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Quum tu, Lydia, Telephi Cervicem roseam, et cerea Telephi Laudas brachia, vae meum Fervens difficili bile tumet jecur: Tunc nec mens mihi, nec color Certa sede manet; humor et in genas Furtim labitur, arguens Quam lentis penitus macerer ignibus.
Dear, dear nymph! Being beloved and beautiful! We love each other for good now, don't we? Yes, for ever; and Glycera may go to Bath, and Telephus take his cervicem roseam to Jack Ketch, n'est-ce pas? No. We never think of changing, my dear. However winds blow, or time flies, or spoons stir, our potage, which is now so piping hot, will never get cold.
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