---
title: "Amores"
author: "Ovid"
translator: "Perseus Digital Library"
languages: [la, en]
shelf: "Classical Latin"
section: 2 of 6
url: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-amores/2/
cite: "Ovid, tr. Perseus Digital Library, Amores, section 2. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-amores/2/"
---

# Amores

*Ovid, tr. Perseus Digital Library*

Love elegies for Corinna: jealousy, doors that will not open, and Cupid’s arrows.

> Latin: ed. Rudolf Ehwald, from the Perseus Digital Library (canonical-latinLit, phi0959.phi001, CC BY-SA 4.0).

> English: Perseus Digital Library, from the Perseus Digital Library (phi0959.phi001.perseus-eng2). Notes are not included.

> Rows follow the references the two texts share (books, chapters and sections), cut where both reach the end of a sentence.

## 2. Book I · poems 10–15

Source: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-amores/2/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-amores/2/#p-N

[¶0] Poem 10, in which the poet complains that his mistress has asked him for money, is not here translated.
Nape, who know'st so well to set the hair,
And all the fashions of the modish fair,
Like thee no lady's woman in the town
Can forward an intrigue, or pin a gown;
No maid than thee can boast a quicker eye,
Nor sooner the sour husband's coming spy.
Here, Nape, take this billet-doux, and bear
My soul's soft wishes to the absent fair.
If I can guess, thy heart is not of flint,
Nor is there the least vein of iron in't;
I something in thy looks and manners see
Above the rudeness of thy low degree;
A softer turn, to pity more inclined,
Than vulgar souls, a more complacent mind;
Thou feel'st, if I can guess, an equal flame,
And thine and my distemper is the same.
If how I do, she asks, do thou reply,
For the dear night, and night's dear joys, I die.
Tell her the letter will the rest explain,
And does my soul, and all its hopes contain.
But time, while I am speaking, flies: be sure
To give the billet in a leisure hour:
Don't be content with her imperfect view,
But make her, when she has it, read it through.
I charge thee, as she reads, observe her eyes,
Catch, if thou canst, her gentle looks and sighs;
As these are sure presages of my joy,
So frowns and low'rs my flattering hopes destroy.
Pray her, when she has read it, to indite
An answer, and a long epistle write.
I hate a billet, where at once I view
A page all empty, but a line or two.
Let her without a margin fill it up,
And crowd it from the bottom to the top.
But why should I her pretty fingers tire?
A word's enough, and all that I desire.
Ah, Nape, let her only bid me come;
The page is large, which for that word has room.
Her letter, like a conqu'ror's, shall be bound
With bays, for it with conquests shall be crown'd.
Ah, pity me, my friends! the cruel fair
Will neither read my just complaint, nor hear.
The billet-doux I sent her she return'd,
And e'en to ope the tender letter scorn'd
Ill was the omen, for the slave I sent
Trip'd at the sill as out of doors he went.
If e'er you on an errand go for me,
More careful, sirrah! how you stumble, be;
Step soberly, and warily along;
The end's ne'er right if the beginning's wrong.
Sinee thus in vain her pity I implore,
I'll ne'er to tablets trust my passion more;
Nor with my wax for death my warrant seal;
Worse than her scorn, what torture can I feel?
From combs of Cosica the wax was ta'en,
The latent poison was the lover's bane.
Bees there from venom'd flow'rs their honey suck,
And surely to my wax that venom stuck.
Chance on the seal did my misfortune paint,
And show'd my doom by the vermilion teint.
Curse on the instruments of my disgrace!
May you lie rotting in some filthy place;
By carts run o'er may you to bits be torn,
And your mishap revenge Corinna's scorn!
The man that first to smooth your surface toil'd,
The wooden work with hands impure defil'd;
Gibbets and racks should of the wood be made,
And the rough tools of all the murd'ring trade.
Bats roosted in its branches as it grew,
And birds of prey for shelter thither flew:
The vulture, and all kind of rav'nous fowl,
There hatch their young, and there the om'nous owl.
How mad to use such tablets must I be?
Curst and ill fated, as their parent tree!
Were these fit things soft sentiments to bear,
And to a lady tell a lover's care?
Lawyers, on you, might horrid jargon write,
With sound the ear, with sense the soul to flight.
Well might your plain the wicked writings bear
Where the rich miser robs the ruin'd heir.
When I first purchas'd you, I feared no less,
Your numbers even made me doubt success:
May you by worms be in old age devour'd,
And by all mortals as by me abhor'd.

