The Loeb Classical Library is that red- (Latin) and green- (Greek) jacketed friend of Classics students the world over. They are cribs, basically, with facing pages of ancient text and English translation. Many an under-prepared student has surreptitiously slipped a Loeb inside the respectable, somber blue-bound Oxford edition and thus made it through section with dignity intact. The texts are not authoritative, and lack an apparatus criticus, while the translations are usually very, very bad. But, newer editions are better, and they get the job done. Try using Lattimore's translation of Aeschylus as an aid to reading sometime and tell me how you fare. (Spoiler: badly. And please don't tell me you just sit down with the dictionary, commentary and the OCT, either. No, you don't, not until the third read.) The Loeb's have a funny feature, though. When things get too racy in the Greek text, (see Aristophanes, passim) the facing text suddenly becomes (slightly bowlderized) Latin. The editors, in their desire to protect schoolboys from smut, seem to have reasoned that if their Latin was good enough to get them through they were old enough to know about buggery. But what about the Latin texts? What to do with, say, Catullus XVI (oh, all right, and passim)? This is where the editors got clever. In these cases the English text suddenly becomes Italian. Clearly, any lad old enough to have learned such a racy language, spoken by such emotional people and so on, can learn about forcible oral sodomy and what not. (Yes, the Romans had a word for it. Fine, it's pedicare.)
UPDATE: I was wondering about this myself in the wee hours of the night, but Mitch kindly pointed it out. To orally sodomize someone is actially irrumare; pedicare is just the regular anal kind. They both appear in the first line of Catullus XVI; I couldn't remember which was which and my Latin dictionary is at John's office for no reason. Hope this didn't result in any awkwardness for time-travelling blog readers in the meanwhile.