What coxcomb will in future times think fitTo build in love his fortune on his wit?Wealth now is worth, whatever 'twas of old,And merit valu'd by its weight in gold.With male and female, this is now the rule,And he that's poor, of course must be a fool.The dame to read my am'rous verse delights,My writings likes, but scorns the man that writes;They freely on her privacy presume,And find admittance where I must not come;Me when she does her haunted house exclude,To them she's civil, as to me she's rude.Me she exposes to a thousand harms,To walk the streets, while they are in her arms.For whom does she my passion disregard?And who has intercepted my reward?Why is the beau with so much joy embrac'd?His pockets full, it seems, his coat is lac'd:He won her with his military airWhich cheats as often as it charms the fair.Could she her longing eyes forbear to fixOn his fine feather, and his coach and six!Enrich'd by plunder, he could never missThe favour, who would buy the venal bliss.No matter how he got his wealth, by war,And blood: she cares not, if she has her share.The upstart forward was, 'tis said, in fight,And in the field of battle made a knight:But had his honour come without his gold,His, sure, had been like my reception, cold.To men of merit how could she be coy,Yet to a murd'rer prostitute the joy?That head which lolls upon your panting breast,Was lately cover'd with a plumy crest.Can you the bully to your bed admit?Are his hard limbs for ladies' dalliance fit?His hands in your embrace you'll find embru'dWith clotted, and perhaps with guiltless blood;How awkward must it be for you to feel,Near yours, his thigh that late was cas'd with steelThat ring, the token of his pride and state,Was with a heavy gauntlet hid of late:Canst thou have commerce with a thing so foul!Where's now the boasted niceness of thy soul?What pleasure canst thou in his roughness find?Thou that wert once the softest of thy kind!Behold what marks of brutal rage he bears,And how he's mangled with dishonest scars.Yet to these scars, dishonest as they are,His wealth he owes, his fortunes with the fair.No doubt, he makes a merit of his guilt,And brags what blood he has in battle spilt.Fine courtship this, to win a gentle dame;Thou shar'st his money, and must share his shame.Me, not the meanest of Apollo's train,She hates, and I repeat my verse in vain;I sing before her gate; her gate I findIs less obdurate than her harden'd mind.Forbear your songs, Apollo's sons, forbear,And bend your future thoughts to arms and war.Instead of inspirations, get commands;To murder, and to rapine use your hands,And you with ease reduce the female bands.Had Homer in the Grecian army serv'd,We ne'er had heard that he had begg'd, or starv'd.Of gold the thund'rer show'd the mighty pow'r,Descending softly thro' the brazen tow'r,And clasping Danae in a golden show'r.A thousand bars the virgin fair did hold,But what are iron bars to bribes of gold?Against this foe her father could not guard;Watchmen, and women kept a fruitless ward.The damsel, who herself before was coy,Melts at the sight, and meets the dazzling joy.When peaceful Saturn did heav'n's sceptre sway,Deep in earth's womb the fatal metal lay;None then their teeming mother's bowels tore,In quest of hidden wealth, in various ore;Fed with the fruits which bounteous nature yields,In painted gardens, and in golden fields,From her rich soil are reap'd spontaneous crops,And from the forest oak sweet honey drops.No hinds as yet did toil their time away,Nor with keen clusters wound the parent clay:As yet no landmark was by lab'rers set,And none had learned to plough the sea as yetNone as yet knew the use of sails and oars,Nor ventur'd voyages beyond their shores.The wit of men the race of men destroys,And all its pow'rs against itself employs.How subtle's human nature to contriveIts proper ruin, and itself deceive!Why didst thou cities with high walls surround,Why arms invent thy jarring sons to wound?What quarrel hast thou with the sea, and whyDidst thou at first the pathless ocean try?Cannot the land content thy restless pride?Didst thou with Saturn's sons the whole divide,Thou wouldst not with three worlds be satisfied.'Tis strange thy vast ambition did not flyO'er earth, and sea, and air, and scale the sky;That man did not aspire to be a god,And tread the paths by Indian Bacchus trod,To give his name to some distinguish'd star,And be what Hercules and Caesar are.Instead of yellow harvests, now we seekFor solid gold, and thro' earth's entrails break;The wealth we thus acquire's the soldier's prey,And dearly for the blood he spills we pay.The courts deny admittance to the poor,In vain the needy clients crowd the door;The judges to the rich decree the cause,And money only gives their force to laws.'Tis money makes the judge with looks severeInsult the poor, and give the rich his ear;'Tis money buys the title, makes the knight,And dignifies with quality the cit:Let money do all this, and more; the barLet money govern, and direct the war.Let peace, as money sets the terms, be made,But let it not the rights of love invade.Let us enjoy this privilege at least,That if we must be poor, we may with love be bless'd:For now-a-days there's not a dame in townSo coy, but if you've money she's your own.What tho' her keeper may an Argus be?Blind him with money, and he'll nothing see.What though her husband should by chance be by?He'll leave the house, let you your money fly.If there's a god above, to whom belongsThe cause of love, and slighted lovers wrongs,Revenge the false one's mercenary scorn,And let ill-gotten pelf to dirt return.
