Catullus To Himself. Miser Catulle, Desinas Ineptire. Poem by Nicholas Amhurst

At length, Catullus, give thy Follies o'er,
Nor vainly wish lost Pleasures to restore;
Thou hast indeed been blest with golden Days,
And Suns have rose with more auspicious Rays,
While frequently thy lov'd one thou didst see,
More lov'd, than any other shall, by me.
All then was Mirth, and Joy succeeding Joy,
For ever new, nor was thy Charmer coy:
Your Sighs she heard, was to your Wishes kind,
And to your Will she constantly resign'd:

Then wast thou bless'd indeed with golden Days,
Then the Suns rose with more auspicious Rays:

But since the false one thy Embraces flies,
Do thou contemn the Joy, which she denies,
Court not against her Will the servile Kiss,
Nor in a fickle Woman place thy Bliss:
Turn from thy manly Breast the faithless Dame,
Assert thy Freedom, and subdue thy Flame.

'Tis done, my childish Follies I give o'er,
Adieu, vain thing! Catullus sighs no more;
No more to thee he sighs, nor tamely sues,
For what, in scornful Pride, thou dost refuse;
But thou shalt mourn thy own perverse Disdain,
And long to feel me in thy Arms, in vain;
For, what new Joys our Raptures will succeed?
Who now submissive at thy Feet will bleed?
Who after me thy fading Charms admire?
Whom wilt thou chuse to quench thy raging Fire?
Whose Lips with eager Kisses wilt thou bite,
And in whose Arms enjoy the luscious Night?
For now my childish Follies I give o'er;
Adieu, vain thing! Catullus sighs no more.