Quid tibi vis, by Horace

"What's up, lady most apt for elephantine niggers?
Why send me presents and letters, although
I am no strapping youth, have no distended nose --
yet I sniff out the polyp or goat the beds
in your armpits bushes more shrewdly
then does the keenest hound where the boar lies hid."
--The cock gone slack, what sweat, what evil stench,
envelopes all her withered limbs
as she hastes to placate her invincible madness;
foundation cream tinted with crocodile crap,
damp powdered chalk, will not adhere, her lust
makes the overtaxed bedding and canopy split.
Or else she mocks my revulsion with these fierce jibes;
"You flag with Inachia thrice one night, to me
you are nice and make the effort just once.
An ill death may that Lesbia die who discovered
your impotence when I looked for a bull,
when Amyntas of Cos was mine for the taking,
in whose invincible groin is stuck a member
more resolute than a burgeoning mountain tree.
For whom are those woolens hurriedly dyed
Again and again in Tyrian purples? For you,
of course, in your age group
there should be found a guest whose mistress values him
more highly than you. Oh! I am so unhappy;
you flee me as lambs fear wolves, as deer fear lions.