wright (1926), st. 4]
(Source)
Referring to the fate of his beloved Lesbia's beloved sparrow.
See also Shakepeare, Hamlet, Art 3, ll. 86-88.
Death,
That undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveler returns.
There is no particular evidence that Shakespeare ever read Catullus, but other ancients (e.g., Seneca) quoted these lines from this Carmina. At the same time, post-Shakespearean translators may have been themselves influenced by the Bard's lines in their translations.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
Poor bird! who now that darksome bourn
Hast pass'd, whence none can e'er return.
[tr. Nott (1795), ll. 13-14]
He now that gloomy path must trace,
Whence Fate permits return to none.
[tr. Lamb (1821), st. 3]
Now he treads that gloomy track,
Whence none ever may come back.
[tr. T. Martin (1861)]
Now to that dreary bourn
Whence none can e'er return,
Poor little sparrow wings his weary flight.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]
Now he wendeth along the mirky pathway,
Whence, they tell us, is hopeless all returning.
[tr. Ellis (1871)]
Now he has gone to that dark place,
Whose dismal pathway none retrace.
[tr. Bliss (1872)]
Now must he wander o'er the darkling way
Thither, whence life-return the Fates denay.
[tr. Burton (1893)]
Now it fares along that path of shadows from where nothing may ever return.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]
Now, hs pretty doings o'er,
His little soul goes darkling whither all
Must go, and, going, may return no more.
[tr. Harman (1897)]
Now he goes along the dark road, thither whence they say no one returns.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]
The wee thing’s gane the shadowy road
That’s never traveled back by ony:
[tr. Davies (1912)]
Now he travels the path of shadows, to that place, whence all men agree there is no return.
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]
Now does it seek the darksome way,
Whence none return nor message bring.
[tr. Stewart (1915), st. 4]
Now he's journeying through the eternal
Darkness, to the relentless shades.
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923), st. 4]
And now he journeys whence they say
No steps retrace the darkling way.
[tr. MacNaghten (1925)]
Now he is gone; poor creature,
lost in darkness,
to a sad place
from which no one returns.
[tr. Gregory (1931), st. 3]
Who now? It's hard to walk through tenebrous flume
down there, where it is granted not one comes back.
[tr. Zukofsky (1959)]
It now flits off on its way, goes, gloom-laden
down to where -- word is -- there is no returning.
[tr. C. Martin (1979)]
Who now goes through that gloomy journey
from whence they denied anyone returns.
[tr. Sullivan (1997)]
Now he goes down the shadowy road
from which they say no one returns.
[tr. Kline (2001)]
Now he's traveling on that dark-shroud journey whence, they tell us, none of the departed ever returns.
[tr. Green (2005)]
It now goes through the dark journey
to that place from where they deny that anyone returns.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017)]
He who now goes through the shadowy journey
thither, whence they deny that anyone returns.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]
Come, let us live and love, my dear,
A fig for all the pratings drear
Of sour old sages, worldly wise.
Aye, suns may set again to rise;
But as for us, when once our sun
His little course of light has run,
An endless night we’ll sleep away.
[Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus
rumoresque senum severiorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis
soles occidere et redire possunt:
nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,
nox est perpetua una dormienda.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 5 “To Lesbia,” ll. 1-6 [tr. Stewart (1915)]
(Source)
One of Catulllus' most popular and widely-translated poems.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
Come and let us live, my Deare,
Let us love and never feare
What the sourest Fathers say:
Brightest Sol that dyes to-day
Lives againe as blithe to-morrow;
But if we darke sons of sorrow
Set, ô then, how long a Night
Shuts the Eyes of our short light!
[tr. Crashaw (1648)]
Lesbia, live to love and pleasure,
Careless what the grave may say:
When each moment is a treasure
Why should lovers lose a day?
Setting suns shall rise in glory,
But when little life is o'er,
There's an end of all the story --
We shall sleep, and wake no more.
[tr. Langhorne (c. 1765)]
Let's live, and love, my darling fair!
And not a single farthing care
For age's babbling spite;
Yon suns that set again shall rise,
but, when our transient meteor dies,
We sleep in endless night.
[tr. Nott (1795)]
My Lesbia, let us love and live,
And to the winds, my Lesbia, give
Each cold restraint, each boding fear
Of age and all her saws severe.
Yon sun now posting to the main
Will set -- but 'tis to rise again: --
But we, when once our mortal light
Is set, must sleep in endless night!
[tr. Coleridge (1798)]
Love, my Lesbia, while we live,
Value all the cross advice
That the surly greybeards give
At a single farthing's price.
Suns that set again may rise;
We, when once our fleeting light,
Once our day in darkness dies,
Sleep in one eternal night.
