Wretched Catullus, you must cease your foolishness,
and what you see has perished, consider perished.
Blazing suns shone for you in the past,
a past where you would come wherever the girl led —
a girl loved by us as no girl could be loved again.
There, where playfulness occured,
which you wanted (nor was the girl unwilling),
Indeed, blazing suns shone for you.
Now, her willingness has ceased; so you, powerless, must cease to desire:
do not follow the one who evades you, do not steep in your misery,
but endure with a strong mind, harden yourself.
Farewell, girl! Catullus is firm;
he will not seek you, he will not ask one who is so unwilling.
But you will be despondent when you are not asked.
Woe to you, wretched woman! What sort of a life is left for you?
Who now will follow you? To whom will you be so lovely?
Whom will you love now? Whose will you be?
Whom will you kiss? Whose lips will you bite?
You, though, Catullus; you be resolved to be strong.
Catullus 8 depicts the painful aftermath of a love that has died, showing Catullus' struggle between desire and self-respect. He urges himself to stop clinging to someone who has betrayed or abandoned him: “miser Catulle, desinas ineptire.” The poem oscillates between lingering affection and bitter recognition, revealing how heartbreak traps the lover in conflicting emotions. References to fleeting pleasure and past intimacy (“qui tuae lasciviae tenebat”) underscore the loss of trust and the futility of hope. Even the tone — part scolding, part pleading — conveys a love that was once passionate but has turned corrosive. By centering on emotional pain, regret, and the effort to regain dignity, Catullus 8 exemplifies heartbreak and rage rather than love, humor, or even true philosophical reflection.
Marrucinus Asinius, your left hand
you do not use beautifully: in humor and in wine
you take the napkins of the people.
You think this is funny? It escapes you, fool:
It is as tacky and as unattractive as it can be.
You don't believe me? Believe your brother Pollio,
who would desire to trade your thefts
for talent — for he is a boy
stuffed with charm and wit.
Therefore either expect 300 poems,
or give my napkin back to me,
which doesn't move me with value,
but because it is a gift from my drinking friend.
For Fabullus and Veranius sent the Saetaban napkins from Hiberia
to me as a gift;
it is obvious(?) that I love these
as I love my dear Veranius and Fabullus.
Catullus 12 channels anger and indignation toward Marrucinus Asinius, a friend who has betrayed Catullus’s trust. The poem begins by criticizing Marrucinus’s clumsiness in jest and wine — he steals a napkin (linteum) from Catullus, a small but personal gift. What makes the poem fit “rage” rather than humor or scorn is the emotional intensity: Catullus frames the theft as an actual personal affront, comparing Marrucinus’s act to one that would be condemned even by Pollio’s brother, who supposedly values justice. The tone mixes irritation, sarcasm, and moral indignation. Catullus emphasizes that this napkin is no ordinary object; it is a keepsake (mnemosynum) symbolizing their friendship. By threatening to write 300 hendecasyllabic verses if the napkin isn’t returned, he transforms a minor theft into a public indictment.
If I didn’t love you more than my own eyes,
Most pleasing Calvus, I would hate you.
On account of this gift of yours,
With the hatred of Vatinius:
for what have I done or what have I said?
Why did you destroy me so wickedly with so many poems?
May the gods be evil to this client of yours,
who sent you so great a group of scoundrels.
Because, if as I suspect, Sulla the teacher
gives you this newfound gift,
it is not bad for me, but good and happy,
because your works have not perished.
Good gods, terrible and detestable little book!
Which you have evidently sent to your Catullus
so that he would die
on the festival day of Saturnalia, the greatest of all days!
No, you clever man, this will not depart from you.
For, if it will have become light, I will run to the
bookcase of the scribes; Caesius, Aquinus,
Suffenus, I will collect all these poisons,
and I will reward you with these punishments.
Meanwhile, farewell and depart to and fro,
where you have brought a miserable foot,
a flaw of our age, the worst of poets.
