Propertius 1.11 (Trans.)

While you recline near the path through Herculean
Shores, does any care bid one who wonders
At the plains of liquid laid beneath Thesprotus' reign,
And proximate to nobles of Misenus spend her nights
With reverence for us? Or is there any room
For the remnants of love? Perhaps someone, nameless
In my mind, with fabricated flames has snatched you
From our songs? I wish a tiny bark, entrusted
With minute oars, delayed you in the Lucrine's flow,
Or that a pool might grasp you, trapped in Teuthrus'
Slender waves, then lightly cede by one and for another
Hand – since you are now free to hear the susurrous
Beseechments of a rival, set beside him softly
On a tacit shore, as often it befalls to girls displaced
From their custodians, and nor do those perjurers heed
Our common gods. I beg this not because you are
Unknown to me through a researched esteem, but since
In this place every love feels fear. So please forgive
Our little books if they have borne you harsh
Whatevers, since my fear's to fault. Do I guard
My mother more, now? Without you have I any care
For life at all? You are alone my house, my family, Cynthia,
All my joy; if I come to my friends with gladness or in grief
Be what I will, I claim that Cynthia's to blame. So leave
Corrupt Baiae as soon as you can, for those shores
Bring divorce to many, and are enemies of all chaste girls;
Let those waters perish for their crimes against the heart.