Catullus I

Who is it I should give my little book to,

So pretty in its pumice-polished covers?

Cornelius, I’ll give my book to you:

Because you used to think my nothings somethings,

At the time when you were the first in Italy

To dare to write our whole long history,

Three volumes, under the sign of Jupiter,

Heroically achieved; so take this little

Book of mine for what it’s worth; whatever;

And oh, patroness Virgin, grant that it shall

Live and survive beyond the century.