Ars amatoria
Liber secundus

Dicite «io Paean!» et «io» bis dicite «Paean!»:
decidit in casses praeda petita meos.
laetus amans donat viridi mea carmina palma,
praelata Ascraeo Maeonioque seni.
talis ab armiferis Priameius hospes Amyclis
candida cum rapta coniuge vela dedit;
talis erat qui te curru victore ferebat,
vecta peregrinis Hippodamia rotis.
quid properas, iuvenis? mediis tua pinus in undis
navigat, et longe quem peto portus abest.
non satis est venisse tibi me vate puellam:
arte mea capta est, arte tenenda mea est.
nec minor est virtus, quam quaerere, parta tueri:
casus inest illic; hoc erit artis opus.
nunc mihi, si quando, puer et Cytherea, favete,
nunc Erato, nam tu nomen amoris habes.
magna paro, quas possit Amor remanere per artes,
dicere, tam vasto pervagus orbe puer.
et levis est, et habet geminas, quibus avolet, alas:
difficile est illis inposuisse modum.
hospitis effugio praestruxerat omnia Minos:
audacem pinnis repperit ille viam.
Daedalus ut clausit conceptum crimine matris
semibovemque virum semivirumque bovem,
«sit modus exilio,» dixit «iustissime Minos:
accipiat cineres terra paterna meos.
et quoniam in patria, fatis agitatus iniquis,
vivere non potui, da mihi posse mori.
da reditum puero, senis est si gratia vilis:
si non vis puero parcere, parce seni.»
dixerat haec; sed et haec et multo plura licebat
dicere: regressus non dabat ille viro.
quod simul ut sensit, «nunc, nunc, o Daedale,» dixit:
«materiam, qua sis ingeniosus, habes.
possidet et terras et possidet aequora Minos:
nec tellus nostrae nec patet unda fugae.
restat iter caeli: caelo temptabimus ire.
da veniam coepto, Iuppiter alte, meo:
non ego sidereas adfecto tangere sedes:
qua fugiam dominum, nulla, nisi ista, via est.
per Styga detur iter, Stygias transnabimus undas;
sunt mihi naturae iura novanda meae.»
ingenium mala saepe movent: quis crederet umquam
aerias hominem carpere posse vias?
remigium volucrum disponit in ordine pinnas,
et leve per lini vincula nectit opus,
imaque pars ceris adstringitur igne solutis,
finitusque novae iam labor artis erat.
tractabat ceramque puer pinnasque renidens,
nescius haec umeris arma parata suis.
cui pater «his» inquit «patria est adeunda carinis,
hac nobis Minos effugiendus ope.
aera non potuit Minos, alia omnia clausit;
quem licet, inventis aera rumpe meis.
sed tibi non virgo Tegeaea comesque Bootae
ensiger Orion aspiciendus erit:
me pinnis sectare datis; ego praevius ibo:
sit tua cura sequi; me duce tutus eris.
nam sive aetherias vicino sole per auras
ibimus, impatiens cera caloris erit:
sive humiles propiore freto iactabimus alas,
mobilis aequoreis pinna madescet aquis.
inter utrumque vola; ventos quoque, nate, timeto,
quaque ferent aurae, vela secunda dato.»
dum monet, aptat opus puero, monstratque moveri,
erudit infirmas ut sua mater aves.
inde sibi factas umeris accommodat alas,
perque novum timide corpora librat iter.
iamque volaturus parvo dedit oscula nato,
nec patriae lacrimas continuere genae.
monte minor collis, campis erat altior aequis:
hinc data sunt miserae corpora bina fugae.
et movet ipse suas, et nati respicit alas
Daedalus, et cursus sustinet usque suos.
iamque novum delectat iter, positoque timore
Icarus audaci fortius arte volat.
hos aliquis, tremula dum captat harundine pisces,
vidit, et inceptum dextra reliquit opus.
iam Samos a laeva (fuerant Naxosque relictae
et Paros et Clario Delos amata deo)
dextra Lebinthos erat silvisque umbrosa Calymne
cinctaque piscosis Astypalaea vadis,
cum puer, incautis nimium temerarius annis,
altius egit iter, deseruitque patrem.
vincla labant, et cera deo propiore liquescit,
nec tenues ventos brachia mota tenent.
territus a summo despexit in aequora caelo:
nox oculis pavido venit oborta metu.
tabuerant cerae: nudos quatit ille lacertos,
et trepidat nec, quo sustineatur, habet.
decidit, atque cadens «pater, o pater, auferor!» inquit,
clauserunt virides ora loquentis aquae.
at pater infelix, nec iam pater, «Icare!» clamat,
«Icare,» clamat «ubi es, quoque sub axe volas?
Icare» clamabat, pinnas aspexit in undis.
ossa tegit tellus: aequora nomen habent.
Non potuit Minos hominis conpescere pinnas;
ipse deum volucrem detinuisse paro.
fallitur, Haemonias siquis decurrit ad artes,
datque quod a teneri fronte revellit equi.
non facient, ut vivat amor, Medeides herbae
mixtaque cum magicis nenia Marsa sonis.
Phasias Aesoniden, Circe tenuisset Ulixem,
si modo servari carmine posset amor.
nec data profuerint pallentia philtra puellis:
philtra nocent animis, vimque furoris habent.
sit procul omne nefas; ut ameris, amabilis esto:
quod tibi non facies solave forma dabit:
sis licet antiquo Nireus adamatus Homero,
Naiadumque tener crimine raptus Hylas,
ut dominam teneas, nec te mirere relictum,
ingenii dotes corporis adde bonis.
forma bonum fragile est, quantumque accedit ad annos
fit minor, et spatio carpitur ipsa suo.
nec violae semper nec hiantia lilia florent,
et riget amissa spina relicta rosa.
et tibi iam venient cani, formose, capilli,
iam venient rugae, quae tibi corpus arent.
iam molire animum, qui duret, et adstrue formae:
solus ad extremos permanet ille rogos.
nec levis ingenuas pectus coluisse per artes
cura sit et linguas edidicisse duas.
non formosus erat, sed erat facundus Ulixes,
et tamen aequoreas torsit amore deas.
a quotiens illum doluit properare Calypso,
remigioque aptas esse negavit aquas!
haec Troiae casus iterumque iterumque rogabat:
ille referre aliter saepe solebat idem.
litore constiterant: illic quoque pulchra Calypso
exigit Odrysii fata cruenta ducis.
ille levi virga (virgam nam forte tenebat)
quod rogat, in spisso litore pingit opus.
«haec» inquit «Troia est» (muros in litore fecit):
«hic tibi sit Simois; haec mea castra puta.
campus erat» (campumque facit), «quem caede Dolonis
sparsimus, Haemonios dum vigil optat equos.
illic Sithonii fuerant tentoria Rhesi:
hac ego sum captis nocte revectus equis.»
pluraque pingebat, subitus cum Pergama fluctus
abstulit et Rhesi cum duce castra suo.
tum dea «quas» inquit «fidas tibi credis ituro,
perdiderint undae nomina quanta, vides?»
ergo age, fallaci timide confide figurae,
quisquis es, aut aliquid corpore pluris habe.
Dextera praecipue capit indulgentia mentes;
asperitas odium saevaque bella movet.
odimus accipitrem, quia vivit semper in armis,
et pavidum solitos in pecus ire lupos.
at caret insidiis hominum, quia mitis, hirundo,
quasque colat turres, Chaonis ales habet.
este procul, lites et amarae proelia linguae:
dulcibus est verbis mollis alendus amor.
lite fugent nuptaeque viros nuptasque mariti,
inque vicem credant res sibi semper agi;
hoc decet uxores; dos est uxoria lites:
audiat optatos semper amica sonos.
non legis iussu lectum venistis in unum:
fungitur in vobis munere legis Amor.
blanditias molles auremque iuvantia verba
adfer, ut adventu laeta sit illa tuo.
non ego divitibus venio praeceptor amandi:
nil opus est illi, qui dabit, arte mea.
secum habet ingenium qui, cum libet, «accipe» dicit;
cedimus, inventis plus placet ille meis.
pauperibus vates ego sum, quia pauper amavi;
cum dare non possem munera, verba dabam.
pauper amet caute, timeat maledicere pauper,
multaque divitibus non patienda ferat.
me memini iratum dominae turbasse capillos;
haec mihi quam multos abstulit ira dies!
nec puto, nec sensi tunicam laniasse; sed ipsa
dixerat, et pretio est illa redempta meo.
at vos, si sapitis, vestri peccata magistri
effugite et culpae damna timete meae.
proelia cum Parthis, cum culta pax sit amica,
et iocus et causas quicquid amoris habet.
