XXXVIII

He is ailing, your Catullus, Cornificius,

He is ailing, god knows I am, and it’s taking its toll,

Worse and worse, day and hour.

But have you relieved him with comforting words?

Though it would be very easy, no effort required.

I despair. Is this what I get for my affections?

Even a few comforting words might cheer me up,

Sadder than the tears of Simonides.