[tr. Lamb (1821)]
Live we, love we, Lesbia dear,
And the stupid saws austere,
Which your sour old dotards prate,
Let us at a farthing rate!
When the sun sets, ' tis to rise
Brighter in the morning skies;
But, when sets our little light,
We must sleep in endless night.
[tr. T. Martin (1861)]
The while we live, to love let's give
Each hour, my winsome dearie!
Hence, churlish rage of icy age!
Of love we 'll ne'er grow weary.
Bright Phoebus dies, again to rise;
Returns life's brief light never;
When once 'tis gone, we slumber on
For ever and for ever.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]
Living, Lesbia, we should e'en be loving.
Sour severity, tongue of eld maligning,
All be to us a penny's estimation.
Suns set only to rise again to-morrow.
We, when sets in a little hour the brief light,
Sleep one infinite age, a night for ever.
[tr. Ellis (1871)]
Love we (my Lesbia!) and live we our day,
While all stern sayings crabbed sages say,
At one doit's value let us price and prize!
The Suns can westward sink again to rise
But we, extinguished once our tiny light,
Perforce shall slumber through one lasting night!
[tr. Burton (1893)]
Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love, and count all the rumors of stern old men at a penny's fee. Suns can set and rise again: we when once our brief light has set must sleep through a perpetual night.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]
Come, my Lesbia, no repining;
Let us love while yet we may!
Suns go on forever shining;
But when we have had our day,
Sleep perpetual shall o'ertake us,
And no morrow's dawn awake us.
[tr. Field (1896)]
Let us live, my Lesbia, and love, and value at one farthing all the talk of crabbed old men.
Suns may set and rise again. For us, when the short light has once set, remains to be slept the sleep of one unbroken night.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]
Let us live, my Lesbia, let us love, for the reprobation of soured age let us not care a sou. Suns can set and rise again; but to our brief light, when once it sets, there comes a never-ending night that must be passed in never-ending sleep.
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]
We live, Lesbia,
And we love, Lesbia,
And what do we care what the world may say?
The sun goes down,
And the sun comes up,
But our little lives pass away
In a day,
Our poor little lives pass away.
[tr. Dement (1915)]
Let us revel in life and love, my darling;
All that crabbed antiquities say idly
We will value together at a farthing.
Suns may set , and return again as brightly:
When our light to its dying spark has fluttered,
We must sleep an eternity of slumber.
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923)]
O! let us love and have our day,
All that the bitter greybeards say
Appraising at a single mite.
My Lesbia , suns can set and rise:
For us the brief light dawns and dies
Once only, and the rest is night.
[tr. MacNaghten (1925)]
Come let us live and let us love,
And the stern voice of censors prove,
Who bid us from our loving cease,
Exactly worth a penny piece.
For suns can rise and suns can wane
And on the morrow rise again;
But when our one brief day is gone,
For ever we must sleep alone.
[tr. Wright (1926)]
Come, Lesbia, let us live and love,
nor give a damn what sour old men say.
The sun that sets may rise again
but when our light has sunk into the earth,
it is gone forever.
[tr. Gregory (1931)]
Lesbia, let us live only for loving,
and let us value at a single penny
all the loose flap of senile busybodies!
Suns when they set are capable of rising,
but at the setting of our on brief light
night is one sleep from which we never awaken.
[tr. C. Martin (1979)]
Let us live, my Lesbia, let us love,
and all the words of the old, and so moral,
may they be worth less than nothing to us!
Suns may set, and suns may rise again:
but when our brief light has set,
night is one long everlasting sleep.
[tr. Kline (2001)]
Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and let us judge all the rumors of the old men
to be worth just one penny!
The suns are able to fall and rise:
When that brief light has fallen for us,
we must sleep a never ending night.
[tr. Negenborn (1997)]
Let's live, Lesbia mine, and love --
and as for scandal, all the gossip, old men's strictures,
value the lot at no more than a farthing!
Suns can rise and set ad infinitum --
for us, though, once our bref life's quenched,
there's only one unending night that's left to sleep through.
[tr. Green (2005)]
Come live with me, Lesbia, and be my love,
And ignore the wagging tongues
Of wilted crones and toothless geezers.
Suns rise and set, rise and set again,
But we, when our brief light is blacked,
Must sleep forever, and then forever.
[tr. Hager (2006)]
My Lesbia, let’s live and let’s love,
Let all the rumors of harsh old men
count for only a penny.
Suns can set and rise again:
but when our brief light sets
we must sleep a lonely endless night.
[tr. @sentantiq (2015)]
Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and let's value all the rumors
of rather stern old men as one penny!