Si nec blanda satis, nec erit tibi comis amanti,
perfer et obdura: postmodo mitis erit.
flectitur obsequio curvatus ab arbore ramus:
frangis, si vires experiare tuas.
obsequio tranantur aquae: nec vincere possis
flumina, si contra quam rapit unda nates.
obsequium tigresque domat Numidasque leones;
rustica paulatim taurus aratra subit.
quid fuit asperius Nonacrina Atalanta?
subcubuit meritis trux tamen illa viri.
saepe suos casus nec mitia facta puellae
flesse sub arboribus Milaniona ferunt;
saepe tulit iusso fallacia retia collo,
saepe fera torvos cuspide fixit apros.
sensit et Hylaei contentum saucius arcum;
sed tamen hoc arcu notior alter erat.
non te Maenalias armatum scandere silvas
nec iubeo collo retia ferre tuo,
pectora nec missis iubeo praebere sagittis;
artis erunt cauto mollia iussa meae.
cede repugnanti: cedendo victor abibis;
fac modo, quas partes illa iubebit, agas.
arguet, arguito; quicquid probat illa, probato;
quod dicet, dicas; quod negat illa, neges.
riserit, adride; si flebit, flere memento;
imponat leges vultibus illa tuis.
seu ludet, numerosque manu iactabit eburnos,
tu male iactato, tu male iacta dato;
seu iacies talos, victam ne poena sequatur,
damnosi facito stent tibi saepe canes.
sive latrocinii sub imagine calculus ibit,
fac pereat vitreo miles ab hoste tuus.
ipse tene distenta suis umbracula virgis,
ipse fac in turba, qua venit illa, locum.
nec dubita tereti scamnum producere lecto,
et tenero soleam deme vel adde pedi.
saepe etiam dominae, quamvis horrebis et ipse,
algenti manus est calfacienda sinu.
nec tibi turpe puta (quamvis sit turpe, placebit)
ingenua speculum sustinuisse manu.
ille, fatigata praebendo monstra noverca
qui meruit caelum, quod prior ipse tulit,
inter Ioniacas calathum tenuisse puellas
creditur, et lanas excoluisse rudes.
paruit imperio dominae Tirynthius heros:
i nunc et dubita ferre quod ille tulit.
iussus adesse foro, iussa maturius hora
fac semper venias, nec nisi serus abi.
occurras aliquo, tibi dixerit: omnia differ,
curre, nec inceptum turba moretur iter.
nocte domum repetens epulis perfuncta redibit:
Tum quoque pro servo, si vocat illa, veni.
rure erit, et dicet venias; Amor odit inertes:
si rota defuerit, tu pede carpe viam.
nec grave te tempus sitiensque Canicula tardet
nec via per iactas candida facta nives.
Militiae species amor est: discedite, segnes;
non sunt haec timidis signa tuenda viris.
nox et hiems longaeque viae saevique dolores
mollibus his castris et labor omnis inest.
saepe feres imbrem caelesti nube solutum,
frigidus et nuda saepe iacebis humo.
Cynthius Admeti vaccas pavisse Pheraei
fertur, et in parva delituisse casa.
quod Phoebum decuit, quem non decet? exue fastus,
curam mansuri quisquis amoris habes.
si tibi per tutum planumque negabitur ire
atque erit opposita ianua fulta sera,
at tu per praeceps tecto delabere aperto:
det quoque furtivas alta fenestra vias.
laeta erit, et causam tibi se sciet esse pericli;
hoc dominae certi pignus amoris erit.
saepe tua poteras, Leandre, carere puella:
transnabas, animum nosset ut illa tuum.
Nec pudor ancillas, ut quaeque erit ordine prima,
nec tibi sit servos demeruisse pudor.
nomine quemque suo (nulla est iactura) saluta,
iunge tuis humiles ambitiose manus.
sed tamen et servo (levis est inpensa) roganti
porrige Fortunae munera parva die;
porrige et ancillae, qua poenas luce pependit
lusa maritali Gallica veste manus.
fac plebem, mihi crede, tuam; sit semper in illa
ianitor et thalami qui iacet ante fores.
Nec dominam iubeo pretioso munere dones:
parva, sed e parvis callidus apta dato.
dum bene dives ager, cum rami pondere nutant,
adferat in calatho rustica dona puer.
rure suburbano poteris tibi dicere missa,
illa vel in Sacra sint licet empta Via.
adferat aut uvas aut, quas Amaryllis amabat,
at nunc castaneas non amat illa nuces.
quin etiam turdoque licet missaque columba
te memorem dominae testificere tuae.
turpiter his emitur spes mortis et orba senectus.
a, pereant, per quos munera crimen habent!
quid tibi praecipiam teneros quoque mittere versus?
ei mihi, non multum carmen honoris habet.
carmina laudantur, sed munera magna petuntur:
dummodo sit dives, barbarus ipse placet.
aurea sunt vere nunc saecula: plurimus auro
venit honos: auro conciliatur amor.
ipse licet venias Musis comitatus, Homere,
si nihil attuleris, ibis, Homere, foras.
sunt tamen et doctae, rarissima turba, puellae;
altera non doctae turba, sed esse volunt.
utraque laudetur per carmina: carmina lector
commendet dulci qualiacumque sono.
his ergo aut illis vigilatum carmen in ipsas
forsitan exigui muneris instar erit.
At quod eris per te facturus, et utile credis,
id tua te facito semper amica roget.
libertas alicui fuerit promissa tuorum:
hanc tamen a domina fac petat ille tua.
si poenam servo, si vincula saeva remittis,
quod facturus eras, debeat illa tibi:
utilitas tua sit, titulus donetur amicae:
perde nihil, partes illa potentis agat.
sed te, cuicumque est retinendae cura puellae,
attonitum forma fac putet esse sua.
sive erit in Tyriis, Tyrios laudabis amictus;
sive erit in Cois, Coa decere puta.
aurata est: ipso tibi sit pretiosior auro;
gausapa si sumpsit, gausapa sumpta proba.
astiterit tunicata, «moves incendia» clama,
sed timida, caveat frigora, voce roga.
conpositum discrimen erit: discrimina lauda;
torserit igne comam: torte capille, place.
brachia saltantis, vocem mirare canentis,
et, quod desierit, verba querentis habe.
ipsos concubitus, ipsum venerere licebit
quod iuvat et quae clam gaudia noctis habet
ut fuerit torva violentior illa Medusa,
fiet amatori lenis et aequa suo.
tantum, ne pateas verbis simulator in illis,
effice, nec vultu destrue dicta tuo.
si latet, ars prodest; adfert deprensa pudorem
atque adimit merito tempus in omne fidem.
Saepe sub autumnum, cum formosissimus annus
plenaque purpureo subrubet uva mero,
cum modo frigoribus premimur, modo solvimur aestu,
aere non certo, corpora languor habet.
illa quidem valeat, sed si male firma cubarit
et vitium caeli senserit aegra sui,
tunc amor et pietas tua sit manifesta puellae;
tum sere, quod plena postmodo falce metas.
nec tibi morosi veniant fastidia morbi,
perque tuas fiant, quae sinet ipsa, manus,
et videat flentem, nec taedeat oscula ferre,
et sicco lacrimas conbibat ore tuas.
multa vove, sed cuncta palam, quotiesque libebit,
quae referas illi, somnia laeta vide.
et veniat, quae lustret anus lectumque locumque,
praeferat et tremula sulphur et ova manu.
omnibus his inerunt gratae vestigia curae;
in tabulas multis haec via fecit iter.
nec tamen officiis odium quaeratur ab aegra;
sit suus in blanda sedulitate modus:
neve cibo prohibe, nec amari pocula suci
porrige; rivalis misceat illa tuus.
Sed non cui dederas a litore carbasa vento
utendum, medio cum potiere freto.
dum novus errat amor, vires sibi colligat usu;
si bene nutrieris, tempore firmus erit.
quem taurum metuis, vitulum mulcere solebas;
sub qua nunc recubas arbore, virga fuit;
nascitur exiguus, sed opes adquirit eundo,
quaque venit, multas accipit amnis aquas.
fac tibi consuescat: nil adsuetudine maius,
quam tu dum capias, taedia nulla fuge.
te semper videat, tibi semper praebeat aures,
exhibeat vultus noxque diesque tuos.
cum tibi maior erit fiducia, posse requiri,
cum procul absenti cura futurus eris,
da requiem: requietus ager bene credita reddit,
terraque caelestes arida sorbet aquas.
Phyllida Demophoon praesens moderatius ussit:
exarsit velis acrius illa datis.