Catullus 14 turns a poetic insult into a playful, exaggerated mock‑rageful complaint about a “terrible gift,” blending friendly banter and hyperbole. Catullus addresses his close friend Licinius Calvus, complaining ironically that if he didn’t love him more than his own eyes, he would hate him for sending such a dreadful book of poetry as a gift. He invokes exaggerated curses on the original sender, jokes about dying from the awful verses on “the best of days,” and threatens to retaliate by gathering equally “poisonous” works to give back in kind. The friendship between Catullus and Calvus is evident in the teasing tone, the complaints are clearly overblown (even while the Catullus insists he loves his friend more than his own eyes), and the imagined revenge — going into bookshops to collect bad poetry — turns petty annoyance into a comic spectacle. Rather than serious anger or personal betrayal, it’s the witty exaggeration, mock outrage, and playful social ritual of gifting that make the poem humorous.
I entrust those I love and myself to you, Aurelius.
And I humbly ask a favor from you;
that if you have ever valued anything,
which you wanted to keep pure and true,
then guard my boy for me,
not from the populace; I don't fear
them who pass by here and there on the street
minding their own business.
In truth, I fear you and your penis,
hostile to boys, both good and bad.
Because you let it go where it pleases, as it pleases,
as often as you wish. When it is out, you are ready.
This one boy I ask humbly that you exclude.
For if wretched thought and senseless passion drives
you, fiend, to such a crime
that you plan in your mind treason against me,
Then you will have a miserable fate.
Because with feet tied together you will be run
through your backdoor with radishes and mullets.
Catullus 15 channels fury toward Aurelius, who (from what I can understand) threatens Catullus’s relationship with a boy he loves. The poem begins politely, with a conventional dedication (“Commendo tibi me ac meos amores”), but quickly escalates into anger and threat. Catullus frames any interference as a serious offense, warning that if Aurelius’s “mala mens furorque vecors” drives him to harm Catullus’s beloved, he will face extreme consequences — imagined in grotesque, violent imagery of the radishes and mullets "running through" Aurelius's "back door." The intensity of emotion — a combination of moral outrage, personal violation, and vivid threat — amplifies the fury, emphasizing the poet’s possessiveness, the seriousness of betrayal, and the personal stakes involved in defending those he loves. Catullus 15 exemplifies rage by transforming a social and sexual grievance into a sharp, wrathful, and vividly threatening poetic response.
I will sodomize you and fuck your face,
Cocksucker Aurelius and bitch-boy Furius,
Who think — because my little poems are a bit soft —
That I am shameless.
You’re right that a devoted poet should be chaste himself,
But his verses don’t have to be so.
Verses are charming and tasteful
If they are delicate and shameless,
And if they can incite an itch —
And I don’t mean an itch in boys.
I mean in those hairy men who can’t get their loins up.
You, because about my many thousands of kisses you’ve read,
Think me less of a man?
I will sodomize you and fuck your face.
Catullus 16 channels explosive anger and vindictive threats in response to accusations about the poet’s erotic poetry. In this poem, Catullus addresses Aurelius and Furius, who have criticized his verses as “soft” or morally improper. Rather than responding with reasoned defense or humor, he escalates into a furious and obscene threat of sexual violence — repeated at the beginning and end with the infamous line: “Pēdīcābō ego vōs et irrumābō.” The poem’s intensity comes from the combination of personal insult, moral indignation, and the sheer force of its obscene imagery. Catullus frames the attack as justified because his critics misunderstand his poetic style: the “molliculi” verses are playful, not shameful, yet they provoke violent fury in him.
Alfenus, thoughtless and lying to your companions,
Now does it pain you at all, harsh one, your sweet little friend?
Do you no longer hesitate to betray and deceive me, traitor?
The impious deeds of men do not please the sky-dwellers.
Which you neglect, and you desert wretched me in evil.
Alas, tell me what men should do or in whom they should have faith?
Certainly, you ordered me to give my soul, unfair one,
leading me into love, as if everything would be safe.
Now, the same you draws back, and your words and all your deeds
you allow the winds and clouds to whisk away unfulfilled.
If you forget, but the gods remember, Loyalty remembers,
who later will cause you to regret your deed.
Catullus 30 expresses rage toward Alfenus, who has betrayed the trust of his close friend. Catullus accuses him of acting false to friendship (immemor atque ūnanimīs false sodālibus) and breaking faith in ways that offend both human and divine standards. The poem channels rage at deceit, betrayal, and the violation of emotional and ethical bonds — “Iam mē prōdere, iam nōn dubitās fallere, perfide?” The real emotional intensity is heightened by appeals to the gods and the personification of fidelity (Fidēs), emphasizing that Alfenus’s actions are not only socially treacherous but morally egregious. Catullus contrasts the promises once made with the betrayal now enacted, depicting rage as the natural response to the violation of trust and the collapse of friendship. Rather than humor or scorn, the poem is fueled by moral and emotional fury.