> Latin: Qualis ab Eurota Phrygiis avecta carinis
Coniugibus belli causa duobus erat,
Qualis erat Lede, quam plumis abditus albis
Callidus in falsa lusit adulter ave,
Qualis Amymone siccis erravit in agris,
Cum premeret summi verticis urna comas —
Talis eras; aquilamque in te taurumque timebam,
Et quidquid magno de Iove fecit amor.
Nunc timor omnis abest, animique resanuit error,
Nec facies oculos iam capit ista meos.
Cur sim mutatus, quaeris? quia munera poscis.
Haec te non patitur causa placere mihi.
Donec eras simplex, animum cum corpore amavi;
Nunc mentis vitio laesa figura tua est.
Et puer est et nudus Amor; sine sordibus annos
Et nullas vestes, ut sit apertus, habet.
Quid puerum Veneris pretio prostare iubetis?
Quo pretium condat, non habet ille sinum!
Nec Venus apta feris Veneris nec filius armis —
Non decet inbelles aera merere deos.
Stat meretrix certo cuivis mercabilis aere,
Et miseras iusso corpore quaerit opes;
Devovet imperium tamen haec lenonis avari
Et, quod vos facitis sponte, coacta facit.
Sumite in exemplum pecudes ratione carentes;
Turpe erit, ingenium mitius esse feris.
Non equa munus equum, non taurum vacca poposcit;
Non aries placitam munere captat ovem.
Sola viro mulier spoliis exultat ademptis,
Sola locat noctes, sola licenda venit,
Et vendit quod utrumque iuvat quod uterque petebat,
Et pretium, quanti gaudeat ipsa, facit.
Quae Venus ex aequo ventura est grata duobus,
Altera cur illam vendit et alter emit?
Cur mihi sit damno, tibi sit lucrosa voluptas,
Quam socio motu femina virque ferunt?
Non bene conducti vendunt periuria testes,
Non bene selecti iudicis arca patet.
Turpe reos empta miseros defendere lingua;
Quod faciat magni, turpe tribunal, opes;
Turpe tori reditu census augere paternos,
Et faciem lucro prostituisse suam.
Gratia pro rebus merito debetur inemptis;
Pro male conducto gratia nulla toro.
Omnia conductor solvit; mercede soluta
Non manet officio debitor ille tuo.
Parcite, formosae, pretium pro nocte pacisci;
Non habet eventus sordida praeda bonos.
Non fuit armillas tanti pepigisse Sabinas,
Ut premerent sacrae virginis arma caput;
E quibus exierat, traiecit viscera ferro
Filius, et poenae causa monile fuit.
Nec tamen indignum est a divite praemia posci;
Munera poscenti quod dare possit, habet.
Carpite de plenis pendentes vitibus uvas;
Praebeat Alcinoi poma benignus ager!
Officium pauper numeret studiumque fidemque;
Quod quis habet, dominae conferat omne suae.
Est quoque carminibus meritas celebrare puellas
Dos mea; quam volui, nota fit arte mea.
Scindentur vestes, gemmae frangentur et aurum;
Carmina quam tribuent, fama perennis erit.
Nec dare, sed pretium posci dedignor et odi;
Quod nego poscenti, desine velle, dabo!
Colligere incertos et in ordine ponere crines
Docta neque ancillas inter habenda Nape,
Inque ministeriis furtivae cognita noctis
Utilis et dandis ingeniosa notis
Saepe venire ad me dubitantem hortata Corinnam,
Saepe laboranti fida reperta mihi —
Accipe et ad dominam peraratas mane tabellas
Perfer et obstantes sedula pelle moras!
Nec silicum venae nec durum in pectore ferrum,
Nec tibi simplicitas ordine maior adest.
Credibile est et te sensisse Cupidinis arcus —
In me militiae signa tuere tuae!
Si quaeret quid agam, spe noctis vivere dices;
Cetera fert blanda cera notata manu.
Dum loquor, hora fugit. vacuae bene redde tabellas,
Verum continuo fac tamen illa legat.
Adspicias oculos mando frontemque legentis;
Et tacito vultu scire futura licet.
Nec mora, perlectis rescribat multa, iubeto;
Odi, cum late splendida cera vacat.
Conprimat ordinibus versus, oculosque moretur
Margine in extremo littera rasa meos.
Quid digitos opus est graphio lassare tenendo?
Hoc habeat scriptum tota tabella 'veni!'
Non ego victrices lauro redimire tabellas
Nec Veneris media ponere in aede morer.
Subscribam: 'Veneri fidas sibi Naso ministras
Dedicat, at nuper vile fuistis acer.'
Flete meos casus — tristes rediere tabellae
Infelix hodie littera posse negat.
Omina sunt aliquid; modo cum discedere vellet,
Ad limen digitos restitit icta Nape.
Missa foras iterum limen transire memento
Cautius atque alte sobria ferre pedem!
Ite hinc, difficiles, funebria ligna, tabellae,
Tuque, negaturis cera referta notis! —
Quam, puto, de longae collectam flore cicutae
Melle sub infami Corsica misit apis.
At tamquam minio penitus medicata rubebas —
Ille color vere sanguinolentus erat.
Proiectae triviis iaceatis, inutile lignum,
Vosque rotae frangat praetereuntis onus!
Illum etiam, qui vos ex arbore vertit in usum,
Convincam puras non habuisse manus.
Praebuit illa arbor misero suspendia collo,
Carnifici diras praebuit illa cruces;
Illa dedit turpes raucis bubonibus umbras,
Vulturis in ramis et strigis ova tulit.
His ego commisi nostros insanus amores
Molliaque ad dominam verba ferenda dedi?
Aptius hae capiant vadimonia garrula cerae,
Quas aliquis duro cognitor ore legat;
Inter ephemeridas melius tabulasque iacerent,
In quibus absumptas fleret avarus opes.
Ergo ego vos rebus duplices pro nomine sensi.
Auspicii numerus non erat ipse boni.
Quid precer iratus, nisi vos cariosa senectus
Rodat, et inmundo cera sit alba situ?

