|Translated from Latin to English by David Camden
I do not want to be Florus
to walk through the taverns,
to lurk around the eating houses
to suffer the round gnats
Licentious in verse, you were bashful in thought.
Little soul, wandering, pleasant,
guest and companion of my body,
which now departs into places,
pale, rigid, bare,
you will no longer give jokes.
the swift horse of Caesar,
who was accustomed to fly
through the sea and the marshes
and the Etruscan mounds,
while pursuing Pannonian boars,
not one boar
dared him to harm
with his white tooth:
the saliva from his mouth
scattered even the meanest tail,
as it is custom to happen.
But killed on a day in his youth,
his healthy, invulnerable body
has been buried here in the field.