hand that he has the most set his heart upon, but when he comes to part with his family and friends, he will find something that troubles him within; and though he refrain his tears yet he puts foot in the stirrup with a sad and cloudy countenance.  And what gentle flame soever may warm the heart of modest and wellborn virgins, yet are they fain to be forced from about their mothers’ necks to be put to bed to their husbands, whatever this boon companion is pleased to say: 

         “Estne novis nuptis odio Venus? anne parentum
          Frustrantur falsis gaudia lachrymulis,
          Ubertim thalami quasi intra limina fundunt? 
          Non, ita me divi, vera gemunt, juverint.”

["Is Venus really so alarming to the new-made bride, or does she honestly oppose her parent’s rejoicing the tears she so abundantly sheds on entering the nuptial chamber?  No, by the Gods, these are no true tears.”—­Catullus, lxvi. 15.]

["Is Venus really so repugnant to newly-married maids?  Do they meet the smiles of parents with feigned tears?  They weep copiously within the very threshold of the nuptial chamber.  No, so the gods help me, they do not truly grieve.”—­Catullus, lxvi. 15.]—­ [A more literal translation.  D.W.]

Neither is it strange to lament a person dead whom a man would by no means should be alive.  When I rattle my man, I do it with all the mettle I have, and load him with no feigned, but downright real curses; but the heat being over, if he should stand in need of me, I should be very ready to do him good:  for I instantly turn the leaf.  When I call him calf and coxcomb, I do not pretend to entail those titles upon him for ever; neither do I think I give myself the lie in calling him an honest fellow presently after.  No one quality engrosses us purely and universally.  Were it not the sign of a fool to talk to one’s self, there would hardly be a day or hour wherein I might not be heard to grumble and mutter to myself and against myself, “Confound the fool!” and yet I do not think that to be my definition.  Who for seeing me one while cold and presently very fond towards my wife, believes the one or the other to be counterfeited, is an ass.  Nero, taking leave of his mother whom he was sending to be drowned, was nevertheless sensible of some emotion at this farewell, and was struck with horror and pity.  ’Tis said, that the light of the sun is not one continuous thing, but that he darts new rays so thick one upon another that we cannot perceive the intermission: 

         “Largus enim liquidi fons luminis, aetherius sol,
          Irrigat assidue coelum candore recenti,
          Suppeditatque novo confestim lumine lumen.”

["So the wide fountain of liquid light, the ethereal sun, steadily
fertilises the heavens with new heat, and supplies a continuous
store of fresh light.”—­Lucretius, v. 282.]

Just so the soul variously and imperceptibly darts out her passions.