Catullus to Cornificius
Sick , Cornificius, is thy friend,
Sick to the heart; and sees no end
Of wretched thoughts, that gath'ring fast
Threaten to wear him out at last.
And yet you never come and bring—
Though 'twere the least and easiest thing—
A comfort in that talk of thine:—
You vex me:—this, to love like mine?
Prithee, a little talk, for ease, for ease,
Full as the tears of poor Simonides.
Sick to the heart; and sees no end
Of wretched thoughts, that gath'ring fast
Threaten to wear him out at last.
And yet you never come and bring—
Though 'twere the least and easiest thing—
A comfort in that talk of thine:—
You vex me:—this, to love like mine?
Prithee, a little talk, for ease, for ease,
Full as the tears of poor Simonides.
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