occidat, immerita qui carpsit ab arbore vallum et struxit querulas rauca per ossa tubas, dignior obliquo funem qui torqueat Ocno, aeternusque tuam pascat, aselle, famem! dic mihi, num teneros urit lorica lacertos? num gravis imbellis atterit hasta manus? haec noceant potius, quam dentibus ulla puella det mihi plorandas per tua colla notas! diceris et macie vultum tenuasse: sed opto e desiderio sit color iste meo.
Perish he who from a guiltless tree plucked the soldiers stake and fashioned the trumpet to sound its mournful notes through screeching bone: he rather than Ocnus deserved to sit sideways twisting the rope and feed for ever the donkeys hunger! Tell me, does not the breastplate blister your delicate shoulders, and the heavy spear chafe your unwarlike hands? Rather may this hurt you than that some girl should implant on your neck love-bites for me to lament. I hear too that your face is thin and wan: but I hope that this pallor of yours comes from missing me.
final_alignments\Propertius_Elegies_Book4.json