Since I’m not that bronze guardian of Crete,
not Ladas or wing-footed Perseus,
since I’m not carried by Pegasus in flight,
nor by Rhesus’s swift snowy-white team,
add to that feathered-feet and swiftness
and the collective speed of the winds,
Camerius you might have said who you were with:
but I’d be weary right down to my marrow
and devoured by excessive fatigue
if I went on searching for you, my friend.
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Nōn custos sī fingar ille Crētum,
nōn Lādās ego pinnipesve Perseus,
nōn sī Pēgaseō ferar volatū,
nōn Rhēsī niveae citaeque bīgae;
adde huc plumipedas volatilesque,
ventōrumque simul requīre cursum,
quōs iunctōs, Camerī, mihī dicāres:
dēfessus tamen omnibus medullīs
et multīs languōribus perēsus
essem tē mihi, amīce, quaeritandō.
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