Catalepton 13

Dost think I am helpless, because I cannot, as heretofore, sail the deep seas, nor bear stern cold, nor endure summer heat, nor follow the victor's arms? Strong, strong are my wrath and old-time fury, and my tongue, wherewith I stand at thy side.

Why, thou shameless one, worthy of Caesar's ire! — whether thy secret crimes be told (thy prostituted sister's vile life within thy tent — O why dost thou spur me on? — and thy thrift in late hour at a brother's cost, when thy patrimony was squandered), or whether those banquets thou didst share in boyhood with men, thy body wet throughout the hours of sleep, and, over and above, the cry "Thalassio, Thalassio," raised on a sudden by one I know not: why, I ask, hast thou paled, O woman? Can mere jests pain thee? or dost recognize deeds that are thine own? Amid Cotytto's beauteous rites thou wilt not invite me to the long-disused symbols, nor, as thy hands grasp the altars, shall I see thee bestir thy loins beneath thy woman's robe, and, hard by the yellow Tiber, call to the boat-smelling throng, where the barques that have reached port stand in the shallows, fast in the filthy mire, and struggling with the scanty water; nor wilt thou lead me to the kitchen, to the greasy cross-roads' feast and its mean fare, with which and with slimy water thou satest thyself, then returnest to thy lumpish wife, untiest the boiling sausages her dowry provides, and then, hated though thou art, dost smother her with kisses.

Now assail, now provoke me, if at all thou canst! Even thy name I add, thou wanton Lucienus! Now thy means have failed thee, and with hunger thy back teeth rattle! I shall yet see thee possessed of nothing but good-for-naught brothers and an angry Jove, thy stomach rent, and thy ruptured uncle's feet swollen with fasting!