Suns can set and return;
as for us, once our brief light sets,
there is one perpetual night to be slept.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017)]
Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and let us value all the rumors of
more severe old men at only a penny!
Suns are able to set and return:
when once the short light has set for us
one perpetual night must be slept by us.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]
Compare also these two pieces, which start modeled after Catullus (as shown):
My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love;
And though the sager sort our deeds reprove,
Let us not weigh them: Heaven's great lamps do dive
Into their west, and straight again revive,
But, soon as once set is our little light,
Then must we sleep one ever-during night.
[Thomas Campion, A Book of Airs (1601)]
Come my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever,
He at length our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain;
Suns that set may rise again,
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
[Ben Jonson, Volpone, Act 3, sc. 6 (1616)]
Then kiss me, sweet, while kiss we may.
A thousand kisses, hundreds then.
And straightway we’ll begin again —
Another thousand, hundreds more.
And still a thousand as before.
Till hundred thousands we shall kiss.
And lose all count in drunken bliss,
Lest green-eyed envy, in dull spite,
Should steal away our deep delight.
[Da mi basia mille, deinde centum,
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,
deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum,
dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,
conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,
aut ne quis malus invidere possit,
cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 5 “To Lesbia,” ll. 8-14 [tr. Stewart (1915)]
(Source)
One of Catulllus' most popular and widely-translated poems.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
Then let amorous kisses dwell
On our lips, begin and tell
A thousand, and a Hundred score,
An Hundred and a Thousand more,
Till another Thousand smother
That, and that wipe off another.
Thus at last when we have numbred
Many a Thousand, many a Hundred,
We'll confound the reckoning quite,
And lose ourselves in wild delight:
While our joyes so multiply
As shall mocke the envious eye.
[tr. Crashaw (1648)]
Give me, then, a thousand kisses,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Till the sum of boundless blisses
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Neither we nor envy know.
[tr. Langhorne (c. 1765)]
Then first a thousand kisses give,
An hundred let me next receive,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Another thousand yet;
To these a second hundred join,
Still be another thousand mine,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
An hundred then repeat:
Such countless thousands let there be,
Sweetly confus'd ; that even we
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
May know not the amount;
That envy, so immense a store
Beholding, may not have the pow'r
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Each various kiss to count.
[tr. Nott (1795)]
Then come, with whom alone I'll live,
A thousand kisses take and give!
Another thousand! to the store
Add hundreds -- then a thousand more!
And when they to a million mount,
Let confusion take the account, --
That you, the number never knowing,
May continue still bestowing
That I for joys may never pine,
Which never can again be mine!
[tr. Coleridge (1798)]
Give me kisses thousand-fold,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Add to them a hundred more;
Other thousands still be told
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Other hundreds o'er and o'er.
But, with thousands when we burn,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Mix, confuse the sums at last,
That we may not blushing learn
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
All that have between us past.
None shall know to what amount
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Envy's due for so much bliss;
None -- for none shall ever count
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
All the kisses we will kiss.
[tr. Lamb (1821)]
Give me then a thousand kisses,
Add a hundred to my blisses,
Then a thousand more, and then
Add a hundred once again.
Crown me with a thousand more,
Give a hundred as before,
Then kiss on without cessation,
Till we lose all calculation,
And no envy mar our blisses,
Hearing of such heaps of kisses.
[tr. T. Martin (1861)]
Then, charmer mine, with lip divine!
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Give me a thousand kisses;
A hundred then, then hundreds ten,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Then other hundred blisses.
Lip thousands o'er, sip hundreds more
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
With panting ardour breathing;
Fill to the brim love's cup, its rim
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
With rosy blossoms wreathing.
We'll mix them then, lest to our ken
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Should come our store of blisses,
Or envious wight should know, and blight
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
So many honey' d kisses.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]
Thousand kisses, anon to these an hundred,
Thousand kisses again, another hundred,
Thousand give me again, another hundred.
Then once heedfully counted all the thousands,
We'll uncount them as idly; so we shall not
Know, nor traitorous eye shall envy, knowing
All those myriad happy many kisses.
[tr. Ellis (1871)]
Kiss me a thousand times, then hundred more,
Then thousand others, then a new five-score,
Still other thousand other hundred store.
Last when the sums to many thousands grow,
The tale let's trouble till no more we know,
Nor envious wight despiteful shall misween us
Knowing how many kisses have been kissed between us.
[tr. Burton (1893)]
Give me a thousand kisses, and then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then another thousand without resting, then a hundred. Then, when we have made many thousands, we will confuse the count lest we know the numbering, so that no one can cast an evil eye on us through knowing the number of our kisses.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]
Come, in yonder nook reclining,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Where the honeysuckle climbs,
Let us mock at Fate's designing,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Let us kiss a thousand times!
