That man seems to me to be a god
Or, forgive me, the gods’ superior,
As he sits across from you and watches you
Endlessly, and hears
You sweetly laughing, which snatches every sense
From me, and I am lost: For as soon as I saw you,
Lesbia, nothing … is left for me [corruption in text]
…
But my tongue freezes, a gentle flame flows down
Under my limbs and my ears ring with their own sound.
Both my eyes are blinded by night.
Leisure, Catullus, is bad for you:
At leisure you are restless, too ill at ease.
Leisure has before now destroyed kings
And their wealthy cities.