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!

She’s entangled with the lyricists,
Lost her mind with plays and theaters.
And the worst part’s that she insists
Seeing gladiators-visitors.

She explains that she’s hysterical
For she finds our culture limited.
Always furious - in general -
Double, when her sister’s 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 can’t fight those two provocateurs.
I’ve 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 don’t act negative.
True, hetaeras lack morality,
But they don’t have any relatives.

With their help, I will stop plummeting,
Drop the booze to show my stubbornness!
...The patricians left their gathering,
Envious of Marcus’ drunkenness.