And if they shall prove too few, dear,
When they're kissed we'll start anew, dear!
And should any chance to see us,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Goodness! how they'll agonize!
How they'll wish that they could be us,
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Kissing in such liberal wise!
Never mind their envious whining;
Come, my Lesbia, no repining!
[tr. Field (1896)]
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then yet another thousand, then a hundred. Then, when we have made up many thousands, we will confuse our counting, that we may not know the reckoning, nor any malicious person blight them with evil eye, when he knows that our kisses are so many.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]
Give me then a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then still another thousand, then one more hundred, then when we have had many a thousand, let us jostle them up, so that we may not keep count and no jealous-eyed person may envy us, knowing the number of our kisses.
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]
Then oh my Lesbia!
Live and love!
Quick to my arms, and quick to my heart!
A thousand kisses!
Ten thousand kisses!
Have done with a million! Then start
Again; for I fear
Some wretch may envy us, dear,
[tr. Dement (1915)]
Come then , give me of kisses now a hundred,
Then a thousand and then yet hundreds other;
When our kisses their many thousands measure,
Blot the score out and reckon it as nothing,
Lest some evil eye paralyse our pleasure,
Seeing jealously such a wealth of loving.
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923)]
A thousand kisses, then five score,
A thousand and a hundred more,
Then one for each you gave before.
Then, as the many thousands grow,
We'll wreck the counting lest we know,
Or lest an evil eye prevail
Through knowledge of the kisses' tale.
[tr. MacNaghten (1925)]
Let me a hundred kisses take
And then of them a thousand make,
A hundred and a thousand more
Repeated twice shall swell the score.
But when to thousands we shall get,
We will the reckoning upset;
That none may envy us our bliss
Knowing the number of each kiss.
[tr. Wright (1926)]
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
Give me a thousand kisses,
then a hundred, another thousand,
another hundred
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
and in one breath
still kiss another thousand,
another hundred.
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
O then with lips and bodies joined
many deep thousands;
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
confuse
their number
Twice ten thousand more bestow,
so that poor fools and cuckolds (envious
even now) shall never
learn our wealth and curse us
with their
evil eyes.
[tr. Gregory (1931)]
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,
another thousand next, another hundred,
a thousand without pause & then a hundred,
until when we have run up our thousands
we will cry bankrupt, hiding our assets
from ourselves & any who would harm us,
knowing the volume of our trade in kisses.
[tr. C. Martin (1979)]
Give me a thousand kisses, a hundred more,
another thousand, and another hundred,
and, when we’ve counted up the many thousands,
confuse them so as not to know them all,
so that no enemy may cast an evil eye,
by knowing that there were so many kisses.
[tr. Kline (2001)]
Give me a thousand kisses, then another hundred,
then another thousand, then a second hundred,
then yet another thousand more, then another hundred.
Then, when we have made many thousands,
we will mix them all up so that we don't know,
and so that no one can be jealous of us when he finds out
how many kisses we have shared.
[tr. Negenborn (1997)]
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,
then a thousand more, a second hundred,
then yet another thousand then a hundred
then when we've notched up all these many thousands,
shuffle the figures, lose count of the total,
so no maleficent enemy can hex us
knowing the final sum of all our kisses.
[tr. Green (2005)]
So kiss me, Sweet, and kiss me plenty:
First a thousand, then a hundred kisses;
Then catch your breath and kiss me more:
Another thousand, another hundred,
Still thousands yet till we've lost all count
And must begin again, keeping
Envious others guessing the sum
Of how many kisses much we love.
[tr. Hager (2006)]
Give me a thousand kisses and then a hundred,
then another thousand and a second hundred,
And even then another thousand, a hundred more.
When we’ve had so many thousands,
we will mix them together so we don’t know,
so that no wicked man can feel envy
when he knows what a number of kisses there’ve been.
[tr. @sentantiq (2015)]
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,
then a thousand others, then a second hundred,
then up to a thousand others, then a hundred.
Then, when we have made many thousands,
we will mix them up, lest we should know,
--or lest any evil person should be able to envy us
when he knows--how many kisses there are.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017)]
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,
then another thousand, then a second hundred,
then immediately a thousand then a hundred.
then, when we will have made many thousand kisses,
we will throw them into confusion, lest we know,
or lest anyone bad be able to envy
when he knows there to be so many kisses.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]
Oh what is more blest than when the mind
Cares dispelled, puts down its burden
And we returned, tired from our travelling, to our home
To rest on the bed we have longed for?[O quid solutis est beatius curis
cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino
labore fessi venimus larem ad nostrum,
desideratoque adquiescimus lecto?]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Poem 31, ll. 7-10