Asinius Marrucinus, your left hand
has sticky fingers. There is no excuse.
You weren’t drunk. It’s not funny. If you choose
to steal my table linen, you’ll be banned
from all polite society. He’s sad,
your brother Pollio – he’d gladly pay
for all your silly pranks to go away,
he’s smart and witty, unlike you. We’ve had
enough of you, So kindly send it back
Or get far ruder verses by return.
It was a present from my friends. You’ll learn
value’s not what things cost, but how their lack
hurts. It’s not cloth alone they sent from Spain,
but love with it, until we kiss again.