Did I not love you more than my eyes,
Calvus you joker, then that gift
I'd hate you with Vatinian hatred.
What have I done to you or said
That you should pip me with all these poets?
May Gods brings curses on the client
Who sent you such profanities.
And if, as I suspect, this choice new
Gift to you is from schoolmaster Sulla,
Then I'm not sorry but delighted
That you hard work has not been wasted.
Great Gods, a damned awful little book
For you to send to your Catullus
To kill him outright on that day
Of all days best--the Saturnalia.
No, you won't get away with it,
Clever dick. When it's dawn I'll run
To the bookstalls, pick up all the poison--
Suffenus, Cauesius and Aquinus--
And pay you back with pains like them.
Meanwhile goodbye, be off with you,
Back where you brought your faulty feet from,
Curse of our time, appalling poets!
--from Catullus, The Complete Poems. Trans. by Guy Lee, 1990
"Cult of Personality"
--from Vivid, release 1989