Penelopen absens sollers torquebat Ulixes;
Phylacides aberat, Laodamia, tuus.
sed mora tuta brevis: lentescunt tempore curae
vanescitque absens et novus intrat amor:
dum Menelaus abest, Helene, ne sola iaceret,
hospitis est tepido nocte recepta sinu.
quis stupor hic, Menelae, fuit? tu solus abibas,
isdem sub tectis hospes et uxor erant.
accipitri timidas credis, furiose, columbas?
plenum montano credis ovile lupo?
nil Helene peccat, nihil hic committit adulter:
quod tu, quod faceret quilibet, ille facit.
cogis adulterium dando tempusque locumque;
quid nisi consilio est usa puella tuo?
quid faciat? vir abest, et adest non rusticus hospes,
et timet in vacuo sola cubare toro.
viderit Atrides; Helenen ego crimine solvo:
usa est humani commoditate viri.
Sed neque fulvus aper media tam saevus in ira est,
fulmineo rabidos cum rotat ore canes,
nec lea, cum catulis lactentibus ubera praebet,
nec brevis ignaro vipera laesa pede,
femina quam socii deprensa paelice lecti:
ardet et in vultu pignora mentis habet.
in ferrum flammasque ruit, positoque decore
fertur, ut Aonii cornibus icta dei.
coniugis admissum violataque iura marita est
barbara per natos Phasias ulta suos.
altera dira parens haec est, quam cernis, hirundo:
aspice, signatum sanguine pectus habet.
hoc bene compositos, hoc firmos solvit amores;
crimina sunt cautis ista timenda viris.
nec mea vos uni damnat censura puellae:
di melius! vix hoc nupta tenere potest.
ludite, sed furto celetur culpa modesto;
gloria peccati nulla petenda sui est.
nec dederis munus, cognosse quod altera possit,
nec sint nequitiae tempora certa tuae,
et, ne te capiat latebris sibi femina notis,
non uno est omnis convenienda loco,
et, quotiens scribes, totas prius ipse tabellas
inspice: plus multae, quam sibi missa, legunt.
laesa Venus iusta arma movet telumque remittit
et, modo quod questa est, ipse querare facit.
dum fuit Atrides una contentus, et illa
casta fuit; vitio est improba facta viri.
audierat laurumque manu vittasque ferentem
pro nata Chrysen non valuisse sua;
audierat, Lyrnesi, tuos, abducta, dolores
bellaque per turpis longius isse moras.
haec tamen audierat; Priameida viderat ipsa:
victor erat praedae praeda pudenda suae.
inde Thyestiaden animo thalamoque recepit
et male peccantem Tyndaris ulta virum.
quae bene celaris, si qua tamen acta patebunt,
illa licet pateant, tu tamen usque nega.
tum neque subiectus, solito nec blandior esto:
haec animi multum signa nocentis habent.
sed lateri ne parce tuo: pax omnis in uno est;
concubitu prior est infitianda Venus.
Sunt, qui praecipiant herbas, satureia, nocentes
sumere; iudiciis ista venena meis.
aut piper urticae mordacis semine miscent
tritaque in annoso flava pyrethra mero;
sed dea non patitur sic ad sua gaudia cogi,
colle sub umbroso quam tenet altus Eryx.
candidus, Alcathoi qui mittitur urbe Pelasga,
bulbus et, ex horto quae venit, herba salax
ovaque sumantur, sumantur Hymettia mella
quasque tulit folio pinus acuta nuces.
Docta, quid ad magicas, Erato, deverteris artes?
interior curru meta terenda meo est.
qui modo celabas monitu tua crimina nostro,
flecte iter, et monitu detege furta meo.
nec levitas culpanda mea est: non semper eodem
impositos vento panda carina vehit.
nam modo Threicio Borea, modo currimus Euro;
saepe tument Zephyro lintea, saepe Noto.
aspice, ut in curru modo det fluitantia rector
lora, modo admissos arte retentet equos.
sunt quibus ingrate timida indulgentia servit
et, si nulla subest aemula, languet amor.
luxuriant animi rebus plerumque secundis,
nec facile est aequa commoda mente pati.
ut levis absumptis paulatim viribus ignis
ipse latet, summo canet in igne cinis,
sed tamen extinctas admoto sulphure flammas
invenit, et lumen, quod fuit ante, redit:
sic, ubi pigra situ securaque pectora torpent,
acribus est stimulis eliciendus amor.
fac timeat de te tepidamque recalface mentem:
palleat indicio criminis illa tui;
o quater et quotiens numero conprendere non est
felicem, de quo laesa puella dolet!
quae, simul invitas crimen pervenit ad aures,
excidit, et miserae voxque colorque fugit.
ille ego sim, cuius laniet furiosa capillos;
ille ego sim, teneras cui petat ungue genas,
quem videat lacrimans, quem torvis spectet ocellis,
quo sine non possit vivere, posse velit.
si spatium quaeras, breve sit, quo laesa queratur,
ne lenta vires colligat ira mora.
candida iamdudum cingantur colla lacertis,
inque tuos flens est accipienda sinus;
oscula da flenti, Veneris da gaudia flenti,
pax erit; hoc uno solvitur ira modo.
cum bene saevierit, cum certa videbitur hostis,
tum pete concubitus foedera, mitis erit.
illic depositis habitat Concordia telis,
illo, crede mihi, Gratia nata loco est.
quae modo pugnarunt, iungunt sua rostra columbae,
quarum blanditias verbaque murmur habet.
prima fuit rerum confusa sine ordine moles,
unaque erat facies sidera, terra, fretum;
mox caelum impositum terris, humus aequore cincta est
inque suas partes cessit inane chaos;
silva feras, volucres aer accepit habendas;
in liquida, pisces, delituistis aqua.
tum genus humanum solis errabat in agris
idque merae vires et rude corpus erat;
silva domus fuerat, cibus herba, cubilia frondes:
iamque diu nulli cognitus alter erat.
blanda truces animos fertur mollisse voluptas:
constiterant uno femina virque loco.
quid facerent, ipsi nullo didicere magistro;
arte Venus nulla dulce peregit opus.
ales habet, quod amet; cum quo sua gaudia iungat,
invenit in media femina piscis aqua;
cerva parem sequitur, serpens serpente tenetur;
haeret adulterio cum cane nexa canis;
laeta salitur ovis: tauro quoque laeta iuvenca est;
sustinet inmundum sima capella marem.
in furias agitantur equae, spatioque remota
per loca dividuos amne sequuntur equos.
ergo age et iratae medicamina fortia praebe;
illa feri requiem sola doloris habent,
illa Machaonios superant medicamina sucos;
his, ubi peccaris, restituendus eris.
Haec ego cum canerem, subito manifestus Apollo
movit inauratae pollice fila lyrae.
in manibus laurus, sacris inducta capillis
laurus erat; vates ille videndus adit.
is mihi «lascivi» dixit «praeceptor Amoris,
duc, age, discipulos ad mea templa tuos,
est ubi diversum fama celebrata per orbem
littera, cognosci quae sibi quemque iubet.
qui sibi notus erit, solus sapienter amabit,
atque opus ad vires exiget omne suas.
cui faciem natura dedit, spectetur ab illa;
cui color est, umero saepe patente cubet;
qui sermone placet, taciturna silentia vitet;
qui canit arte, canat; qui bibit arte, bibat.
sed neque declament medio sermone diserti,
nec sua non sanus scripta poeta legat!»
sic monuit Phoebus: Phoebo parete monenti;
certa dei sacro est huius in ore fides.
ad propiora vocor. quisquis sapienter amabit,
vincet et e nostra, quod petet, arte feret.
credita non semper sulci cum fenere reddunt,
nec semper dubias adiuvat aura rates;
quod iuvat, exiguum, plus est, quod laedat amantes:
proponant animo multa ferenda suo.
quot lepores in Atho, quot apes pascuntur in Hybla,
caerula quot bacas Palladis arbor habet,
litore quot conchae, tot sunt in amore dolores;
quae patimur, multo spicula felle madent.
dicta erit isse foras: intus fortasse videbis:
isse foras, et te falsa videre puta.
clausa tibi fuerit promissa ianua nocte:
perfer et inmunda ponere corpus humo.
forsitan et vultu mendax ancilla superbo
dicet «quid nostras obsidet iste fores?»
postibus et durae supplex blandire puellae
et capiti demptas in fore pone rosas.
cum volet, accedes: cum te vitabit, abibis;
dedecet ingenuos taedia ferre sui.
«effugere hunc non est» quare tibi possit amica
dicere? non omni tempore sensus obest.
nec maledicta puta, nec verbera ferre puellae
turpe nec ad teneros oscula ferre pedes.
Quid moror in parvis? animus maioribus instat;
magna canam: toto pectore, vulgus, ades.
ardua molimur, sed nulla, nisi ardua, virtus:
difficilis nostra poscitur arte labor.
rivalem patienter habe: victoria tecum
stabit: eris magni victor in arce Iovis.
haec tibi non hominem, sed quercus crede Pelasgas
dicere: nil istis ars mea maius habet.
innuet illa: feras; scribet: ne tange tabellas;
unde volet, veniat; quoque libebit, eat.
hoc in legitima praestant uxore mariti,
cum, tener, ad partes tu quoque, Somne, venis.
hac ego, confiteor, non sum perfectus in arte;
quid faciam? monitis sum minor ipse meis.
mene palam nostrae det quisquam signa puellae
et patiar nec me quo libet ira ferat?
oscula vir dederat, memini, suus; oscula questus
sum data; barbaria noster abundat amor.
non semel hoc vitium nocuit mihi; doctior ille,
quo veniunt alii conciliante viri.
sed melius nescisse fuit: sine furta tegantur,
ne fugiat ficto fassus ab ore pudor.
quo magis, o iuvenes, deprendere parcite vestras;
peccent, peccantes verba dedisse putent.
crescit amor prensis: ubi par fortuna duorum est,
in causa damni perstat uterque sui.
fabula narratur toto notissima caelo,
Mulciberis capti Marsque Venusque dolis.
Mars pater, insano Veneris turbatus amore
de duce terribili factus amator erat.
nec Venus oranti (neque enim dea mollior ulla est)
rustica Gradivo difficilisque fuit.
a, quotiens lasciva pedes risisse mariti
dicitur, et duras igne vel arte manus!
Marte palam simul est Vulcanum imitata, decebat,
multaque cum forma gratia mixta fuit.
sed bene concubitus primos celare solebant.
plena verecundi culpa pudoris erat.
indicio Solis (quis Solem fallere possit?)
cognita Vulcano coniugis acta suae.
(quam mala, Sol, exempla moves! pete munus ab ipsa
et tibi, si taceas, quod dare possit, habet.)
Mulciber obscuros lectum circaque superque
disponit laqueos: lumina fallit opus.
fingit iter Lemnon; veniunt ad foedus amantes;
impliciti laqueis nudus uterque iacent.
convocat ille deos; praebent spectacula capti;
vix lacrimas Venerem continuisse putant.
non vultus texisse suos, non denique possunt
partibus obscenis opposuisse manus.
hic aliquis ridens «in me, fortissime Mavors,
si tibi sunt oneri, vincula transfer!» ait.
vix precibus, Neptune, tuis captiva resolvit
corpora; Mars Thracen occupat, illa Paphon.
hoc tibi pro facto, Vulcane, quod ante tegebant,
liberius faciunt, ut pudor omnis abest.
saepe tamen demens stulte fecisse fateris,
teque ferunt artis paenituisse tuae.
hoc vetiti vos este; vetat deprensa Dione
insidias illas, quas tulit ipsa, dare.
nec vos rivali laqueos disponite, nec vos
excipite arcana verba notata manu.
ista viri captent, si iam captanda putabunt,
quos faciet iustos ignis et unda viros.
en, iterum testor: nihil hic, nisi lege remissum
luditur; in nostris instita nulla iocis.
Quis Cereris ritus ausit vulgare profanis
magnaque Threicia sacra reperta Samo?
exigua est virtus praestare silentia rebus;
at contra gravis est culpa tacenda loqui.
o bene, quod frustra captatis arbore pomis
garrulus in media Tantalus aret aqua!
praecipue Cytherea iubet sua sacra taceri;
admoneo, veniat nequis ad illa loquax.
condita si non sunt Veneris mysteria cistis,
nec cava vesanis ictibus aera sonant,
at tamen inter nos medio versantur in usu,
sed sic, inter nos ut latuisse velint.
ipsa Venus pubem, quotiens velamina ponit,
protegitur laeva semireducta manu.
in medio passimque coit pecus: hoc quoque viso
avertit vultus nempe puella suos.
conveniunt thalami furtis et ianua nostris
parsque sub iniecta veste pudenda latet,
et, si non tenebras, ad quiddam nubis opacae
quaerimus, atque aliquid luce patente minus.
tunc quoque, cum solem nondum prohibebat et imbrem
tegula sed quercus tecta cibumque dabat,
in nemore atque antris, non sub Iove, iuncta voluptas:
tanta rudi populo cura pudoris erat.
at nunc nocturnis titulos inponimus actis,
atque emitur magno nil, nisi posse loqui.
scilicet excuties omnes, ubi quaeque, puellas,
cuilibet ut dicas «haec quoque nostra fuit»?
nec desint, quas tu digitis ostendere possis?
ut quamque adtigeris, fabula turpis erit?
parva queror: fingunt quidam, quae vera negarent,
et nulli non se concubuisse ferunt.
corpora si nequeunt, quae possunt, nomina tangunt,
famaque non tacto corpore crimen habet.
i nunc, claude fores, custos odiose puellae,
et centum duris postibus obde seras:
quid tuti superest, cum nominis extat adulter
et credi quod non contigit esse, cupit?
nos etiam veros parce profitemur amores,
Tectaque sunt solida mystica furta fide.
Parcite praecipue vitia exprobrare puellis,
utile quae multis dissimulasse fuit.
nec suus Andromedae color est obiectus ab illo,
mobilis in gemino cui pede pinna fuit.
omnibus Andromache visa est spatiosior aequo,
unus, qui modicam diceret, Hector erat.
quod male fers, adsuesce: feres bene: multa vetustus
leniet, incipiens omnia sentit amor.
dum novus in viridi coalescit cortice ramus,
concutiat tenerum quaelibet aura, cadet.
mox eadem ventis, spatio durata, resistet,
firmaque adoptivas arbor habebit opes.
eximit ipsa dies omnes e corpore mendas,
quodque fuit vitium, desinit esse mora.
ferre novae nares taurorum terga recusant:
adsiduo domitas tempore fallit odor.
nominibus mollire licet mala: «fusca» vocetur,
nigrior Illyrica cui pice sanguis erit;
si straba, sit «Veneri similis»; si rava, «Minervae»;
sit «gracilis», macie quae male viva sua est;
dic «habilem», quaecumque brevis, quae turgida, «plenam»;
et lateat vitium proximitate boni.
Nec quotus annus eat, nec quo sit nata require
consule, quae rigidus munera censor habet,
praecipue si flore caret, meliusque peractum
Tempus, et albentes iam legit illa comas.
utilis, o iuvenes, aut haec, aut serior aetas:
iste feret segetes, iste serendus ager.
[dum vires annique sinunt, tolerate labores:
iam veniet tacito curva senecta pede.
aut mare remigiis, aut vomere findite terras
aut fera belligeras addite in arma manus,
aut latus et vires operamque adferte puellis:
hoc quoque militia est, hoc quoque quaerit opes.]
adde, quod est illis operum prudentia maior,
solus et, artifices qui facit, usus adest.
illae munditiis annorum damna rependunt
et faciunt cura, ne videantur anus;
utque velis, Venerem iungunt per mille figuras:
invenit plures nulla tabella modos.
illis sentitur non inritata voluptas:
quod iuvet, ex aequo femina virque ferant.
odi concubitus, qui non utrumque resolvunt;
hoc est, cur pueri tangar amore minus.
odi quae praebet, quia sit praebere necesse,
siccaque de lana cogitat ipsa sua.
quae datur officio, non est mihi grata voluptas:
officium faciat nulla puella mihi.
me voces audire iuvat sua gaudia fassas,
quaeque morer meme sustineamque, roget.
aspiciam dominae victos amentis ocellos;
langueat et tangi se vetet illa diu.
haec bona non primae tribuit natura iuventae,
quae cito post septem lustra venire solent.
qui properant, nova musta bibant; mihi fundat avitum
consulibus priscis condita testa merum.
nec platanus, nisi sera, potest obsistere Phoebo,
et laedunt nudos prata novella pedes.
scilicet Hermionen Helenae praeponere posses,
et melior Gorge quam sua mater erat!
at Venerem quicumque voles adtingere seram,
si modo duraris, praemia digna feres.
Conscius, ecce, duos accepit lectus amantes:
ad thalami clausas, Musa, resiste fores.
sponte sua sine te celeberrima verba loquentur,
nec manus in lecto laeva iacebit iners.
invenient digiti, quod agant in partibus illis,
in quibus occulte spicula tingit Amor.
fecit in Andromache prius hoc fortissimus Hector
nec solum bellis utilis ille fuit.
fecit et in capta Lyrneside magnus Achilles,
cum premeret mollem lassus ab hoste torum.
illis te manibus tangi, Brisei, sinebas,
imbutae Phrygia quae nece semper erant.
an fuit hoc ipsum, quod te, lasciva, iuvaret,
ad tua victrices membra venire manus?
crede mihi, non est Veneris properanda voluptas,
sed sensim tarda prolicienda mora.
cum loca reppereris, quae tangi femina gaudet,
non obstet, tangas quo minus illa, pudor.
aspicies oculos tremulo fulgore micantes,
ut sol a liquida saepe refulget aqua.
accedent questus, accedet amabile murmur,
et dulces gemitus aptaque verba ioco.
sed neque tu dominam velis maioribus usus
desere, nec cursus anteat illa tuos;
ad metam properate simul: tum plena voluptas,
cum pariter victi femina virque iacent.
hic tibi versandus tenor est, cum libera dantur
otia, furtivum nec timor urget opus.
cum mora non tuta est, totis incumbere remis
utile et admisso subdere calcar equo.
