Certes, and who other? Old Publius, a drinker and a cusser, and the authir if the long and delicate poem of cussing,   Ibis.

Now, as Battiades cursed his enemy Ibis,
IÕll curse you, and yours, in the same way.
And like him IÕve involved my poem with hidden matters:
IÕve followed him, though IÕm unused to this sort of thing.
Its convolutions are uttered in imitation of those
in Ibis, forgetful of my own custom and taste.
And since, when asked, IÕm not saying who you are, as yet,
you too, in the meantime, can take the name of Ibis:
and as my verse will reflect something of my nights,
so may the sequence of your days be wholly dark.
Have this read to you on your birthday, and at new
year, by anyone whose lips have no need for lies.
Gods of earth and sea, who maintain the good
between the disparate poles, where Jupiter rules,
I beg this of you: bend all your thoughts to this,
and let my wishes carry their weight with you:
and you earth itself, and the waves of ocean,
and the highest sky itself, approve my prayers:
and the stars, and that form clothed with rays of sunlight,
and you Moon, that never glittered brighter in your orbit,
and Night whom we revere for the beauty of your shadows:
and you who spin your fatal work with triple thumbs,
and you the stream of waters, not to be named in vain,
that glides with dread murmurs through infernal valleys,
and you with your hair bound by writhing snakes,
who sit before the shadowy doors of the prison:
you too, the lower powers, Fauns, Satyrs, Lares,
the rivers, and the nymphs and semi-divine races:
appear, at the last, in our presence, all you gods,
old and new, from out the ancient chaos,
while dread charms are sung by treacherous mouths,
and anger and grief act out their proper parts.
All, in order, show your assent to my desires,
and let there be no part of my prayer that fails.
And let it be fulfilled, I beg: so it may be thought
not my word, but a speech of the race of Pasiphae.
And IÕll have recounted these punishments, and heÕll
endure them, let his misery be greater for my skill!
And let the prayers of execration harm his false
name no less, nor the great gods be less inclined to stir:
I curse him as Ibis, whom the mind perceives,
who knows heÕs earned these curses by his deeds.
No delay is mine: I act as priest with sure prayer.
Whoever is at my rites, show favour to my words:
whoever is at my rites, speak your words of mourning,
and with wet cheeks begin your weeping for Ibis:
and run with every ill, and on stumbling feet,
and cloak all your bodies with black garments!

Ibid.


A