Chapter XLI
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Ameana, the maiden of the people,
Asks me sesterces, all the many thousands.
Maiden she with a nose not wholly faultless,
Bankrupt Formian, your declar'd devotion.
Wherefore look to the maiden, her relations: 5
Call her family, summon all the doctors.
Your poor maiden is oddly touch'd; a mirror
Sure would lend her a soberer reflexion.
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The Poems and Fragments of CatullusChapter XLI
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