A QUIET PROTEST
Invisus natalis adest, qui rure molesto
et sine Cerintho tristis agendus erit.
Dulcius urbe quid est? An villa sit apta puellae
atque Arretino frigidus amnis agro?
Iam, nimium Messalla mei studiose, quiescas:
non tempestivae saepe, propinque, viae.
Hic animum sensusque meos abducta relinquo,
arbitrio quam vis non sinit esse meo.
My hated birthday is here, which must be spent sad in the annoying countryside, and without Cerinthus.
What is sweeter than Rome? Is a country house fit for a girl, or the icy river with its Arretine farmland?
Now calm down, over-protective Messalla. Journeys, uncle, are often badly timed.
If I am abducted, I leave my soul and my senses behind, since power does not allow me to exercise my own judgement.
Try your own translation, or carry on for a fictionalised (and male) view of a woman in love.