O my farm, whether Sabine or Tiburtine
(for they say that you're Tiburtine, they for whom it is not pleasing
to harm Catullus; but they for whom it is pleasing
assert that you are Sabine by any wager),
but whether Sabine or more truly Tiburtine,
I was gladly in your suburban villa
and I expelled a bad cough from my chest,
which my stomach gave to me, not undeserving,
while I seek a lavish dinner:
for, while I wish to be a Sestian guest,
I read the speech “Against the Candidate
Antius”, full of poison and pestilence.
At this point, a chilling illness and persistent cough
shook me continually, until I fled to your embrace,
and I restored myself both by leisure and nettle (an herb).
Therefore I, cured, give my highest
thanks to you, because you have not punished my mistake.
So I pray, if I again pick up the malicious
writings of Sestius, that their chill bring an
illness and cough not upon me, but rather upon Sestius himself,
he who invites me only when I have read his bad book.

O funde noster seu Sabine seu Tiburs
(nam te esse Tiburtem autumant, quibus non est
cordi Catullum laedere; at quibus cordi est,
quovis Sabinum pignore esse contendunt),
sed seu Sabine sive verius Tiburs,
fui libenter in tua suburbana
villa, malamque pectore expuli tussim,
non inmerenti quam mihi meus venter,
dum sumptuosas appeto, dedit, cenas.
Nam, Sestianus dum volo esse conuiua,
orationem in Antium petitorem
plenam veneni et pestilentiae legi.
Hic me gravedo frigida et frequens tussis
quassait usque, dum in tuum sinum fugi,
et me recuravi otioque et urtica.
Quare refectus maximas tibi grates
ago, meum quod non es ulta peccatum.
Nec deprecor iam, si nefaria scripta
Sesti recepso, quin gravedinem et tussim
non mihi, sed ipsi Sestio ferat frigus,
qui tunc vocat me, cum malum librum legi.

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