Finis adest operi: palmam date, grata iuventus,
sertaque odoratae myrtea ferte comae.
quantus apud Danaos Podalirius arte medendi,
Aeacides dextra, pectore Nestor erat,
quantus erat Calchas extis, Telamonius armis,
Automedon curru, tantus amator ego.
me vatem celebrate, viri, mihi dicite laudes;
cantetur toto nomen in orbe meum.
arma dedi vobis: dederat Vulcanus Achilli;
vincite muneribus, vicit ut ille, datis.
sed quicumque meo superarit Amazona ferro,
inscribat spoliis «Naso magister erat».
ecce, rogant tenerae, sibi dem praecepta, puellae:
vos eritis chartae proxima cura meae!

The Art Of Love
Book II

Part I: His Task
Sing out the Paean: sing out the Paean twice!
The prize I searched for falls into my net.
Delighted lovers grant my songs the palm,
I'm preferred to Hesiod and old Homer.
So Paris the stranger sailed, from hostile Amyclae's shore,
under white sheets, with his ravished bride:
such was Pelops who brought you home Hippodamia,
borne on the foreign wheels of his conquering car.
What's your hurry, young man? Your boat's mid ocean,
and the harbour I search for is far away.
It's not enough the girl's come to you, through me, the poet:
she's captured by my art, she's to be kept by my art too.
There's no less virtue in keeping than in finding.
There's chance in the latter: the first's a work of art.
Now aid me, your follower, Venus, and the Boy,
and Erato, Muse, now you have love's name too.
Great my task as I try to tell what arts can make Love stay:
that boy who wanders so, through the vast world.
And he's flighty, and has two wings on which he vanishes:
it's a tricky job to pin him down.
Minos blocked every road of flight for his guest:
but Daedalus devised a bold winged path.
When he'd imprisoned the offspring of its mother's sin,
the man half-bull, the bull who was half-man,
he said: ‘Minos, the Just, let my exile end:
let my native land receive my ashes.
And since I couldn't live in my own country,
driven from it by cruel fate, still let me die there.
Give my boy freedom, if the father's service was worthless:
or if power will not spare the child, let it spare the old.'
He spoke the words, but they, and so many others, were in vain:
his freedom was still denied him by the king.
When he realised this, he said: ‘Now, now, O Daedalus,
you have an object for your skilfulness.
Minos rules the earth and the waves:
neither land or sea is open for my flight.
The sky road still remains: we'll try the heavens.
Jupiter, on high, favour my plan:
I don't aspire to touch the starry spheres:
there is no way to flee the king but this.
I'd swim the Stygian waves, if Styx offered me a path:
through my nature new laws are mine.'
Trouble often sharpens the wits: who would think
any man could travel by the air-roads?
He lays out oar-like wings with lines of feathers,
and ties the fragile work with fastenings of string,
and glues the ends with beeswax melted in the flames,
and now the work of this new art's complete.
Laughing, his son handled the wax and feathers
not knowing they were being readied for his own shoulders.
His father said of them: ‘This is the art that will take us home,
by this creation we'll escape from Minos.
Minos bars all other ways but cannot close the skies:
as is fitting, my invention cleaves the air.
But don't gaze at the Bear, that Arcadian girl,
or Bootes's companion, Orion with his sword:
Fly behind me with the wings I give you: I'll go in front:
your job's to follow: you'll be safe where I lead.
For if we go near the sun through the airy aether,
the wax will not endure the heat:
if our humble wings glide close to ocean,
the breaking salt waves will drench our feathers.
Fly between the two: and fear the breeze as well,
spread your wings and follow, as the winds allow.'
As he warns, he fits the wings to his child, shows
how they move, as a bird teaches her young nestlings.
Then he fastened the wings he'd fashioned to his own shoulders,
and poised his anxious body for the strange path.
Now, about to fly, he gave the small boy a kiss,
and the tears ran down the father's cheeks.
A small hill, no mountain, higher than the level plain:
there their two bodies were given to the luckless flight.
And Daedalus moved his wings, and watched his son's,
and all the time kept to his own course.
Now Icarus delights in the strange journey,
and, fear forgotten, he flies more swiftly, with daring art.
A man catching fish, with quivering rod, saw them,
and the task he'd started dropped from his hand.
Now Samos was to the left (Naxos was far behind
and Paros, and Delos beloved by Phoebus the god)
Lebinthos lay to the right, and shady-wooded Calymne,
and Astypalaea ringed by rich fishing grounds,
when the boy, too rash, with youth's carelessness,
soared higher, and left his father far behind.
The knots give way, and the wax melts near the sun,
his flailing arms can't clutch at thin air.
Fearful, from heaven's heights he gazes at the deep:
terrified, darkness, born of fear, clouds his eyes.
The wax dissolves: he thrashes with naked arms,
and flutters there with nothing to support him.
He falls, and falling cries: ‘Father, O father, I'm lost!'
the salt-green sea closes over his open lips.
But now the unhappy father, his father, calls, ‘Icarus!
Where are you Icarus, where under the sky?
Calling ‘Icarus', he saw the feathers on the waves.
Earth holds his bones: the waters take his name.
Part II: You Need Gifts of Mind
Minos could not hold back those mortal wings:
I'm setting out to check the winged god himself.
He who has recourse to Thracian magic, fails,
to what the foal yields, torn from its new-born brow,
Medea's herbs can't keep love alive,
nor Marsian dirges mingled with magic chants.
If incantations only could enslave love, Ulysses
would have been tied to Circe, Jason to the Colchian.
It's no use giving girls pale drugs:
drugs hurt the mind, have power to cause madness.
Away with such evils: to be loved be lovable:
something face and form alone won't give you.
Though you're Nireus loved by Homer of old,
or sweet Hylas ravished by the Naiades' crime,
to keep your love, and not to find her leave you,
add gifts of mind to grace of body.
A sweet form is fragile, what's added to its years
lessen it, and time itself eats it away.
Violets and open lilies do not flower forever,
and thorns are left stiffening on the blown rose.
And white hair will come to find you, lovely lad,
soon wrinkles will come, furrowing your skin.
Then nourish mind, which lasts, and adds to beauty:
it alone will stay till the funeral pyre.
Cultivate your thoughts with the noble arts,
more than a little, and learn two languages.
Ulysses wasn't handsome, but he was eloquent,
and still racked the sea-goddesses with love.
How often Calypso mourned his haste,
and denied the waves were fit for oars!
She asked him again and again about the fall of Troy:
He grew used to retelling it often, differently.
They walked the beach: there, lovely Calypso too
demanded the gory tale of King Rhesus's fate.
He, with a rod (a rod perhaps he already had)
illustrated what she asked in the thick sand.
‘This' he said, ‘is Troy' (drawing the walls in the sand):
‘This your Simois: imagine this is our camp.
This is the field,' (he drew the field), ‘that was dyed
with Dolon's blood, while he spied on Achilles's horses.
here were the tents of Thracian Rhesus:
here am I riding back the captured horses at night.'
And he was drawing more, when suddenly a wave
washed away Troy, and Rhesus, and his camp.
Then the goddess said ‘Do you see what you place your trust in
for your voyage, waves that have destroyed such mighty names?'
So listen, whoever you are, fear to rely on treacherous beauty
or own to something more than just the flesh.
Part III: Be Gentle and Good Tempered
Gentleness especially impresses minds favourably:
harshness creates hatred and fierce wars.
We hate the hawk that lives its life in battle,
and the wolf whose custom is to raid the timid flocks.
But the swallow, for its gentleness, is free from human snares,
and Chaonian doves have dovecotes to live in.
Away with disputes and the battle of bitter tongues:
sweet love must feed on gentle words.
Let married men and married women be checked by rebuffs,
and think in turn things always are against them:
that's proper for wives: quarrelling's the marriage dowry:
but a mistress should always hear the longed-for cooing.
No law orders you to come together in one bed:
in your rules it's love provides the entertainment.
Approach her with gentle flatteries and words to delight
her ear, so that your arrival makes her glad.
I don't come as a teacher of love for the rich:
he who can give has no need of my art:
He has genius who can say: ‘Take this' when he pleases:
I submit: he delights more than my inventions.
I'm the poor man's poet, who was poor when I loved:
when I could give no gifts, I gave them words.
The poor must love warily: the poor fear to speak amiss,
and suffer much that the rich would not.
