If there is any pleasure in remembering past good deeds
for a man, when he believes that he is dutiful,
nor he has violated any sacred trust, nor in any pact
of the gods to have abused divine power to deceive men,
then many joys remain for you in your long life, Catullus,
prepared from this thankless love.
For anything that a man is able to do or to say well to another
these have been done and said by you.
All of which things have died entrusted to this ungrateful mind.
So why do you keep torturing yourself further?
Why not be firm in the mind and lead yourself out from there,
and stop being miserable with the gods unwilling?
It is difficult to suddenly put away a long love
It is difficult, but you must effect this in some way or other:
it is the one salvation, this must be conquered by you
You must do this, whether it is impossible or possible.
Oh gods, if it is yours to feel pity, or if ever
you have saved someone in the nick of time in death itself
Look upon pathetic me! And, if I have lived life purely,
take away this pestilence and ruin from me,
which creeping down to my inner most self like a paralysis
takes away happiness from my whole heart.
Now I do not seek, that she loves me in return
or, (that which is not possible), that she chooses to be chaste
I wish myself to be well, and to put down this foul disease
Oh Gods! return this to me in return for my piety.
Si qua recordanti benefacta priora uoluptas
Est homini, cum se cogitat esse pium,
Nec sanctam violasse fidem, nec foedere in ullo
Diuum ad fallendos numine abusum homines,
Multa parata manent in longa aetate, Catulle,
Ex hoc ingrato gaudia amore tibi.
Nam quaecumque homines bene cuiquam aut dicere possunt
Aut facere, haec a te dictaque factaque sunt:
Omnia quae ingratae perierunt credita menti.
Quare cur tu te iam amplius excrucies?
Quin tu animo offirmas atque istinc teque reducis
Et dis inuitis desinis esse miser?
Difficile est longum subito deponere amorem;
Difficile est, verum hoc qua lubet efficias.
una salus haec est, hoc est tibi peruincendum;
Hoc facias, siue id non pote siue pote.
O di, si uestrum est misereri, aut si quibus unquam
Extremam iam ipsa in morte tulistis opem,
Me miserum aspicite et, si vitam puriter egi,
Eripite hanc pestem perniciemque mihi!
Quae mihi subrepens imos ut torpor in artus
Expulit ex omni pectore laetitias.
Non iam illud quaero, contra me ut diligat illa,
Aut, quod non potis est, esse pudica uelit:
Ipse ualere opto et taetrum hunc deponere morbum.
O di, reddite mi hoc pro pietate mea.