What bad mind, wretched little Ravidus,
drives you headfirst into my iambs?
What god summoned not well
prepares to rouse a demented fight?
Or to arrive into the mouths of the crowd?
What do you want? By any means do you wish to be known?
You will be, seeing as how my loves
you wished to love with a long penalty.
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Quaenam tē mala mēns, miselle Ravide,
agit praecipitem in meōs ïambōs?
Quis deus tibi nōn bene advocātus
vēcordem parat excitāre rixam?
An ut perveniās in ōra vulgī?
Quis vīs? Quālubet esse nōtus optās?
Eris, quandoquidem meōs amōrēs
cum longā voluistī amāre poenā.
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