Et quisquam ingenuas etiamnunc suspicit artes,Aut tenerum dotes carmen habere putat?Ingenium quondam fuerat pretiosius auro;At nunc barbaria est grandis, habere nihil.Cum pulchrae dominae nostri placuere libelli,Quo licuit libris, non licet ire mihi;Cum bene laudavit, laudato ianua clausa est.Turpiter huc illuc ingeniosus eo.Ecce, recens dives parto per vulnera censuPraefertur nobis sanguine pastus eques!Hunc potes amplecti formosis, vita, lacertis?Huius in amplexu, vita, iacere potes?Si nescis, caput hoc galeam portare solebat;Ense latus cinctum, quod tibi servit, erat;Laeva manus, cui nunc serum male convenit aurum,Scuta tulit; dextram tange — cruenta fuit!Qua periit aliquis, potes hanc contingere dextram?Heu, ubi mollities pectoris illa tui?Cerne cicatrices, veteris vestigia pugnae —Quaesitum est illi corpore, quidquid habet.Forsitan et, quotiens hominem iugulaverit, illeIndicet! hoc fassas tangis, avara, manus?Ille ego Musarum purus Phoebique sacerdosAd rigidas canto carmen inane fores?Discite, qui sapitis, non quae nos scimus inertes,Sed trepidas acies et fera castra sequiProque bono versu primum deducite pilum!Nox tibi, si belles, possit, Homere, dari.Iuppiter, admonitus nihil esse potentius auro,Corruptae pretium virginis ipse fuit.Dum merces aberat, durus pater, ipsa severa,Aerati postes, ferrea turris erat;Sed postquam sapiens in munere venit adulter,Praebuit ipsa sinus et dare iussa dedit.At cum regna senex caeli Saturnus haberet,Omne lucrum tenebris alta premebat humus.Aeraque et argentum cumque auro pondera ferriManibus admorat, nullaque massa fuit.At meliora dabat — curvo sine vomere frugesPomaque et in quercu mella reperta cava.Nec valido quisquam terram scindebat aratro,Signabat nullo limite mensor humum,Non freta demisso verrebant eruta remo;Ultima mortali tum via litus erat.Contra te sollers, hominum natura, fuistiEt nimium damnis ingeniosa tuis.Quo tibi, turritis incingere moenibus urbes?Quo tibi, discordes addere in arma manus?Quid tibi cum pelago — terra contenta fuisses!Cur non et caelum, tertia regna, petis?Qua licet, adfectas caelum quoque — templa Quirinus,Liber et Alcides et modo Caesar habent.Eruimus terra solidum pro frugibus aurum.Possidet inventas sanguine miles opes.Curia pauperibus clausa est — dat census honores;Inde gravis iudex, inde severus eques!Omnia possideant; illis Campusque forumqueServiat, hi pacem crudaque bella gerant —Tantum ne nostros avidi liceantur amores,Et — satis est — aliquid pauperis esse sinant!At nunc, exaequet tetricas licet illa Sabinas,Imperat ut captae qui dare multa potest;Me prohibet custos, in me timet illa maritum.Si dederim, tota cedet uterque domo!O si neclecti quisquam deus ultor amantisTam male quaesitas pulvere mutet opes!
If Memnon's fate bewail'd with constant dew,Does, with the day, his mother's grief renew,If her son's death mov'd tender Thetis' mindTo swell with tears the waves, with sighs the wind;Sad Cupid now despairs of conqu'ring hearts,Throws by his empty quiver, breaks his darts:Eases his useless bows from idle strings;Nor flies, but humbly creeps with flagging wings.He wants, of which he robb'd fond lovers, rest;And wounds with furious hands his pensive breast.Those graceful curls which wantonly did flow,The whiter rivals of the falling snow,Forget their beauty, and in discord lie,Drunk with the fountain from his melting eye.Nor Phoebus, nor the muses' queen, could giveTheir son, their own prerogative, to live.Orpheus, the heir of both his parents' skill,Tam'd wond'ring beasts, not death's more cruel will.Linus' sad strings on the dumb lute do lie.In silence forc'd to let their master die.His mother weeping does his eyelids close,And on his urn, tears, her last gift, bestows.His sister too, with hair dishevell'd, bearsPart of her mother's nature, and her tears.With those, two fair, two mournful rivals come,And add a greater triumph to his tomb:Both hug his urn, both his lov'd ashes kiss,And both contend which reap'd the greater bliss.Thus Delia spoke (when sighs no more could last)Renewing by remembrance pleasures past;"When youth with vigour did for joy combine,I was Tibullus' life, Tibullus mine;1 entertained his hot, his first desire,And kept alive, till age, his active fire."To her then Nemesis (when groans gave leave)"As I alone was lov'd, alone I'll grieve;Spare your vain tears, Tibullus' heart was mine,About my neck his dying arms did twine:I snatch'd his soul, which true to me did prove;Age ended yours, death only stopp'd my love."If any poor remains survive the flames,Except thin shadows, and more empty names;Free in Elysium shall Tibullus rove,Nor fear a second death should cross his love.There shall Catullus, crown'd with bays, impartTo his far dearer friend his open heart.There Gallus (if fame's hundred tongues all lie)Shall, free from censure, no more rashly die.Such shall our poet's bless'd companions be,And in their deaths, as in their lives, agree.But thou, rich urn, obey my strict commands,Guard thy great charge from sacrilegious hands.Thou, earth, Tibullus' ashes gently use,And be as soft and easy as his muse.