[¶1] Aurora, rising from old Tithon's bed,
Does o'er the eastern skies her roses spread:
Stay, beauteous morn, awhile thy chariot stay,
Awhile with lagging wheels retard the day.
So may young birds, as often as the spring
Renews the year, o'er Memnon's ashes sing.
Now I lie folded in Corinna's arms,
And all her soul is mine, and all her charms;
I now am to her panting bosom press'd,
And now, if ever lover was, am bless'd.
As yet sweet sleep sits heavy on our eyes,
And warbling birds forbid, as yet to rise.
Stay, beauteous morning, for to love-sick maids
And youths, how grateful are these dusky shades!
All stay, and do not, from the blushing east,
With dawning glories break our balmy rest.
When night's black mantle does those glories hide,
The pilot by the stars his ship can guide,
And in mid-sea a certain course pursue,
As safe as when he has the sun in view.
What pleasure in thy light should mortals take?
Thou dost the weary traveller awake;
Though to the down his heavy head reclines,
Up he must lift it for the morning shines.
The soldier braces on his brazen shield,
Quits his warm tent, and fits him for the field:
The lab'ring hind his harrow takes, and now
The peasant yokes his oxen to the plough:
The boy half wak'd, and rubbing still his eyes,
Is loth alike to go to school, or rise;
While o'er his task he does imperfect nod,
He fears the ferula, he dreads the rod.
The bridegroom, starting from his bride's embrace,
Runs to his lawyer to consult his case;
A word is wanting in the dower deed,
And what to save the portion must he plead?
Now hungry serjeants quit their tempting ease,
To haunt the crowded courts and pick up fees.
Thy rise brings labour to the female band,
And puts the spindle in the spinster's hand:
Light are these toils, and little is the pain
To rise to work, and rest at night again;
But who that e'er knew love's transporting joys,
Could from the arms of youth and beauty rise?
Oft have I wish'd that night would keep her ground,
And all her stars be at thy rising found;
Oft have I wish'd the winds would stop thy way,
Repel thy car, or clouds involve the day.
Dost thou in envy lash each lazy steed,
And whirl thy chariot with unwonted speed?
Black was thy son, and in his hue's express'd
The gloomy passions of his parent's breats;
He, born of Cephalus, his ravish'd sire,
Is a known proof of thy adult'rous fire.
Thou, by his colour, wouldst thy crime conceal;
Ah, that to Tithon I the tale could tell!
Search all the records of Heaven's lechers round,
A fouler story cannot there be found.
In Cephalus' embraces when you lay,
And oft by theft renew'd your wanton play;
When Tithon's impotence you made your sport,
Did you not think the joyous moments short?
Lock'd in his arms did you in transports lie,
Ah! would you not, like me, to Phoebus cry,
"Stop, stop thy rapid course? Am I to blame
That Tithon's old, and cannot feel thy flame?
See how the moon does her Endymion keep
In night conceal'd, and drown'd in dewy sleep.
As lovely is the moon, as fair as thou,
Who freely, where she loves, her favours does bestow.
Jove, when he rob'd Amphitryon of his joy,
Did two whole nights in am'rous thefts employ;
Unknown when in Alcmena's arms he lay,
The night he doubles and suspends the day."
The morning heard my railing, and for shame
Blush'd that by force she must disturb my flame;
Bright Phoebus rushing forth, the glorious day
Drove the dear shades, that hid our joys, away.

