To one, on returning certain years after
You wore the same quite correct clothing,
You took no pleasure at all in my triumphs,
You had the same old air of condescension
Mingled with a curious fear
That I, myself, might have enjoyed them.
Te Voilel, mon Bourrienne, you also shall be immortal.
And we say good-bye to you also,
For you seem never to have discovered
That your relationship is wholly parasitic;
Yet to our feasts you bring neither
Wit, nor good spirits, nor the pleasing attitudes
But you, bos amic, we keep on,
For you we owe a real debt:
In spite of your obvious flaws,
You once discovered a moderate chop-house.
Iste fuit vir incultus,
Deo Laus, quod est sepultus,
Vermes habent eius vultum
Ego autem jovialis
Cum jocunda femina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem