You once were saying that you knew only Catullus,
Lesbia, and you did not want to hold Jove before me.
I loved you then not so much as the common man does his girlfriend,
but as a father loves his children and sons-in-law.
Now I have known you: therefore, though I am burnt more fiercely,
you are cheaper and of less meaning to me.
How is this so, you ask? Because such an injury drives a lover
to love more often, but to be less friendly.
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Dīcēbās quondam sōlum tē nōsse Catullum,
Lesbia, nec prae mē velle tenēre Iovem.
Dīlēxī tum tē nōn tantum ut vulgus amīcam,
sed pater ut gnātōs dīligit et generōs.
Nunc tē cognōvī: quārē etsī impēnsius ūror,
multō mī tamen es vīlior et levior.
Qui potis est, inquis? Quod amantem iniūria tālis
cōgit amāre magis, sed bene velle minus.
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