> Latin: Iam super oceanum venit a seniore marito
Flava pruinoso quae vehit axe diem.
'Quo properas, Aurora? mane! — sic Memnonis umbris
Annua sollemni caede parentet avis!
Nunc iuvat in teneris dominae iacuisse lacertis;
Si quando, lateri nunc bene iuncta meo est.
Nunc etiam somni pingues et frigidus aer,
Et liquidum tenui gutture cantat avis.
Quo properas, ingrata viris, ingrata puellis?
Roscida purpurea supprime lora manu!
Ante tuos ortus melius sua sidera servat
Navita nec media nescius errat aqua;
Te surgit quamvis lassus veniente viator,
Et miles saevas aptat ad arma manus.
Prima bidente vides oneratos arva colentes;
Prima vocas tardos sub iuga panda boves.
Tu pueros somno fraudas tradisque magistris,
Ut subeant tenerae verbera saeva manus;
Atque vades sponsum stultos ante Atria mittis,
Unius ut verbi grandia damna ferant.
Nec tu consulto, nec tu iucunda diserto;
Cogitur ad lites surgere uterque novas.
Tu, cum feminei possint cessare labores,
Lanificam revocas ad sua pensa manum.
Omnia perpeterer — sed surgere mane puellas,
Quis nisi cui non est ulla puella ferat?
Optavi quotiens, ne nox tibi cedere vellet,
Ne fugerent vultus sidera mota tuos!
Optavi quotiens, aut ventus frangeret axem,
Aut caderet spissa nube retentus equus!
Invida, quo properas? quod erat tibi filius ater,
Materni fuerat pectoris ille color.
Tithono vellem de te narrare liceret;
Fabula non caelo turpior ulla foret.
Illum dum refugis, longo quia grandior aevo,
Surgis ad invisas a sene mane rotas.
At si, quem mavis, Cephalum conplexa teneres,
Clamares: "lente currite, noctis equi!"
Cur ego plectar amans, si vir tibi marcet ab annis?
Num me nupsisti conciliante seni?
Adspice, quot somnos iuveni donarit amato
Luna! — neque illius forma secunda tuae.
Ipse deum genitor, ne te tam saepe videret,
Commisit noctes in sua vota duas.'
Iurgia finieram. scires audisse: rubebat —
Nec tamen adsueto tardius orta dies!

[¶2] I us'd to warn you, not with so much care,
And waste of ointment, to adorn your hair:
That warning now is useless, you have none,
And with your hair that trouble too is gone.
Where are the silken tresses, which adown
Your shoulders hung? A web was never spun
So fine, but, ah! those flowing curls are gone.
Ah fatal art! ah fatal care, and pains!
That robb'd me of the dearest of my chains.
Nor of a black, nor of a golden hue
They were, but of a dye between the two.
How could you hurt, or poison with perfume,
Those curls that were so easy to the comb?
That to no pains expos'd you, when you set
Their shining tresses for young hearts a net?
That ne'er provok'd you with your maids to war,
For hurting you with your entangled hair?
You ne'er were urg'd to some indecent fray,
Nor in a fury snatch'd the comb away.
The teeth ne'er touch'd you, and her constant care,
Without ill arts, would have preserv'd your hair.
Behind your chair I oft have seen her stand,
And comb and curl it with a gentle hand:
Oft have I seen it on your shoulders play
Uncomb'd, as on your purple bed you lay.
Your artless tresses with more charms appear,
Than when adorn'd with all your cost and care.
When on the grass the Thracian nymphs recline,
Of Bacchus full, and weary of their wine,
Less lovely are their locks, than yours, less fair
The ringlets of their soft dishevell'd hair:
Softer was thine, like fleecy down it felt,
And to the finger did as freely yield,
How didst thou torture it, the curls to turn,
Now with hot irons at thy toilet burn?
This rack, with what obedience did it bear?
"Ah spare," I cried, "thy patient tresses spare!
To hurt them is a sin: this needless toil
Forbear, and do not, what adorns thee, spoil.
'Tis now too late to give your labour o'er,
Those tortur'd ringlets are, alas! no more.
Ah, cease the cruel thought, and cease to pass
Such irksome minutes at your faithful glass!
In vain thou seek'st thy silken locks to find;
Banish the dear remembrance from thy mind.
No weeds destroy'd them with their pois'nous juice,
Nor canst thou witches' magic charms accuse,
Nor rival's rage, nor dire enchantment blame,
Nor envy's blasting tongue, nor fever's flame.
The mischief by thy own fair hands was wrought;
Nor dost thou suffer for another's fault.
How oft I bade thee, but in vain, beware
The venom'd essence, that destroy'd thy hair?
Now with new arts thou shalt thy pride amuse,
And curls, of German captives borrow'd, use.
Drusus to Rome their vanquish'd nation sends
And the fair slave to thee her tresses lends.
With alien locks thou wilt thy head adorn,
And conquests gain'd by foreign beauties scorn.
How wilt thou blush, with other charms to please,
And cry, "How fairer were my locks than these!"
By heav'ns, to heart she takes her head's disgrace,
She weeps, and covers with her hands her face.
She weeps, as in her lap her locks she views;
What woman would not weep, such locks to lose!
Ah, that they still did on her shoulders flow,
Ah, that they now, where once they grew, did grow!
Take courage, fair Corinna, never fear,
Thou shalt not long these borrow'd tresses wear:
Time for your beauty shall this loss repair
And you again shall charm with native hair.

> Latin: Dicebam 'medicare tuos desiste capillos!'
Tingere quam possis, iam tibi nulla coma est.
At si passa fores, quid erat spatiosius illis?
Contigerant imum, qua patet usque, latus.
Quid, quod erant tenues, et quos ornare timeres?
Vela colorati qualia Seres habent,
Vel pede quod gracili deducit aranea filum,
Cum leve deserta sub trabe nectit opus.
Nec tamen ater erat nec erat tamen aureus ille,
Sed, quamvis neuter, mixtus uterque color —
Qualem clivosae madidis in vallibus Idae
Ardua derepto cortice cedrus habet.
Adde, quod et dociles et centum flexibus apti
Et tibi nullius causa doloris erant.
Non acus abrupit, non vallum pectinis illos.
Ornatrix tuto corpore semper erat;
Ante meos saepe est oculos ornata nec umquam
Bracchia derepta saucia fecit acu.
Saepe etiam nondum digestis mane capillis
Purpureo iacuit semisupina toro.
Tum quoque erat neclecta decens, ut Threcia Bacche,
Cum temere in viridi gramine lassa iacet.
Cum graciles essent tamen et lanuginis instar,
Heu, male vexatae quanta tulere comae!
Quam se praebuerunt ferro patienter et igni,
Ut fieret torto nexilis orbe sinus!
Clamabam: 'scelus est istos, scelus urere crines!
Sponte decent; capiti, ferrea, parce tuo!
Vim procul hinc remove! non est, qui debeat uri;
Erudit admotas ipse capillus acus.'
Formosae periere comae — quas vellet Apollo,
Quas vellet capiti Bacchus inesse suo!
Illis contulerim, quas quondam nuda Dione
Pingitur umenti sustinuisse manu.
Quid male dispositos quereris periisse capillos?
Quid speculum maesta ponis, inepta, manu?
Non bene consuetis a te spectaris ocellis;
Ut placeas, debes inmemor esse tui.
Non te cantatae laeserunt paelicis herbae,
Non anus Haemonia perfida lavit aqua;
Nec tibi vis morbi nocuit — procul omen abesto! —
Nec minuit densas invida lingua comas.
Facta manu culpaque tua dispendia sentis;
Ipsa dabas capiti mixta venena tuo.
Nunc tibi captivos mittet Germania crines;
Tuta triumphatae munere gentis eris.
O quam saepe comas aliquo mirante rubebis,
Et dices: 'empta nunc ego merce probor,
Nescio quam pro me laudat nunc iste Sygambram.
Fama tamen memini cum fuit ista mea.'
Me miserum! lacrimas male continet oraque dextra
Protegit ingenuas picta rubore genas.
Sustinet antiquos gremio spectatque capillos,
Ei mihi, non illo munera digna loco!
Collige cum vultu mentem! reparabile damnum est.
Postmodo nativa conspiciere coma.

[¶3] Poem 15, in which the poet boasts his work will outlive him, is not here translated.
Poem 1, in which the poet introduces his second book, is not here translated.
Poem 2, addressed to Bagoe, is not here translated.
How hard's my hap, to have my fair consign'd
To one, who is imperfect in his kind;
To one, who ne'er can have the pow'r to prove
As woman, or as man, the mutual joys of love!
Who practis'd first on boys the cutting steel,
Deserv'd himself the fatal wound to feel.
Couldst thou be capable of Cupid's fires,
Or the least sensible of love's desires,
Some pity thou wouldst have on me, and grant
Thy aid, for what thou canst not know I want.
Ill suits thee now, the warrior's lance to wield,
To mount the manag'd horse, or lift the brazen shield:
Arms are for men, and not for such as thee,
Who shouldst from ev'ry manly thought be free.
No banner shouldst thou, but thy lady's bear,
And have no other leader but the fair.
Much it behoves thee then to strive to gain
Her favour, and thou need'st not strive in vain.
Consult her pleasure, and her will obey,
To favour that's the sure, the ready way:
Without it, how unhappy wilt thou be!
Life is without it of no use to thee.
Thou'rt beautiful, and mayst thy prime enjoy,
And well thy beauty and thy youth employ.
Study to serve thy gentle mistress well,
And merit her good graces by thy zeal;
Watch as thou wilt, the trouble thou mayst spare,
She'll easily deceive thy utmost care.
When two fond lovers are agreed to meet,
Canst thou their well-concerted plot defeat?
The ways of kindness thou shouldst rather use;
By being civil thou wilt nothing lose;
And when an opportunity is fail,
For thy own sake be friendly to our pray'r.
A friend be to thy lady, not a guard,
And we, with bounteous hand, thy friendship will reward.
Vice by my verse I never will defend,
Nor by false arms to fence my own pretend.
Frankly my failings I with shame confess;
To hide my errors would not make them less.
My faults, whate'er I suffer by't, I own,
That others, if they please, those faults may shun
I hate myself, my follies, and would fain
Be, were it in my pow'r, another man.
How difficult it is, ye righteous Gods,
Against our wills to bear such heavy loads.
I have not strength to guard myself from ill,
And, as I wish, to rule my wicked will.
I'm hurry'd on, as by the boistrous sea
The driving bark is swiftly borne away.
No certain form inflames my am'rous breast,
All beauty is alike to me the best;
A hundred causes kindle my desires,
And love ne'er wants a torch to light my fires.
When on the earth the modest virgin looks,
That very modesty of hers provokes;
And if I chance to meet a forward fair,
I'm taken with her frank and easy air:
I figure to myself a thousand charms,
A thousand raptures in her wanton arms.
If, like the damsels of the Sabine race,
She's rude, I look upon it as grimace;
That sullen as she seems at first, 'tis art,
That I the more may prize the conquest or her heart.
New joys, if she's a wit, I hope to find;
And with her body, to possess her mind:
If foolish, I in that can see no harm,
And in her very folly find a charm.
I know a maid so very fond, and dull,
To me she thinks Callimachus a fool.
I soon am pleas'd with one that's pleas'd with me,
Alike we in our taste and wish agree:
But if the fair my verses don't approve,
I bragging tell her, she will like my love;
If with her tongue, or with her heel she's brisk,
Her prattle pleases, and her gamesome frisk;
But if she's heavy, I suppose at night
She'll change, and prove, as I would have her, light,
The fair that sings, enchants me with her voice;
Oh, what a gust it gives a lover's joys!
When her shrill shakes afresh his bosom wound,
And from her lips he kisses off the sound;
When her soft fingers touch the silver strings,
And sweetly to the sounding lute she sings;
Who can resist such strong redoubled charms?
Her music melts me, as her beauty warms
If in the dance the nimble nymph I find,
And view how she her pliant limbs does wind,
How artfully she to the music moves,
I cry, "How happy is the man she loves!"
My humour, in a word, is plainly this,
All objects please, and nothing comes amiss.
To love, and be belov'd my sole employ:
Dispos'd to be enjoy'd, and to enjoy.
This lady for her length I like, her spread
Will swell my arms, and fill the joyous bed;
She's like the lusty heroines of old,
And with a strong embrace her lover will enfold.
This lass, because she's little, I approve;
The least are lightest in the sports of love.
With every size my passion does agree,
And tall and short are both alike to me.
I fancy, when undress'd I find the fair,
'Tis less her want of charms, than want of care.
If with her dishabille, I cry, " I'm pleas'd,"
How beauteous would she be if she were dress'd
And when she does her best apparel wear,
I think her riches in her pride appear.
The fair, the olive, are to me the same,
Alike the swarthy, and the sandy dame.
When her black curls adown her shoulders flow,
Such Leda's were, her skin as white as snow;
And when her golden locks her head adorn,
I straight compare her to the saffron morn.
My love with no complexion disagrees,
But all alike my ready passion please.
The younger by their bloom my heart secure,
The elder win it as they're more mature;
And though the younger may excel in charms,
The elder clasp you with experienc'd arms
What all the city like, is liked by me,
And I with them and all my loves agree.
I'm proud to be the rival of the town,
And to their taste will still conform my own.

