Do not wonder, o Rufus, why no woman
  wants to place her dainty thigh under you,
not if you should undermine her with a gift of rare clothes
  or with the pleasures of a transparent jewel.
A certain bad story hurts you, by which a wild billy-goat
  is said to dwell under the valley of your upper arms.
All fear this; nor is it strange: for it is a very bad
  beast, nor one with which a pretty girl would lie.
Therefore, either kill the cruel pest of the noses
  or cease to wonder why they flee.

Nōlī admīrārī quārē tibi fēmina nūlla,
  Rūfe, velit tenerum supposuisse femur,
nōn sī illam rārae labefactēs mūnere vestis
  aut perlūcidulī dēliciīs lapidis.
Laedit tē quaedam mala fābula, quā tibi fertur
  valle sub ālārum trux habitāre caper.
Hunc metuunt omnēs; neque mīrum: nam mala valdē est
  bēstia, nec quīcum bella puella cubet.
Quārē aut crūdēlem nāsōrum interfice pestem,
  aut admīrārī dēsine cūr fugiant.

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