What wicked little mind, Wretched little Ravidus,
Drives you headfirst into my iambs?
What god badly summoned
prepares to start an inane fight?
Or to arrive into the mouth of the crowd?
What do you want? By what means do you wish to be known?
You will be known, seeing as how my loves
you wished to love for a long time.
Catullus 40 channels frustration toward Raudes, who has maliciously provoked conflict in Catullus’s poetry. The poem begins by questioning Raudes’s motivations — “Quis deus tibi nōn bene advocātus vēcordem parat excitāre rixam?” — portraying him as deliberately stirring strife and seeking public notoriety. Catullus’s tone is accusatory and intense, expressing anger at both the personal attack and the threat to his reputation. His rage is compounded by the perceived injustice: Raudes desires attention at the cost of harming Catullus’s poetic and emotional labor (“meōs amōrēs cum longā voluistī amāre poenā”). The poem’s energy derives from indignation and outrage at deliberate provocation.
You once were saying that you knew only Catullus,
Lesbia, and that you did not want to hold Jove(?) in front of me.
I loved you then; not like how a common man loves his girlfriend,
but as a father loves his children or his sons-in-law.
Now I have known you: thus I am burnt more terribly,
And you are cheaper and of less meaning to me.
How is this the case, you ask? Because such an injury motivates a lover
to love more, but to be less kind.
Catullus 72 directly confronts betrayal and the corrosive mix of love and jealousy. In the poem, Catullus accuses Lesbia of transferring the affection he once believed was his alone to another man, lamenting that “fluere hoc tibi fortunatum est.” His pain arises not only from lost desire but also from the emotional treachery of someone he trusted, blending sorrow with indignation. The poem emphasizes personal pain over public judgment, showing how heartbreak centers on the lover’s internal experience rather than on reputation or morality. By highlighting the tension between lingering attachment and wounded pride, Catullus 72 portrays heartbreak and rage as somewhat inescapable.
Lesbia says to me many terrible things in the presence of a man:
that this person is the greatest joy for a fool.
Donkey of a man, do you understand nothing? If she were to forget me and
went silent,
she would be sane: but now she snarls and cuts me off;
not only does she remember, but something much more serious:
she is angry. She burns and talks.
Catullus 83 portrays both rage and heartbreak through Lesbia’s hostile behavior, revealing that her anger toward Catullus still burns beneath the surface. In the poem, Catullus describes Lesbia saying “mala plurima” about him in front of her husband, to the delight of that man. Rather than indicating indifference, Catullus interprets this snarling and railing as evidence that she still remembers him and is angry about their relationship: “non solum meminit… irata est.” The implication is that her continued fixation — even in the form of resentment — shows a bond that has not been severed cleanly enough. Catullus’s sharp address to her husband as a “mule” underscores his own wounded pride and helplessness in the face of her lingering emotion.
Often searching for you with a studious, hunting mind
so that I could send the poems of Callimachus
By which I should appease you, nor do you try
to send hostile spears directly into my head;
I now see that this labor undertaken by me is done in vain,
O Gellius, and that my prayers have not prevailed in this.
I'll escape your hostile spears driven against us,
but you, pierced, will compensate me.
Catullus 116 expresses accumulated frustration and antagonism toward Gellius, a recurring target of Catullus's anger. In the poem, Catullus explains that he once tried (saepe…requiēns) to find a way to send Gellius poems by Callimachus — poems that might appease him (qui te lenirem nobis) and keep Gellius from launching hostile missiles (tēla infesta…in caput) of criticism at Catullus. But now Catullus sees that that effort was in vain and had no effect: “hunc videō mihi nunc frustra sumptum esse labōrem…nec nostras hic valuisse precēs.” Catullus vows, essentially, to parry those hostile missiles and ensure Gellius “pays the penalty” — a clear threat of poetic—and perhaps reputational—retaliation: “at fixus nostris tū dabīs supplicium.” Although the language isn’t as vitriolic as some of Catullus’s direct insults, the tone is combative and driven by long‑standing antagonism.