I remember mussing my lady's hair in anger:
how many days that anger cost me!
I don't think I tore her dress, I didn't feel it: but she
said so, and my reward was to replace it.
But you, if you're wise, avoid your teacher's faults,
and fear the harm that came from my offence.
Make war with the Parthians, peace with a civilised friend,
and laughter, and whatever engenders love.
Part IV: Be Patient and Comply
If she's not charming or courteous enough, at your loving,
endure it and persist: she'll soon be kinder.
You can get a curved branch to bend on the tree by patience:
you'll break it, if you try out your full strength.
With patience you can cross the water: you'll not
conquer the river by sailing against the flow.
Patience tames tigers and Numidian lions:
the farmer in time bows the ox to the plough.
Who was fiercer than Arcadian Atalanta?
Wild as she was she still surrendered to male kindness.
Often Milanion wept among the trees
at his plight and at the girl's harsh acts:
often at her orders his shoulders carried the nets,
often he pierced wild boars with his deadly spear:
and he felt the pain of Hylaeus's tense bow:
but that of another bow was still more familiar.
I don't order you to climb in Maenalian woods,
holding a weapon, or carrying nets on your back:
I don't order you to bare your chest to flying darts:
the tender commands of my arts are safe.
Yield to opposition: by yielding you'll end as victor:
Only play the part she commands you to.
Condemn what she condemns: what she approves, approve:
say what she says: deny what she denies.
She laughs, you laugh: remember to cry, if she cries:
she'll set the rules according to your expression.
If she plays, tossing the ivory dice in her hand,
throw them wrong, and concede on your bad throw:
If you play knucklebones, no prize if you win,
make out that often the ruinous low Dogs fell to you.
And if it's draughts, the draughtsmen mercenaries,
let your champion be swept away by your glass foe.
Yourself, hold your girl's sunshade outspread,
yourself, make a place for her in the crowd.
Quickly bring up a footstool to her elegant couch,
and slip the sandal on or off her sweet foot.
Often, even though you're shivering yourself,
her hand must be warmed at your neglected breast.
Don't think it shameful (though it's shameful, you'll like it),
to hold the mirror for her in your noble hands.
When his stepmother, Juno, was tired of sending him monsters,
Hercules, it's said, who reached the heavens he'd shouldered,
held a basket, among the Lydian girls, and spun raw wool.
The hero of Tiryns complied with his girl's orders:
go now, and endure the misgivings he endured.
Ordered to appear in town, make sure you arrive
before time, and don't leave unless it's late.
She tells you to be elsewhere: drop everything, run,
don't let the crowd in the way stop you trying.
She's returning home from another party at night:
when she calls for her slave you come too.
She's in the country, says: ‘come': Love hates a laggard:
if you've no wheels, travel the road on foot.
Don't let bad weather, or parching Dog-days, stall you,
or the roads whitened by falling snow.
Part V: Don't be Faint-Hearted
Love is a kind of warfare. Slackers, dismiss!
There are no cowards guarding this standard.
Night and winter, long roads and cruel sorrows,
and every kind of labour are found on love's campaigns.
You'll often endure rain pouring from heavenly clouds,
and frozen, lie there on the naked earth.
They say that Phoebus grazed Admetus's cattle,
and found shelter in a humble hut.
Who can't suit what suited Phoebus? Lose your pride,
you who'd have love's sorrows tamed.
If you're denied a safe and level road,
and the door barred with a bolt against you,
then drop down head-first through the open roof:
a high window too offers a secret way.
She'll be glad, knowing the chase itself is risky for you:
that will be sure proof to the lady of your love.
You might often have been parted from your girl, Leander:
you swam across so she could know your heart.
Part VI: Win Over the Servants
Nor is it shameful to you to cultivate her maids,
according to their grades, and the serving men.
Greet them by their names (it costs you nothing)
clasp humble hands with yours, in your ambition.
And even offer the servant, who asks, a little something
on Fortune's Day (it's little enough to pay):
and the maid, on that day when the hand of punishment fell
on the Gauls, they deluded by maids in mistress's clothes.
Trust me, make the people yours: especially the gatekeeper,
and whoever lies in front of her bedroom doors.
Part VII: Give Her Little Tasteful Gifts
I don't tell you to give your mistress expensive gifts:
give little but of that little, skilfully, give what's fitting.
When the field is full of riches, when the branches bend
with the weight, let the boy bring a gift in a rustic basket.
You can say it was sent from your country villa,
even though it was bought on the Via Sacra.
Send grapes, or those nuts Amaryllis loved,
chestnuts, but she doesn't love them now.
Why even thrushes are fine, and the gift of a dove,
to witness your remembrance of your mistress.
Shameful to send them hoping for the death of some childless
old man. Ah, perish those who make giving a crime!
Do I also teach that you send tender verses?
Ah me, poems are not honoured much.
Songs are praised, but its gifts they really want:
barbarians themselves are pleasing, so long as they're rich.
Truly now it is the Age of Gold: the greatest honours
come with gold: love's won by gold.
Even if you came, Homer, with the Muses as companions,
if you brought nothing with you, Homer, you'd be out.
Still there are cultured girls, the rarest set:
and another set who aren't, but would like to be.
Praise either in song: and they'll commend
the reader whatever his voice's sweetness:
So sing your midnight song to one and the other,
perhaps it will figure as a trifling gift.
Part VIII: Favour Her and Compliment Her
Then what you're about to do, and think is useful,
always get your lover to ask you to do it.
You promised liberty to one of your slaves:
still let him seek the fact of it from your girl:
if you stay a punishment, forgo the use of cruel chains,
let her be thankful to you, for what you did:
the advantage is yours: the title ‘giver' is your lover's:
you lose nothing, she plays the mistress's part.
But whoever you are, who want to keep your girl,
she must think that you're inspired by her beauty.
If she's dressed in Tyrian robes, praise Tyrian:
if she's in Coan silk, consider Coan fitting.
She's in gold-thread? She's more precious than gold:
She wears wool, approve the wool she's wearing.
She leaves off her tunic, cry: ‘You set me on fire',
but request her anxiously to beware of chills.
She's parted her hair: praise the parting:
she waves her hair: be pleased with the waves.
Admire her limbs as she dances, her voice when she sings,
and when it finishes, grieve that it's finished in words.
It's fine if you tell her what delights, and what gives joy
about her lovemaking, her skill in bed.
Though she's more violent than fierce Medusa,
she'll be ‘kind and gentle' to her lover.
But make sure of this: don't let your expression
give your speech the lie, lest you seem a deceiver with words.
Art works when its hidden: discovery brings shame,
and time destroys faith in everything of merit.
Part IX: Comfort Her in Sickness
Often in autumn, when the season's loveliest,
and the ripe grape's dyed with purple juice,
when now we're frozen solid, now drenched with heat,
the body's listless in the changing air.
Your girl's well in fact: but if she's lying sick,
feels ill because of the unhealthy weather,
then let love and devotion be obvious to your girl,
then sow what you'll reap later with full sickle.
Don't be put off by the fretfulness of the patient,
let yours be the hand that does what she allows.
And be seen weeping, and don't shrink from kisses,
let her parched mouth drink from your tears.
Pray a lot, but all aloud: and, as often as she lets you,
tell her happy dreams that you remembered.
And let the old woman come who cleanses room and bed,
bringing sulphur and eggs in her trembling hands.
The signs of a welcome devotion are in all this:
by these means into wills many have made their way.
But don't let dislike for your attentions rise from illness,
only be charming, in your earnestness:
don't prohibit food, or hand her cups of bitter stuff:
let your rival mix all that for her.
Part X: Let Her Miss You: But Not For Long
But the winds that filled your sails and blew offshore,
are no use when you're in the open sea.
While young love's wandering, it gathers strength by use:
if you nourish it well, it will be strong in time.
The bull you fear's the calf you used to stroke:
the tree you lie beneath was a sapling:
the river's tiny when born, but gathers riches in its flow,
and collects the many waters that come to it.
Make her accustomed to you: nothing's greater than habit:
while you're captivating her, avoid no boredom.
Let her always be seeing you: always giving you ear:
show your face, at night and in the day.
When you've more confidence that you'll be missed,
when your absence far away will cause her worry,
give her a rest: the fields when rested repay the loan,
and parched earth drinks the heavenly rain.
Phyllis burnt less for Demophoon in his presence:
she blazed more fiercely when he sailed away.
Penelope was tormented by the loss of cunning Ulysses:
you, Laodamia, by absent Protesilaus.
But brief delays are best: fondness fades with time,
love vanishes with absence, and new love appears.
When Menelaus left, Helen did not lie alone,
Paris, the guest, at night, was taken to her warm breast.
What craziness was that, Menelaus? You left
wife and guest alone under the same roof.
Madman, would you trust timid doves to a hawk?