Memnona si mater, mater ploravit Achillem,Et tangunt magnas tristia fata deas,Flebilis indignos, Elegia, solve capillos!A, nimis ex vero nunc tibi nomen erit! —Ille tui vates operis, tua fama, TibullusArdet in extructo, corpus inane, rogo.Ecce, puer Veneris fert eversamque pharetramEt fractos arcus et sine luce facem;Adspice, demissis ut eat miserabilis alisPectoraque infesta tundat aperta manu!Excipiunt lacrimas sparsi per colla capilli,Oraque singultu concutiente sonant.Fratris in Aeneae sic illum funere dicuntEgressum tectis, pulcher Iule, tuis;Nec minus est confusa Venus moriente Tibullo,Quam iuveni rupit cum ferus inguen aper.At sacri vates et divum cura vocamur;Sunt etiam qui nos numen habere putent.Scilicet omne sacrum mors inportuna profanat,Omnibus obscuras inicit illa manus!Quid pater Ismario, quid mater profuit Orpheo?Carmine quid victas obstipuisse feras?Et Linon in silvis idem pater 'aelinon!' altisDicitur invita concinuisse lyra.Adice Maeoniden, a quo ceu fonte perenniVatum Pieriis ora rigantur aquis —Hunc quoque summa dies nigro submersit Averno.Defugiunt avidos carmina sola rogos;Durant, vatis opus, Troiani fama laborisTardaque nocturno tela retexta dolo.Sic Nemesis longum, sic Delia nomen habebunt,Altera cura recens, altera primus amor.Quid vos sacra iuvant? quid nunc Aegyptia prosuntSistra? quid in vacuo secubuisse toro?Cum rapiunt mala fata bonos — ignoscite fasso! —Sollicitor nullos esse putare deos.Vive pius — moriere; pius cole sacra — colentemMors gravis a templis in cava busta trahet;Carminibus confide bonis — iacet, ecce, Tibullus:Vix manet e toto, parva quod urna capit!Tene, sacer vates, flammae rapuere rogalesPectoribus pasci nec timuere tuis?Aurea sanctorum potuissent templa deorumUrere, quae tantum sustinuere nefas!Avertit vultus, Erycis quae possidet arces;Sunt quoque, qui lacrimas continuisse negant.Sed tamen hoc melius, quam si Phaeacia tellusIgnotum vili supposuisset humo.Hinc certe madidos fugientis pressit ocellosMater et in cineres ultima dona tulit;Hinc soror in partem misera cum matre dolorisVenit inornatas dilaniata comas,Cumque tuis sua iunxerunt Nemesisque priorqueOscula nec solos destituere rogos.Delia discedens 'felicius' inquit 'amataSum tibi; vixisti, dum tuus ignis eram.'Cui Nemesis 'quid' ait 'tibi sunt mea damna dolori?Me tenuit moriens deficiente manu.'Si tamen e nobis aliquid nisi nomen et umbraRestat, in Elysia valle Tibullus erit.Obvius huic venias hedera iuvenalia cinctusTempora cum Calvo, docte Catulle, tuo;Tu quoque, si falsum est temerati crimen amici,Sanguinis atque animae prodige Galle tuae.His comes umbra tua est; siqua est modo corporis umbra,Auxisti numeros, culte Tibulle, pios.Ossa quieta, precor, tuta requiescite in urna,Et sit humus cineri non onerosa tuo!
