pugnare Thracum est: tollite barbarum
morem, verecundumque Bacchum
sanguineis prohibete rixis.
Vino et lucernis Medus acinaces
immane quantum discrepat: impium
lenite clamorem, sodales,
et cubito remanete presso.
Vultis severi me quoque sumere
partem Falerni? Dicat Opuntiae
frater Megillae, quo beatus
vulnere, qua pereat sagitta.
Cessat voluntas? Non alia bibam
mercede. Quae te cumque comat Venus,
non erubescendis adurit
ignibus igenuoque semper
amore peccas. Quicquid habes, age,
depone tutis auribus. A miser,
quanta laborabas Charybdi,
digne puer meliore flamma!
Quae saga, quis te solvere Thessalis
magus venenis, quis poterit deus?
Vix illigatum te triformi
Pegasus expediet Chimaera.
It is Thracian to fight with bowls made for
the use of happiness: toss away the barbaric
custom, and defend modest Bacchus
from bloody battles.
How greatly the Persian dagger is at odds
with wine and oil lamps: calm the
impious shouting, friends,
and remain on your pressed elbows.
You wish me to likewise take up a part of
stern Falernian wine? The brother of
Opus will speak, by which wound he is
blessed, by which arrow he is wounded.
Does desire withdraw? I will drink for no other
price. With whom does Venus tame you,
she burns with no fires that you need blush
for and she always blunders with natural
love. Whatever you have, come on,
put it down on safe ears. Oh wretched one,
you labored over such a Charybdis,
boy worthy of better flame!
Which witch, which magician, which god is able
to release you from Thessalian poisons?
Pegasus will scarcely free you entangled
with a tri-formed Chimaera.
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