One fine evening, the nobility Gathered near the Capitolium To share news and, for activity, To consume some alcoholium. Sober talks are lacking quality, Marcus knew this well, to no surprise. He drank nectar in large quantities And got terribly innectarized. Shadowed by the old basilica, He was cursing like a veteran: With my reverent Angelica, I will soon part ways, my brethren! Sheís entangled with the lyricists, Lost her mind with plays and theaters. And the worst partís that she insists Seeing gladiators-visitors. She explains that sheís hysterical For she finds our culture limited. Always furious - in general - Double, when her sisterís visiting. Only howling comes and hollering, The disdain of slaves is audible. Pour a double of this bottling... I would go to war, if possible! I will break with our traditions - You canít fight those two provocateurs. Iíve sunk low, my good patricians, I was drinking with the commoners! She can take my Persian property, Move in with her sis Megaera. I will spend denarii properly, On a beautiful hetaera. For hetaeras bring normality, They are sane and donít act negative. True, hetaeras lack morality, But they donít have any relatives. With their help, I will stop plummeting, Drop the booze to show my stubbornness! ...The patricians left their gathering, Envious of Marcusí drunkenness.
© Kirill Tolmachev. Translation, 2024