Now Ceres' feast is come, the trees are blown,And my Corinna now must lie alone.And why, good Ceres, must thy feast destroyMan's chief delight, and why disturb his joy?The world esteems you bountiful and good,You led us from the field and from the wood,And gave us fruitful corn, and wholesome food.Till then poor wretched man on acorns fed;Oaks gave him meat, and flow'ry fields a bed.First Ceres made our wheat and barley grow,And taught us how to plough, and how to mow;Who then can think that she designs to proveOur piety, by coldness in our love?Or make poor lovers sigh, lament, and groan,Or charge her votaries to lie alone?For Ceres, though she loves the fruitful fields,Yet sometimes feels the force of love, and yields:This Crete can witness, (Crete not always lies)Crete that nurs'd Jove, and heard his infant cries,There he was suckled who now rules the skies.That Jove his education there receiv'd,Will raise her fame, and make her be believ'd;Nay she herself will never strive to hideHer love, 'tis too well known to be denied:She saw young Jasius in the Cretan grovePursue the deer, she saw, and fell in love.She then perceived when first she felt the fire,On this side modesty, on that desire;Desire prevail'd, and then the field grew dry,The farmer lost his crop and knew not why;When he had toil'd, manur'd his grounds, and plough' d,Harrow'd his fields, and broke his clods, and sow'd,No corn appear'd, none to reward his pain,His labour and his wishes were in vain.For Ceres wand'red in the woods and groves,And often heard, and often told her loves:Then Crete alone a fruitful summer knew,Where'er the goddess came a harvest grew.Ida was grey with corn, the furious boarGrew fat with wheat, and wonder'd at the store:The Cretans wish'd that such all years would prove,They wish'd that Ceres would be long in love.Well then, since then 'twas hard for you to lieAll night alone, why at your feast must I?Why must I mourn, when you rejoice to knowYour daughter safe, and queen of all below?'Tis holy-day, and calls for wine and love;Come, let's the height of mirth and humor prove,These gifts will please our master pow'rs above.So much I've suffer'd, and so long, no moreI'll bear the wrongs which I have borne before.Begone, vile Cupid, I'll no more endureThy slavish labors, and fatigues impure;From hence, I'll put an end to all the painsThou'st cost me, and from hence shake off thy chains.I hate the liv'ry I with pleasure wore,And blush at bonds, which once with pride I bore:But this, methinks, should have been done before.To leave my wicked courses I begin,As years deprive me of the gust of sin.On Cupid's neck I should have trod when young,And vanquish'd him when my desires were strong.In that there had been virtue; now there's none,The world will say so; let the world say on.Much opposition I shall meet; perhaps,The lewd will laugh, and threaten a relapse.To bear reproaches I must be prepar'd,Easy's the end, when the beginning's hard;Content let me the present pain endure,For the sharp medicine is the patient's cure.How oft you have expos'd me to the cold,While in your arms you did my rival hold!How like a slave have I been forc'd to waitAll weathers, and how oft have watched the gate!As if your house was trusted to my careAnd I, your sentinel, did duty there.Oft have I seen your sated lover comeWith looks, as if he long'd to be at home.But what most grated on my jealous mind,Was that he there the waiting fool should find.That aggravated most the cruel curse;I would not wish my greatest foe a worse.How oft have I attended you abroad,Or in the city, cirque, or on the road?They took me for your husband by my care,Or that your guardian or your slave I were.I by the people's glances, and your own,Observ'd you were acquainted with the town;That of your love if I possess'd a part,'Twas plain I shared with many more your heart.What need I of your perjuries bring proof,Suppose the common talk was not enough!What do your ogles and your gestures mean,Your carriage at th' assembly and the scene?There's scarce a fop you meet with in your way,To whom you have not something soft to say;Some token which you either understandBy mystic words or motion of the hand.They tell me you are sick; I run to see,And find, as ill as you pretend to be,It is not for my rival, but for me.I seldom told you of your faults, but stroveTo cover all your failings with my love;Of this I might remind you, and much more,But what avails it now; th' affair is o'er:A fond you found me, and a patient man,And get you such another if you can.I fear not now your frowns; my bark defiesThe storm of words, and tempest of your eyes;No coaxing now, your hardest phrases use,Your looks, your language, all their terrors lose;I am not such a fool as I have been,To dread your spirit, and to sooth your spleen.But, ah! by diff'rent passions I'm oppress'd,Fierce love and hate contend within my breast;My soul they thus divide, but love, I fear,Will prove too strong, and get the mast'ry there;I'll strive to hate her, but if that should proveA fruitless strife, in spite of me I'll love.The bull does not affect the yoke, but stillHe bears the thing he hates against his willI hate, I fly the faithless fair in vain,Her beauty ever brings me back again;She always in my heart will have a place,I hate her humour, but I love her face;No rest I to my tortur'd soul can give,Nor with her nor without her can I live.Oh! that thy mind we in thy face did view,Less lovely that thou wert, or else more true.How diffrent are thy manners and thy sight!Thy deeds forbid us and thy eyes invite.Thy actions shock us, and thy beauty moves,And he who hates thy faults, thy person loves.Happy, ah! ever happy should I be,If I no charms or no defects could see.Thee I conjure by all our past delights,Our cheerful days and our transporting nights,By all the imprecated gods above,To whom thou art forsworn, but most by Love,By thy fair face, which I as much adoreAs all those gods, and own as much its pow'r,Forgive me this offence, and I'll offend no more.Be what thou wilt, thy humour good or ill,I'll love thee, thou shalt be my mistress stillAh, let my passion ever favour find,Or be it with, or be't against my mind,But rather let me sail before the wind.Ah, let thy wishes with my will agree,Since surely I thy slave must ever be;In thee since I have centred all my joys,Oh Venus! let my love be still my choice.