> Latin: Quid mihi Livor edax, ignavos obicis annos,
Ingeniique vocas carmen inertis opus;
Non me more patrum, dum strenua sustinet aetas,
Praemia militiae pulverulenta sequi,
Nec me verbosas leges ediscere nec me
Ingrato vocem prostituisse foro?
Mortale est, quod quaeris, opus. mihi fama perennis
Quaeritur, in toto semper ut orbe canar.
Vivet Maeonides, Tenedos dum stabit et Ide,
Dum rapidas Simois in mare volvet aquas;
Vivet et Ascraeus, dum mustis uva tumebit,
Dum cadet incurva falce resecta Ceres.
Battiades semper toto cantabitur orbe;
Quamvis ingenio non valet, arte valet.
Nulla Sophocleo veniet iactura cothurno;
Cum sole et luna semper Aratus erit;
Dum fallax servus, durus pater, inproba lena
Vivent et meretrix blanda, Menandros erit;
Ennius arte carens animosique Accius oris
Casurum nullo tempore nomen habent.
Varronem primamque ratem quae nesciet aetas,
Aureaque Aesonio terga petita duci?
Carmina sublimis tunc sunt peritura Lucreti,
Exitio terras cum dabit una dies;
Tityrus et segetes Aeneiaque arma legentur,
Roma triumphati dum caput orbis erit;
Donec erunt ignes arcusque Cupidinis arma,
Discentur numeri, culte Tibulle, tui;
Gallus et Hesperiis et Gallus notus Eois,
Et sua cum Gallo nota Lycoris erit.
Ergo, cum silices, cum dens patientis aratri
Depereant aevo, carmina morte carent.
Cedant carminibus reges regumque triumphi,
Cedat et auriferi ripa benigna Tagi!
Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua,
Sustineamque coma metuentem frigora myrtum,
Atque a sollicito multus amante legar!
Pascitur in vivis Livor; post fata quiescit,
Cum suus ex merito quemque tuetur honos.
Ergo etiam cum me supremus adederit ignis,
Vivam, parsque mei multa superstes erit.
Hoc quoque conposui Paelignis natus aquosis,
Ille ego nequitiae Naso poeta meae.
Hoc quoque iussit Amor — procul hinc, procul este, severae!
Non estis teneris apta theatra modis.
Me legat in sponsi facie non frigida virgo,
Et rudis ignoto tactus amore puer;
Atque aliquis iuvenum quo nunc ego saucius arcu
Agnoscat flammae conscia signa suae,
Miratusque diu 'quo' dicat 'ab indice doctus
Conposuit casus iste poeta meos?'
Ausus eram, memini, caelestia dicere bella
Centimanumque Gyen — et satis oris erat —
Cum male se Tellus ulta est, ingestaque Olympo
Ardua devexum Pelion Ossa tulit.
In manibus nimbos et cum Iove fulmen habebam,
Quod bene pro caelo mitteret ille suo —
Clausit amica fores! ego cum Iove fulmen omisi;
Excidit ingenio Iuppiter ipse meo.
Iuppiter, ignoscas! nil me tua tela iuvabant;
Clausa tuo maius ianua fulmen habet.
Blanditias elegosque levis, mea tela, resumpsi;
Mollierunt duras lenia verba fores.
Carmina sanguineae deducunt cornua lunae,
Et revocant niveos solis euntis equos;
Carmine dissiliunt abruptis faucibus angues,
Inque suos fontes versa recurrit aqua.
Carminibus cessere fores, insertaque posti,
Quamvis robur erat, carmine victa sera est.
Quid mihi profuerit velox cantatus Achilles?
Quid pro me Atrides alter et alter agent,
Quique tot errando, quot bello, perdidit annos,
Raptus et Haemoniis flebilis Hector equis?
At facie tenerae laudata saepe puellae,
Ad vatem, pretium carminis, ipsa venit.
Magna datur merces! heroum clara valete
Nomina; non apta est gratia vestra mihi!
Ad mea formosos vultus adhibete, puellae,
Carmina, purpureus quae mihi dictat Amor!
Quem penes est dominam servandi cura, Bagoa,
Dum perago tecum pauca, sed apta, vaca.
Hesterna vidi spatiantem luce puellam
Illa, quae Danai porticus agmen habet.
Protinus, ut placuit, misi scriptoque rogavi.
Rescripsit trepida 'non licet!' illa manu;
Et, cur non liceat, quaerenti reddita causa est,
Quod nimium dominae cura molesta tua est.
Si sapis, o custos, odium, mihi crede, mereri
Desine; quem metuit quisque, perisse cupit.
Vir quoque non sapiens; quid enim servare laboret,
Unde nihil, quamvis non tueare, perit?
Sed gerat ille suo morem furiosus amori
Et castum, multis quod placet, esse putet;
Huic furtiva tuo libertas munere detur,
Quam dederis illi, reddat ut illa tibi.
Conscius esse velis — domina est obnoxia servo;
Conscius esse times — dissimulare licet.
Scripta leget secum — matrem misisse putato!
Venerit ignotus — postmodo notus erit.
Ibit ad adfectam, quae non languebit, amicam:
Visat! iudiciis aegra sit illa tuis.
Si faciet tarde, ne te mora longa fatiget,
Inposita gremio stertere fronte potes.
Nec tu, linigeram fieri quid possit ad Isim,
Quaesieris nec tu curva theatra time!
Conscius adsiduos commissi tollet honores —
