No More Learning

THOU my Sabine           or my Tiburtine,
For who Catullus would not harm, avow, kind souls,
Thou surely art at Tibur ; and who quarrel will
Sabine declare thee, stake the world to prove their say :
But be'st a Sabine, be'st a very Tiburtine, 5
At thy suburban villa what delight I knew
To spit the tiresome cough away, my lungs' ill guest,
My belly brought me, not without a sad weak sin,
Because a costly dinner I desir'd too much.