Annua venerunt Cerealis tempora sacri;Secubat in vacuo sola puella toro.Flava Ceres, tenues spicis redimita capillos,Cur inhibes sacris commoda nostra tuis?Te, dea, munificam gentes, ubi quaeque, loquuntur,Nec minus humanis invidet ulla bonis.Ante nec hirsuti torrebant farra coloni,Nec notum terris area nomen erat,Sed glandem quercus, oracula prima, ferebant;Haec erat et teneri caespitis herba cibus.Prima Ceres docuit turgescere semen in agrisFalce coloratas subsecuitque comas;Prima iugis tauros supponere colla coegit,Et veterem curvo dente revellit humum.Hanc quisquam lacrimis laetari credit amantumEt bene tormentis secubituque coli?Nec tamen est, quamvis agros amet illa feraces,Rustica nec viduum pectus amoris habet.Cretes erunt testes — nec fingunt omnia Cretes.Crete nutrito terra superba Iove.Illic, sideream mundi qui temperat arcem,Exiguus tenero lac bibit ore puer.Magna fides testi: testis laudatur alumno.Fassuram Cererem crimina nostra puto.Viderat Iasium Cretaea diva sub IdaFigentem certa terga ferina manu.Vidit, et ut tenerae flammam rapuere medullae,Hinc pudor, ex illa parte trahebat amor.Victus amore pudor; sulcos arere videresEt sata cum minima parte redire sui.Cum bene iactati pulsarant arva ligones,Ruperat et duram vomer aduncus humum,Seminaque in latos ierant aequaliter agros,Inrita decepti vota colentis erant.Diva potens frugum silvis cessabat in altis;Deciderant longae spicea serta comae.Sola fuit Crete fecundo fertilis anno;Omnia, qua tulerat se dea, messis erat;Ipsa, locus nemorum, canebat frugibus Ide,Et ferus in silva farra metebat aper.Optavit Minos similes sibi legifer annos;Optasset, Cereris longus ut esset amor.Quod tibi secubitus tristes, dea flava, fuissent,Hoc cogor sacris nunc ego ferre tuis?Cur ego sim tristis, cum sit tibi nata repertaRegnaque quam Iuno sorte minore regat?Festa dies Veneremque vocat cantusque merumque;Haec decet ad dominos munera ferre deos.Multa diuque tuli; vitiis patientia victa est;Cede fatigato pectore, turpis amor!Scilicet adserui iam me fugique catenas,Et quae non puduit ferre, tulisse pudet.Vicimus et domitum pedibus calcamus amorem;Venerunt capiti cornua sera meo.Perfer et obdura! dolor hic tibi proderit olim;Saepe tulit lassis sucus amarus opem.Ergo ego sustinui, foribus tam saepe repulsus,Ingenuum dura ponere corpus humo?Ergo ego nescio cui, quem tu conplexa tenebas,Excubui clausam servus ut ante domum?Vidi, cum foribus lassus prodiret amator,Invalidum referens emeritumque latus;Hoc tamen est levius, quam quod sum visus ab illo —Eveniat nostris hostibus ille pudor!Quando ego non fixus lateri patienter adhaesi,Ipse tuus custos, ipse vir, ipse comes?Scilicet et populo per me comitata placebas;Causa fuit multis noster amoris amor.Turpia quid referam vanae mendacia linguaeEt periuratos in mea damna deos?Quid iuvenum tacitos inter convivia nutusVerbaque conpositis dissimulata notis?Dicta erat aegra mihi — praeceps amensque cucurri;Veni, et rivali non erat aegra meo!His et quae taceo duravi saepe ferendis;Quaere alium pro me, qui queat ista pati.Iam mea votiva puppis redimita coronaLenta tumescentes aequoris audit aquas.Desine blanditias et verba, potentia quondam,Perdere — non ego nunc stultus, ut ante fui!Luctantur pectusque leve in contraria tenduntHac amor hac odium, sed, puto, vincit amor.Odero, si potero; si non, invitus amabo.Nec iuga taurus amat; quae tamen odit, habet.Nequitiam fugio — fugientem forma reducit;Aversor morum crimina — corpus amo.Sic ego nec sine te nec tecum vivere possum,Et videor voti nescius esse mei.Aut formosa fores minus, aut minus inproba, vellem;Non facit ad mores tam bona forma malos.Facta merent odium, facies exorat amorem —Me miserum, vitiis plus valet illa suis!Parce, per o lecti socialia iura, per omnisQui dant fallendos se tibi saepe deos,Perque tuam faciem, magni mihi numinis instar,Perque tuos oculos, qui rapuere meos!Quidquid eris, mea semper eris; tu selige tantum,Me quoque velle velis, anne coactus amem!Lintea dem potius ventisque ferentibus utar,Ut, quam, si nolim, cogar amare, velim.