Would you trust the full fold to a mountain wolf?
Helen did not sin: her lover committed none:
what you, what anyone would do, he did.
You forced adultery by giving time and place:
What did the girl employ but your counsel?
What should she do? Her man away, a cultivated guest,
and she afraid to sleep alone in an empty bed.
Let Atrides appear: I acquit Helen of crime:
she took advantage of her husband's courtesy.
Part XI: Have Other Friends: But Be Careful
But the red-haired boar is not so fierce in mid-anger.
when he turns and threatens the rabid pack,
or the lioness giving suck to un-weaned cubs,
or the tiny viper crushed by a careless foot,
as a woman when a rival's caught in her lover's bed:
she blazes, her face the colour of her heart.
She storms with fire and flame, all restraint forgot,
as if struck, as they say, by the horns of the Boeotian god.
Wronged by her husband, her marriage violated,
savage Medea avenged herself through her children.
Another fatal mother was that swallow, you see there:
look, her breast carries the stain of blood.
Well-founded and firm loves have been dissolved so:
these are crimes to make cautious men afraid.
Not that my censure condemns you to only one girl:
the gods forbid! A wife could hardly expect that.
Indulge, but secretly veil your sins, with restraint:
it's no glory to you to be seeking out wrongdoing.
Don't give gifts another girl could spot,
or have set times for your assignations.
And lest a girl catch you out in your favourite haunts
don't meet all of them in one place.
And always look closely at your wax tablets, whenever you write:
lest much more is read there than you sent.
Wounded, Venus takes up just arms, and hurls her dart,
and makes you lament, as she is lamenting.
While Agamemnon was satisfied with one woman, Clytemnestra
was chaste: evil was done through the man's fault.
She had heard how Chryses, with sacred head-bands,
and laurel in his hand, failed to win back his daughter:
she had heard of your sorrows, captive Briseis,
and how scandalous delays had prolonged the war.
She heard all this: She saw Cassandra for herself:
the victor the shameful prize of his own prize.
Then she took Thyestes to her heart and bed,
and wrongfully avenged the Atrides's crime.
Even if the acts, you've well hidden, become known,
though they're known, still always deny them.
Don't be subdued, or more fond than usual:
those are the signs of many guilty thoughts.
But don't forgo sex: all peace is in that one thing.
The act it is that disproves a prior union.
Part XII: Aphrodisiacs?
There are those who prescribe eating a dish of savory,
a noxious herb, my judgement is its poisonous:
or mix pepper with the seeds of stinging nettles,
or crush yellow camomile in well-aged wine:
But the goddess who holds high Eryx, beneath the shaded hill,
doesn't force you to suffer like this for her delights.
White onions brought from Megara, Alcathous's city,
and rocket, herba salax, the kind that comes from gardens,
eat those, and eggs, eat honey from Hymettus,
and seeds from the cones of sharp-needled pines.
Part XIII: Stir her Jealousy
Wise Erato, why turn to magic arts?
My chariot's scraping the inside post.
You who just hid your crimes on my advice,
change course, and on my advice reveal your secrets.
I'm not guilty of fickleness: the curved prow
is not always blown onwards by the same wind.
Now we run to a Thracian northerly, an easterly now,
sometimes a west wind fills our sails, sometimes a south.
Look how the charioteer now slacks the reins,
then skilfully restrains the galloping team.
There are those who don't like being served with shy kindness:
while love fades if there's no rival around.
Generally heads are swollen with success,
it's not easy to be content with the good times.
As a fire with little power, gradually consumed,
hides itself, ashes whitening on its surface,
but the doused flames will flare with a pinch of sulphur,
and the brightness, that was there before, returns:
so when hearts are numbed by slack dullness and security,
love is aroused by some sharp stimulus.
Make her fearful for you: warm her tepid mind:
let her grow pale at evidence of your guilt:
O four times happy, times impossible to count,
is he for whom his wounded girl grieves.
That, when his sins reach her unwilling ears, she's lost,
and voice and colour flee the unhappy girl.
Let me be him, whose hair the angry woman tears:
let me be him, whose tender cheeks nails seek,
him whom she sees with tears, turns on him tortured eyes,
whom though she can't live without, she wishes she could.
If you ask how long you should let her lament her hurt,
keep it brief, lest a long delay kindles anger's force:
Throw your arms straightaway around her snow-white neck,
and let the weeping girl fall on your chest.
Kiss her who weeps, make sweet love to her who weeps,
there'll be peace: this is the one way anger's dissolved.
When she's truly raging, when she seems fixed on war,
then sue for peace in bed, she'll be gentle.
There Harmony dwells with grounded arms:
there, trust me, is the place where grace is born.
Doves that once fought, now bill and coo,
whose murmur is of caressing words.
At first all things were confused mass without form,
heaven and earth and sea were created one:
soon sky was set above land, earth circled by water,
and random chaos split into its parts:
Forests allowed the creatures a home: air the birds:
fish took shelter in the running streams.
Then the human race wandered the empty wilds,
a thing of naked strength and brutish body:
woods were its home, grass its food, leaves its bed:
and for a long time no man knew another.
They say sweet delights softened savage spirits:
when man and woman rested in one place:
they had no teacher to show them what to do:
Venus did her work without sweet art.
Birds have mates to love: in the midst of waters
a fish will find another to share her joy:
hind follows stag, snake will bind with snake,
bitch clings entwined with some adulterous dog:
ewes delight in being covered: bulls delight in heifers, too,
the snub-nosed she-goat supports her rank mate:
Mares driven to frenzy follow their stallion,
through distant places beyond the branching river.
So act, and offer strong medicine to your angry one:
only this will bring peace to her unhappiness:
this medicine beats Machaon's drugs:
this will reinstate you when you've sinned.
Part XIV: Be Wise and Suffer
While I was writing this, Apollo suddenly appeared
plucking the strings of his lyre with his thumb.
Laurel was in his hand, laurel wreathing his hair:
he appears to poets looking like that.
‘Professor of Wanton Love,' he said to me,
‘go lead your disciples to my temple,
it's where the famous words, celebrated throughout the world,
command everyone to “Know Yourself”.
He alone will be wise, who's well-known to himself,
and carries out each work that suits his powers.
Whom nature's given beauty, let it be seen by her:
whose skin is lustrous, lie there often with bare shoulders:
who delights by talking, avoid taciturn silence:
who sings with art, then sing: who drinks with art, then drink.
but the eloquent should never declaim mid-speech
nor the crazy poet ever read his poems!'
So Phoebus warned: take note of Phoebus's warning:
truth's surely on the sacred lips of that god.
To bring us back to earth: who loves wisely wins,
and by my skill will bring off what he seeks.
It's not often the furrow repays the loan with interest,
not often the winds aid the boat in trouble:
What delights a lover is little, what pains him more:
many sufferings declare themselves to his heart.
As many as hares on Athos, the bees that graze on Hybla,
as many as the olives the grey-green branches carry,
or the sea-shells on the shore, are the pains of love:
the thorns we suffer from are drenched in gall.
They'll say she's gone out: very likely she's to be seen inside:
think that she has gone out, and your vision lied.
The door will be shut the night she promised you:
endure it, lay your body on the dusty ground.
And perhaps the lying maid with scornful face,
will say: ‘Why's he hanging round our door?'
Still, a suppliant, coax the doorposts, and your harsh mistress,
and hang the roses, from your head, outside.
Come if she wishes: when she shuns you, go:
it's unbecoming to a noble man to bore her.
Why let your lover say: ‘There's no escaping him'?
Her feelings won't always be against you.
Don't think it a disgrace to suffer curses or blows
from the girl, or plant kisses on her tender feet.
Part XV: Respect Her Freedom
Why waste time on trifles? Greater themes arise:
I sing great things: pay attention, people.
We labour hard, but virtue's nothing if not hard:
hard labour's what my art demands.
Be patient with your rival, victory rests with you:
you'll be victor on Great Jupiter's hill.
Believe me, it's no man says this, but Chaonia's sacred oaks:
my art contains nothing more profound than this.
If she flirts, endure it: if she writes, don't touch the wax:
let her come from where she wishes: and go where she pleases, too.
This husbands allow their lawfully married wives,
when you come, gentle sleep, to play your part, as well.
I'm not perfect in this art, I confess:
What can I do? I'm less than my own instructions.
What, shall I let some man signal openly to my girl,
and bear it, and not show anger if I wish?
I remember her husband kissed her: I grieved
at the kiss he gave: my love's full of barbarities.
Not a few times this fault has hurt me: he's wiser
who's reconciled to other mens' coming.
But it was better to know nothing: let intrigues
be hidden, lest her shameless mouth revealed untruths.
How much better, O young men, to avoid surprising them:
let girls sin, and think, while sinning, that they've fooled you.
