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.