Ill-omen'd birds, how luckless was the day,When o'er my love you did your wings display!What wayward orb, what inauspicious starDid then rule heav'n? what gods against me war?She who so much my fatal passion wrongs,Was known and first made famous by my songs.I lov'd her first, and lov'd her then alone,But now, I fear, I share her with the town.Am I deceiv'd or can she be the same,Who only to my verses owes her fameMy verse a price upon her beauty laid,And by my praises she her market made;Whom but myself can I with reason blame?Without me she had never had a name.Did I do this, who knew her soul so well?Dearly to me she did her favours sell;And when the wares were to the public known,Why should I think she'd sell to me alone?'Twas I proclaim'd to all the town her charms,And tempted cullies to her venal arms;I made their way, I show'd them where to come,And there is hardly now a rake in RomeBut knows her rates, and thanks my babbling muse:Her house is now as common as the stews;For this I'm to the muse oblig'd, and moreFor all the mischiefs envy has in store.This comes of gallantry, while some employTheir talents on the fate of Thebes and Troy,While others Caesar's godlike acts rehearse,Corinna is the subject of my verse.Oh, that I ne'er had known the art to please,But written without genius and success.Why did the town so readily believeMy verse, and why to songs such credit give?Sure poetry s the same it ever was,And poets ne'er for oracles did pass.Why is such stress upon my writings laid?Why such regard to what by me is said?I wish the tales I've of Corinna told,Had been receiv'd as fables were of old;Of furious Scylla's horrid shape we read,And how she scalp'd her hoary father's lead:Of her fair face, and downward how she takesThe wolf's fierce form, the dog's, or curling snake's;Serpents for hair, in ancient song we meet,And man and horse with wings instead of feet.Huge Tityon from the skies the poets flung,Encelladus's wars with Jove they sung;How by her spells, and by her voice, to beasts,The doubtful virgin chang'd her wretched guests;How Eolus did for Ulysses keepThe winds in bottles while he plough'd the deep:How Cerberus, three headed, guarded hell;And from his car the son of Phoebus fell:How thirsty Tantalus attempts to sipThe stream in vain, that flies his greedy lip:How Niobe in marble drops a tear,And a bright nymph was turn'd into a bear:How Progne, now a swallow, does bemoanHer sister nightingale, and pheasant son.In Leda, Danae, and Europa's rapes,They sing the king of gods in various shapes;A swan he lies on ravish'd Leda's breast,And Danae by a golden show'r compress'd;A bull does o'er the waves Europa bear,And Proteus any form he pleases wear.How oft do we the Theban wonders read,Of serpent's teeth transform'd to human seed!Of dancing woods, and moving rocks, that throngTo hear sweet Orpheus, and Amphion's song?How oft do the Heliades bemoan,In tears of gum, the fall of Phaeton!The sun from Atreus' table frightened flies,And backward drives his chariot in the skies.Those now are nymphs that lately were a fleet;Poetic license ever was so great.But none did credit to these fictions give,Or for true history such tales receive,And though Corinna in my songs is fair,Let none conclude she's like her picture there.The fable she with hasty faith receiv'd,And what, so very well she lik'd, believ'd.But since so ill she does the poet use,'Tis time her vanity to disabuse.
Quis fuit ille dies, quo tristia semper amantiOmina non albae concinuistis aves?Quodve putem sidus nostris occurrere fatis,Quosve deos in me bella movere querar?Quae modo dicta mea est, quam coepi solus amare,Cum multis vereor ne sit habenda mihi.Fallimur, an nostris innotuit illa libellis?Sic erit — ingenio prostitit illa meo.Et merito! quid enim formae praeconia feci?Vendibilis culpa facta puella mea est.Me lenone placet, duce me perductus amator,Ianua per nostras est adaperta manus.An prosint, dubium, nocuerunt carmina semper;Invidiae nostris illa fuere bonis.Cum Thebae, cum Troia foret, cum Caesaris acta,Ingenium movit sola Corinna meum.Aversis utinam tetigissem carmina Musis,Phoebus et inceptum destituisset opus!Nec tamen ut testes mos est audire poetas;Malueram verbis pondus abesse meis.Per nos Scylla patri caros furata capillosPube premit rabidos inguinibusque canes;Nos pedibus pinnas dedimus, nos crinibus angues;Victor Abantiades alite fertur equo.Idem per spatium Tityon porreximus ingens,Et tria vipereo fecimus ora cani;Fecimus Enceladon iaculantem mille lacertis,Ambiguae captos virginis ore viros.Aeolios Ithacis inclusimus utribus Euros;Proditor in medio Tantalus amne sitit.De Niobe silicem, de virgine fecimus ursam.Concinit Odrysium Cecropis ales Ityn;Iuppiter aut in aves aut se transformat in aurumAut secat inposita virgine taurus aquas.Protea quid referam Thebanaque semina, dentes;Qui vomerent flammas ore, fuisse boves;Flere genis electra tuas, Auriga, sorores;Quaeque rates fuerint, nunc maris esse deas;Aversumque diem mensis furialibus Atrei,Duraque percussam saxa secuta lyram?Exit in inmensum fecunda licentia vatum,Obligat historica nec sua verba fide.Et mea debuerat falso laudata videriFemina; credulitas nunc mihi vestra nocet.