Quis minor est autem quam tacuisse labor?
Ille placet versatque domum neque verbera sentit;
Ille potens — alii, sordida turba, iacent.
Huic, verae ut lateant causae, finguntur inanes;
Atque ambo domini, quod probat una, probant.
Cum bene vir traxit vultum rugasque coegit,
Quod voluit fieri blanda puella, facit.
Sed tamen interdum tecum quoque iurgia nectat,
Et simulet lacrimas carnificemque vocet.
Tu contra obiciens, quae tuto diluat illa,
Et veris falso crimine deme fidem.
Sic tibi semper honos, sic alta peculia crescent.
Haec fac, in exiguo tempore liber eris.
Adspicis indicibus nexas per colla catenas?
Squalidus orba fide pectora carcer habet.
Quaerit aquas in aquis et poma fugacia captat
Tantalus — hoc illi garrula lingua dedit.
Dum nimium servat custos Iunonius Io,
Ante suos annos occidit; illa dea est!
Vidi ego conpedibus liventia crura gerentem,
Unde vir incestum scire coactus erat.
Poena minor merito. nocuit mala lingua duobus;
Vir doluit, famae damna puella tulit.
Crede mihi, nulli sunt crimina grata marito,
Nec quemquam, quamvis audiat, illa iuvant.
Seu tepet, indicium securas prodis ad aures;
Sive amat, officio fit miser ille tuo.
Culpa nec ex facili quamvis manifesta probatur;
Iudicis illa sui tuta favore venit.
Viderit ipse licet, credet tamen ille neganti
Damnabitque oculos et sibi verba dabit.
Adspiciat dominae lacrimas, plorabit et ipse,
Et dicet: 'poenas garrulus iste dabit!'
Quid dispar certamen inis? tibi verbera victo
Adsunt, in gremio iudicis illa sedet.
Non scelus adgredimur, non ad miscenda coimus
Toxica, non stricto fulminat ense manus.
Quaerimus, ut tuto per te possimus amare.
Quid precibus nostris mollius esse potest?
Ei mihi, quod dominam nec vir nec femina servas
Mutua nec Veneris gaudia nosse potes!
Qui primus pueris genitalia membra recidit,
Vulnera quae fecit, debuit ipse pati.
Mollis in obsequium facilisque rogantibus esses,
Si tuus in quavis praetepuisset amor.
Non tu natus equo, non fortibus utilis armis;
Bellica non dextrae convenit hasta tuae.
Ista mares tractent; tu spes depone viriles.
Sunt tibi cum domina signa ferenda tua.
Hanc inple meritis, huius tibi gratia prosit;
Si careas illa, quis tuus usus erit?
Est etiam facies, sunt apti lusibus anni;
Indigna est pigro forma perire situ.
Fallere te potuit, quamvis habeare molestus;
Non caret effectu, quod voluere duo.
Aptius ut fuerit precibus temptasse, rogamus,
Dum bene ponendi munera tempus habes.
Non ego mendosos ausim defendere mores
Falsaque pro vitiis arma movere meis.
Confiteor — siquid prodest delicta fateri;
In mea nunc demens crimina fassus eo.
Odi, nec possum, cupiens, non esse quod odi;
Heu, quam quae studeas ponere ferre grave est!
Nam desunt vires ad me mihi iusque regendum;
Auferor ut rapida concita puppis aqua.
Non est certa meos quae forma invitet amores —
Centum sunt causae, cur ego semper amem.
Sive aliqua est oculos in humum deiecta modestos,
Uror, et insidiae sunt pudor ille meae;
Sive procax aliqua est, capior, quia rustica non est,
Spemque dat in molli mobilis esse toro.
Aspera si visa est rigidasque imitata Sabinas,
Velle, sed ex alto dissimulare puto.
Sive es docta, places raras dotata per artes;
Sive rudis, placita es simplicitate tua.
Est, quae Callimachi prae nostris rustica dicat
Carmina — cui placeo, protinus ipsa placet.
Est etiam, quae me vatem et mea carmina culpet —
Culpantis cupiam sustinuisse femur.
Molliter incedit — motu capit; altera dura est —
At poterit tacto mollior esse viro.
Haec quia dulce canit flectitque facillima vocem,
Oscula cantanti rapta dedisse velim;
Haec querulas habili percurrit pollice chordas —
Tam doctas quis non possit amare manus?
Illa placet gestu numerosaque bracchia ducit
Et tenerum molli torquet ab arte latus —
Ut taceam de me, qui causa tangor ab omni,
Illic Hippolytum pone, Priapus erit!
Tu, quia tam longa es, veteres heroidas aequas
Et potes in toto multa iacere toro.
Haec habilis brevitate sua est. corrumpor utraque;
Conveniunt voto longa brevisque meo.
Non est culta — subit, quid cultae accedere possit;
Ornata est — dotes exhibet ipsa suas.
Candida me capiet, capiet me flava puella,
Est etiam in fusco grata colore Venus.
Seu pendent nivea pulli cervice capilli,
Leda fuit nigra conspicienda coma;
Seu flavent, placuit croceis Aurora capillis.
Omnibus historiis se meus aptat amor.
Me nova sollicitat, me tangit serior aetas;
Haec melior, specie corporis illa placet.
Denique quas tota quisquam probet urbe puellas,
Noster in has omnis ambitiosus amor.