Salax taberna vosque contubernales,
a pilleatis nona fratribus pila,
solis putatis esse mentulas vobis,
solis licere, quidquid est puellarum,
confutuere et putare ceteros hircos?
an, continenter quod sedetis insulsi
centum an ducenti, non putatis ausurum
me una ducentos irrumare sessores?
atqui putate: namque totius vobis
frontem tabernae sopionibus scribam.
puella nam mi, quae meo sinu fugit,
amata tantum quantum amabitur nulla,
pro qua mihi sunt magna bella pugnata,
consedit istic. hanc boni beatique
omnes amatis, et quidem, quod indignum est,
omnes pusilli et semitarii moechi;
tu praeter omnes une de capillatis,
cuniculosae Celtiberiae fili,
Egnati. opaca quem bonum facit barba
et dens Hibera defricatus urina.

O salacious tavern and you comrades,
at the ninth pillar from the felt-capped brothers,
you think that you alone have penises,
that you alone are permitted to have sex with
however many girls there are and think the rest he-goats?
Or, because 100 (or 200?) of you stupids sit in a line,
you think that I would not dare to force you 200 sitters together
to perform oral sex on me?
But now think: I will draw dicks all over the front of your tavern.
For that girl, who fled from my lap,
who I loved as much as no one will love a girl,
on behalf of whom many battles were fought,
sits there. All the good and rich men are making love to this girl,
and, indeed, rather unsuitably, all you puny alley-way adulterers;
you love one beyond all, one of the hairy ones.
son of the cave-dwelling Celtiberians,
Egnatius, whose good is marked by a shady beard,
and who scours his teeth with Iberian piss.