| Bald heads forgetful of their sins, |
| Old, learned, respectable bald heads |
| Edit and annotate the lines |
| That young men, tossing on their beds, |
| Rhymed out in love’s despair |
| To flatter beauty’s ignorant ear. |
| All shuffle there; all cough in ink; |
| All wear the carpet with their shoes; |
| All think what other people think; |
| All know the man their neighbour knows. |
| Lord, what would they say |
| Did their Catullus walk that way? |