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.