Love grows with being caught: who are twinned by fortune
persist to the end in the cause that ruined them.
The story's well known through all the heavens,
of Mars and Venus caught by Vulcan's craft.
Mars stirred by mad desire for Venus
was turned from grim warrior to lover.
And Venus was not coy or resistant to Mar's pleas
(for there's no more loving goddess than her).
Ah how often the wanton laughed at her husband's limp,
they say, or his hands hardened by his fiery art.
She'd openly imitate Vulcan then, to Mars: it became her:
great beauty was mingled there with charm.
But they used to hide their adultery at first.
It was a sin, filled with the blush of shame.
The Sun's tale (who can evade the Sun?)
made known to Vulcan what his spouse had done.
What a poor example, Sun, you set! Seek a gift from her,
and you, if you're quiet, can have what she can give.
Vulcan set a hidden net, over and round the bed:
it's a piece of work that deceives the eye.
Pretends he's off to Lemnos: the lovers come
to their assignation: and both lie naked in the net.
He calls the gods: the captives are displayed:
Venus they think can scarcely restrain her tears.
They can't hide their faces, are even unable
to cover their sexes with their hands.
Then someone laughed and said: ‘Let me have the chains,
Mars, if they're an embarrassment to you!'
Their captive bodies are, with difficulty, freed, at your plea,
Neptune: Venus runs to Paphos: Mars heads for Thrace.
This you achieved, Vulcan: what they hid before,
now all shame is gone, they indulge in freely:
Now maddened you often confess the thing was foolish,
and suffer regret for your cunning.
It's forbidden you: Venus once tricked forbids
traps to be set, like the one that she endured.
Lay out no snares for rivals: don't intercept
those secret hand-written messages.
Let husbands trap them, if they think they indeed need trapping,
husbands to whom the ceremony of fire and water gives the right.
Look, I swear again: there's nothing here except what's played
within the law: no virtuous woman's caught up in my jests.
Part XVI: Keep It Secret
Who'd dare reveal to the impious the secret rites of Ceres,
or uncover the high mysteries of Samothrace?
There's little virtue in keeping silent:
but speaking of what's kept secret's a heinous crime.
O it's good if that babbler Tantalus, clutching at fruit in vain,
thirsts in the very middle of the waters!
Venus, above all, orders you to be silent about her rites:
I warn you, let no idle chatterers come near her.
Though the mysteries of Venus are not buried in a box,
nor echo in the wide air to the clash of cymbals,
but are busily enjoyed so, by us all,
they still wish to be concealed among us.
Venus, herself, when she takes off her clothes,
covers her sex with the half-turned palm of her left hand.
Beasts couple indiscriminately in full view: from this sight
girls of course turn aside their faces, too.
Bedrooms and locked doors suit our intrigues,
and shameful things are hidden under the sheets:
and if not darkness, we seek some veiling shadow,
and something less exposed than the light of day.
Even back then, when roofs kept out neither rain nor sun,
and the oak-tree provided food and shelter,
pleasure was had in woods and caves, not under the heavens:
such care the native peoples had for their modesty.
but now we advertise our nocturnal acts,
and nothing's bought if it can't be boasted of!
No doubt you'll look out every girl, whatever,
to say to whom you please: ‘She too was mine,'
and there'll be no lack of those you can point out,
so for each that's mentioned there's a shameful tale?
Little to cry at: some invent, what they'd deny if true,
and claim there isn't one they haven't slept with.
If not their bodies, they touch what they can, their names,
and the reputation's gone, though the body's chaste.
Odious watchman, go close the girl's door, now,
too late, locked with a hundred heavy bars!
What's safe, when adulterers give out her name,
and want what never happened to be believed?
I'm wary even of professing to genuine passions,
and, trust me, my secret affairs are wholly hidden.
Part XVII: Don't Mention Her Faults
Above all beware of reproaching girls for their faults,
it's useful to ignore so many things.
Andromeda's dark complexion was not criticised
by Perseus, who was borne aloft by wings on his feet.
Andromache by all was rightly thought too tall:
Hector was the only one who spoke of her as small.
Grow accustomed to what's called bad, you'll call it good:
Time heals much: new love feels everything.
While a new-grafted twig's growing in the green bark,
struck by the lightest breeze, it may fall:
Later, hardened by time, it resists the winds,
and the strong tree will bear adopted wealth.
Time itself erases all faults from the flesh,
and what was a flaw, ceases to make you pause.
A new ox-hide makes nostrils recoil:
tamed by familiarity, the odour fades.
An evil may be sweetened by its name: let her be ‘dark'
whose pigment's blacker than Illyrian pitch:
if she squints, she's like Venus: if she's grey, Minerva:
let her be ‘slender', who's truly emaciated:
call her ‘trim', who's tiny, ‘full-bodied' if she's gross,
and hide the fault behind the nearest virtue.
Part XVIII: Don't Ask About Her Age
Don't ask how old she is, or who was Consul when
she was born, that's strictly the Censor's duty:
Especially if she's past bloom, and the good times gone,
and now she plucks the odd grey hair.
There's value, O youth, in this or a greater age:
this will bear seed, this is a field to sow.
Besides, they've more knowledge of the thing,
and have that practice that alone makes the artist:
With elegance they repair the marks of time,
and take good care that they don't appear old.
As you wish, they'll perform in a thousand positions:
no painting's ever contrived to show more ways.
They don't have to be aroused to pleasure:
man and woman equally deliver what delights.
I hate sex that doesn't provide release for both:
that's why the touch of boys is less desirable.
I hate a girl who gives because she has to,
and, arid herself, thinks only of her spinning.
Pleasure's no joy to me that's given out of duty:
let no girl be dutiful to me.
I like to hear a voice confessing to her rapture,
which begs me to hold back, and keep on going.
I gaze at the dazed eyes of my frantic mistress:
she's exhausted, and won't let herself be touched for ages.
Nature doesn't give those joys to raw youths,
that often come so easily beyond thirty-five.
The hasty drink the new and unfermented: pour a vintage wine
for me, matured in the cask, from an ancient consulship.
Not till it's grown can the plane tree bear the sun,
and naked feet destroy a new-laid lawn.
I suppose you'd prefer Hermione to Helen,
and was Medusa any better than her mother?
Then, he who wants to come to his love late,
earns a valuable prize, if he'll only wait.
Part XIX: Don't Rush
See, the knowing bed receives two lovers:
halt, Muse, at the closed doors of the room.
Flowing words will be said, by themselves, without you:
and that left hand won't lie idle on the bed.
Fingers will find what will arouse those parts,
where love's dart is dipped in secrecy.
Hector did it once with vigour, for Andromache,
and wasn't only useful in the wars.
And great Achilles did it for his captive maid,
when he lay in his sweet bed, weary from the fight.
You let yourself be touched by hands, Briseis,
that were still dyed with Trojan blood.
And was that what overjoyed you, lascivious girl,
those conquering fingers approaching your body?
Trust me, love's pleasure's not to be hurried,
but to be felt enticingly with lingering delays.
When you've reached the place, where a girl loves to be touched,
don't let modesty prevent you touching her.
You'll see her eyes flickering with tremulous brightness,
as sunlight often flashes from running water.
Moans and loving murmurs will arise,
and sweet sighs, and playful and fitting words.
But don't desert your mistress by cramming on more sail,
or let her overtake you in your race:
hasten to the goal together: that's the fullness of pleasure,
when man and woman lie there equally spent.
This is the pace you should indulge in, when you're given
time for leisure, and fear does not urge on the secret work.
When delay's not safe, lean usefully on the oar,
and plunge your spur into the galloping horse.
While strength and years allow, sustain the work:
bent age comes soon enough on silent feet.
Plough the earth with the blade, the sea with oars,
take a cruel weapon in your warring hands,
or spend your body, and strength, and time, on girls:
this is warlike service too, this too earns plenty.
Part XX: The Task's Complete... But Now...
The end of the work's at hand: grateful youth grant me the palm,
and set the wreathe of myrtle on my perfumed hair.
As Podalirius with his art of medicine, among the Greeks,
was great, Achilles with his right hand, Nestor his wisdom,
Calchas great as a prophet, Ajax in arms,
Automedon as a charioteer, so am I in love.
Celebrate me as a poet, men, speak my praises,
let my name be sung throughout the world.
I've given you weapons: Vulcan gave Achilles his:
excel with the gifts you're given, as he excelled.
But whoever overcomes an Amazon with my sword,
write on the spoils ‘Ovid was my master.'
Behold, you tender girls ask for rules for yourselves:
well yours then will be the next task for my pen!

End of Book II

Contents of Book II

- --oOo-- -

Ars amatoriaLiber secundus

The Art Of LoveBook II

End of Book II

Contents of Book II

Ars amatoria
Liber secundus

The Art Of Love
Book II