Dear country pile of mine, whether Sabine or Tiburtine –
For those whose hearts are set on not offending Catullus
Concur that you are Tiburtine; but those whose hearts are set
On shaming him argue that you are Sabine.
But whether Sabine or more accurately Tiburtine,
I came gladly to your suburban dwelling
And threw off a nasty chest cough
Which my stomach gave me, not that it didn’t deserve it
After it hungered for sumptuous dinners.
For as long as I wished to be a dinner guest of Sestius
I read his speech against Antius, the claimant,
Brimming as it was with poison and pestilence.
Hereupon a chill and cold and endless coughing
Shook me without respite until I escaped into your lap
And made myself better with rest and nettles.
So having recovered, I thank you profusely,
Because you have taken no action against me for my mistake.
I have no objection now, if I lay my hands again on the immoral
Writings of Sestius, that it’s not me but Sestius himself
Who gets the filthy cold and cough,
Sestius, who invites me when I have read his bad book.