Catullus.

Nay, I ask it; away scruple; your hearer is I.

DOOR.

First, what rumour avers, they gave her to us a virgin-- They lie on her. A light lady! be sure, not alone 20 Clipp’d her an husband first; weak stalk from a garden, a pointless Falchion, a heart did ne’er fully to courage awake. No; to the son’s own bed, ‘tis said, that father ascended, Vilely; with act impure stain’d the facinorous house. Whether a blind fierce lust in his heart burnt sinfully flaming, 25 Or that inert that son’s vigour, amort to delight, Needed a sturdier arm, that franker quality somewhere, Looser of youth’s fast-bound girdle, a virgin as yet.