I awaken. Then he is gone! He left something! No: two empty amphora and some sullied flowers. The rug is red with wine.
I slept, but I am still intoxicated. . . With whom did I come home? . . . Anyhow, we went to bed together. The bed itself is even soaked in sweat.
There might even have been several; the bed is so upset. I can't remember. . . But someone must have seen them! There is my Phrygian. She still is sleeping, cross-wise to the door.
I kick her in the breast and cry: "Bitch, you could not have. . . ." I am so hoarse I cannot speak at all.