L

Yesterday, Licinius, on a lazy day,

We messed around for ages in my writing tablets

Risqué as agreed,

Scribbling short verses, you then me,

Playing now with this metre and now with that,

Swapping them between us over laughter and wine.

And then I left, inflamed by your charm,

Licinius, and by your wit, so much so that

Neither food could relieve me of my misery

Nor gentle sleep drape my eyes,

But undone by passion I tossed and turned

All over the bed, anxious to see daylight

So I could speak with you and be with you.

But after my work-wearied limbs

Lay half dead on the bed

I wrote you this poem, wonderful man,

From which you may get a taste of my grief.

Now see that you’re not too bold and, I beg you,

Don’t shun my prayers, my darling,

Otherwise Nemesis might demand from you a penalty.

The goddess is violent, beware of causing her offence.