Weep for my falls: the sad tablets have returned
The unlucky letter denies that she is able to today
Omens are something; when she was wanting to depart just now
Nape stood back at the threshold having been struck as to her toes
(Having been sent again outdoors, remember to cross the threshold more cautiously
And to carry your foot high, sober)
Go away from here, difficult tablets, funereal wood,
And you, wax having been brought back with notes about to deny
Which (the wax), I think, having been gathered, from the flower of the long hemlock
Under infamous honey, a Corsican bee sent
Yet you were red just as deeply dyed with cinnabar
That color was truly blood red
Lie down having been thrown forth in the crossroads, useless wood
And let the weight of the passing by wheel break you
And he, who turned you around from a tree into (something) useful
I will prove that he did not have pure hands
That tree offered a hanging for the miserable neck
It offered frightful crosses to the executioner
It gave ugly shadows to the noisy horned owl
And carried in its branches the eggs of a vulture and a screech owl
Did I, mad, entrust our love to these
And give soft words to be carried to my mistress
These waxes would more suitably hold wordy summons
That some attorney would read with a harsh voice
They would be better lying among the account books and ledgers
In which a greedy guy would weep over his exhaustive resources
Therefore I felt that you are two faced
The number itself was not of good omen
What am I angry to pray (for), except that rotten old age
Gnaw away at you, and that your wax becomes white from foul neglect
flete meos casūs: tristes rediere tabellae;
infelix hodie littera posse negat.
omina sunt aliquid; modo cum discedere vellet,
ad limen digitos restitit icta Nape.
missa foras iterum limen transire memento
cautius atque alte sobria ferre pedem.
ite hinc, difficiles, funebria ligna, tabellae,
tuque, negaturis cera referta notis,
quam, puto, de longae collectam flore cicutae
melle sub infami, Corsica misit apis.
at tamquam minio penitus medicata rubebas:
ille color vere sanguinulentus erat.
proiectae triviis iaceatis, inutile lignum,
vosque rotae frangat praetereuntis onus.
illum etiam, qui vos ex arbore vertit in usum,
convincam puras non habuisse manus.
praebuit illa arbor misero suspendia collo,
carnifici diras praebuit illa cruces;
illa dedit turpes raucis bubonibus umbras,
vulturis in ramis et strigis ova tulit.
hīs ego commisi nostros insanus amores
molliaque ad dominam verba ferenda dedi?
aptius hae capiant vadimonia garrula cerae,
quas aliquis duro cognitor ore legat;
inter ephemeridas melius tabulasque iacerent,
in quibus absumptas fleret avarus opes.
ergo ego vos rebus duplices pro nomine sensi:
auspicii numerus non erat ipse boni.
quid precer iratus, nisi vos cariosa senectus
rodat, et inmundo cera sit alba situ?