My wife, a native of Phaliscan plains,Where the rich soils enrich the lab'ring swains,Where purple grapes and golden apples grow,A conquest we to great Camillus owe.When once to Juno's feast she thither went,My mind to know the secret rites was bent:The pious priests the solemn sports prepare,And purify the fane with holy care.A heifer of the place they sacrifice,But ne'er to men expose their mysteries,I mark'd the hidden way my consort went,And follow'd down the deep and dark descent.To an old wood at last I came, whose shadeImpress'd a horror on the gloom it made,And ev'ry step with trembling feet I trod,Profan'd, I thought, the dwelling of a god.An altar there was rais'd by hands divine,And fragrant incense flam'd around the shrine.Chaste matrons there their vow'd oblations pay,And celebrate with joyful hymns the day.Soon as the fife the signal gives, they moveIn long procession through the sacred groveBranches and flow'rs are with devotion spreadO'er all the way, and priestly vestments laid.Next after these, through loud acclaims, they leadA cow milk white, and of Phaliscan breed;Then a young steer, whose forehead ne'er had borneThe crooked honours of the butting horn.The least of all the victims was a swine,And then a ram whose horns around his temples twine.A goat, whom most the goddess hates, comes last;The present feels her vengeance for the past.When in a wood to hide herself she tried,She by the bleating of a goat was spied;For this the beast is by the boys pursu'd;For this she's ever greedy of its blood,And he, who first the letcher wounds in play,Claims by her law, and hears the prize away.The tender youth, and tim'rous virgin strowWith robes the ground the goddess is to go.The virgins' locks with golden fillets bound,And sparkling diamonds glitt'ring all around;Buskins embroider'd on their feet they wear,And spreading trains with pride uneasy bear.Here, as in Greece the custom was of old,The image of the goddess we beholdBorne on the heads of maidens, and behindThe priestesses in beauteous rank you find.An awful silence reigns: the goddess lastApproaches, and with her the pomp is past.The dress was Greek, and such Halesus wore,When in a fright he fled the Grecian shore;His father kill'd, an Argive ship he fraught,And to this coast the royal treasure brought.Much peril had he past, much labour known,O'er lands and seas, before he reach'd our own,And landing built, with happy hand, the town,Where first he did this festival revive,And its Greek rules to the Phaliscans give;The rites and sacrifices first he show'd,As practis'd now within this ancient wood.Ah, may these rites to all propitious be,No more to those that serv'd them than to me.
Cum mihi pomiferis coniunx foret orta Faliscis,Moenia contigimus victa, Camille, tibi.Casta sacerdotes Iunoni festa parabantEt celebres ludos indigenamque bovem;Grande morae pretium ritus cognoscere, quamvisDifficilis clivis huc via praebet iter.Stat vetus et densa praenubilus arbore lucus;Adspice — concedas numen inesse loco.Accipit ara preces votivaque tura piorum —Ara per antiquas facta sine arte manus.Hinc, ubi praesonuit sollemni tibia cantu,It per velatas annua pompa vias;Ducuntur niveae populo plaudente iuvencae,Quas aluit campis herba Falisca suis,Et vituli nondum metuenda fronte minaces,Et minor ex humili victima porcus hara,Duxque gregis cornu per tempora dura recurvo.Invisa est dominae sola capella deae;Illius indicio silvis inventa sub altisDicitur inceptam destituisse fugam.Nunc quoque per pueros iaculis incessitur indexEt pretium auctori vulneris ipsa datur.Qua ventura dea est, iuvenes timidaeque puellaePraeverrunt latas veste iacente vias.Virginei crines auro gemmaque premuntur,Et tegit auratos palla superba pedes;More patrum Graio velatae vestibus albisTradita supposito vertice sacra ferunt.Ora favent populi tum cum venit aurea pompa,Ipsa sacerdotes subsequiturque suas.Argiva est pompae facies; Agamemnone caesoEt scelus et patrias fugit Halaesus opesIamque pererratis profugus terraque fretoqueMoenia felici condidit alta manu.Ille suos docuit Iunonia sacra Faliscos.Sint mihi, sint populo semper amica suo!
I do not ask you would to me prove true,Since you're a woman, and a fair one too.Act what you please, yet study to disguiseThe wanton scenes from my deluded eyes.A stiff denial would attenuateThat crime which your confession would make great.And 'twere unwise to trust the tell-tale light,With the dark secrets of the silent night.Tho' bought to be enjoy'd, a common whoreEre she begins will shut the chamber door:And will you turn debauch'd, then vainly ownHow lewd you are, to this malicious town?At least seem virtuous, and tho' false you be,Say you are honest, and I'll credit thee.Conceal your actions, and while I am by,Let modest words your looser thoughts belie;When to your private chamber you retire,Unmask your lust, and vent each warm desire;Throw off affected coyness, and removeThe bold intruder between thee and love:Talk not of honour, lay that toy aside,In men 'tis folly, and in women pride;There without blushes you may naked lie,Clasping his body with your tender thigh;Shoot your moist dart into his mouth, to showThe sense you have of what he acts below;Try all the ways, your pliant bodies twine,In folds more strange than those of Aretine:With melting looks fierce joys you may excite,And with thick dying accents urge delight.But when you're dress'd, then look as innocentAs if you knew not what such matters meant;Cozen the prying town, and put a cheatOn it and me, I'll favour the deceit.False as thou art, why must I daily seeTh' intriguing billet-doux he sends to thee?The wanton sonnet, or soft elegy?Why does your bed all tumbled seem to say,See what they've done, see where the lovers lay!Why do your locks and rumpled head-clothes show'Tis more than usual sleep that made 'em so?Why are the kisses which he gave, betray'dBy the impression which his teeth had made?Yet say you're chaste, and I'll be still deceived;What much is wish'd for, is with ease believ'd.But when you own what a lewd wretch thou art,My blood grows cold and freezes at my heart,Then do I curse thee, and thy crimes reprove,But curse in vain, for still I find I love;"Since she is false," oft to myself I cry,"Would I were dead,"-yet 'tis with thee I'd dieI will not see your maid, to let me knowWho visits you, where, and with whom you go;Nor by your lodging send my boy to scout,And bring me word who passes in and out.Enjoy the pleasure of the present times,But let not me be knowing of your crimes.Do you forswear't, tho' in the act you're caught,I'll trust the oath, and think my eyes in fault.
Non ego, ne pecces, cum sis formosa, recuso,Sed ne sit misero scire necesse mihi;Nec te nostra iubet fieri censura pudicam,Sed tamen, ut temptes dissimulare, rogat.Non peccat, quaecumque potest peccasse negare,Solaque famosam culpa professa facit.Quis furor est, quae nocte latent, in luce fateri,Et quae clam facias facta referre palam?Ignoto meretrix corpus iunctura QuiritiOpposita populum summovet ante sera;Tu tua prostitues famae peccata sinistraeCommissi perages indiciumque tui?Sit tibi mens melior, saltemve imitare pudicas,Teque probam, quamvis non eris, esse putem.Quae facis, haec facito; tantum fecisse negato,Nec pudeat coram verba modesta loqui!Est qui nequitiam locus exigat; omnibus illumDeliciis inple, stet procul inde pudor!Hinc simul exieris, lascivia protinus omnisAbsit, et in lecto crimina pone tuo.Illic nec tunicam tibi sit posuisse pudoriNec femori inpositum sustinuisse femur;Illic purpureis condatur lingua labellis,Inque modos Venerem mille figuret amor;Illic nec voces nec verba iuvantia cessent,Spondaque lasciva mobilitate tremat!Indue cum tunicis metuentem crimina vultum,Et pudor obscenum diffiteatur opus;Da populo, da verba mihi; sine nescius errem,Et liceat stulta credulitate frui!Cur totiens video mitti recipique tabellas?Cur pressus prior est interiorque torus?Cur plus quam somno turbatos esse capillosCollaque conspicio dentis habere notam?Tantum non oculos crimen deducis ad ipsos;Si dubitas famae parcere, parce mihi!Mens abit et morior quotiens peccasse fateris,Perque meos artus frigida gutta fluit.Tunc amo, tunc odi frustra quod amare necesse est;Tunc ego, sed tecum, mortuus esse velim!Nil equidem inquiram, nec quae celare parabisInsequar, et falli muneris instar erit.Si tamen in media deprensa tenebere culpa,Et fuerint oculis probra videnda meis,Quae bene visa mihi fuerint, bene visa negato —Concedent verbis lumina nostra tuis.Prona tibi vinci cupientem vincere palma est,Sit modo 'non feci!' dicere lingua memor.Cum tibi contingat verbis superare duobus,Etsi non causa, iudice vince tuo!
To Virgil Mantua owes immortal fame,Catullus to Verona gives a name;Why mayn't, if I attempt some great design,Peligne be as much oblig'd to mine?Why mayn't my muse a glorious toil pursue,And as much honour to my country do?A people, who, when Rome has been alarm'dBy foreign foes, in her defence have arm'd;Beneath your golden banners I have foughtSo long, your discipline so much have taught,'Tis time to give me a discharge, to proveSome other, some more glorious theme than loveSee Bacchus beckons me my voice to raise,Of lofty deeds to sings, in lofty lays;To mount my muse on some more generous horse,And try her courage in some daring course.Adieu, my sighing elegies, adieu!I'll be no more concern'd with love or you;But what I write my being shall survive,And in his verse the poet ever live.
Quaere novum vatem, tenerorum mater Amorum!Raditur hic elegis ultima meta meis;Quos ego conposui, Paeligni ruris alumnus —Nec me deliciae dedecuere meae —Siquid id est, usque a proavis vetus ordinis heres,Non modo militiae turbine factus eques.Mantua Vergilio, gaudet Verona Catullo;Paelignae dicar gloria gentis ego,Quam sua libertas ad honesta coegerat arma,Cum timuit socias anxia Roma manus.Atque aliquis spectans hospes Sulmonis aquosiMoenia, quae campi iugera pauca tenent,'Quae tantum' dicat 'potuistis ferre poetam,Quantulacumque estis, vos ego magna voco.'Culte puer puerique parens Amathusia culti.Aurea de campo vellite signa meo!Corniger increpuit thyrso graviore Lyaeus:Pulsanda est magnis area maior equis.Inbelles elegi, genialis Musa, valete,Post mea mansurum fata superstes opus!