Ars amatoria
Liber tertius

Arma dedi Danais in Amazonas; arma supersunt,
quae tibi dem et turmae, Penthesilea, tuae.
ite in bella pares; vincant, quibus alma Dione
faverit et toto qui volat orbe puer.
non erat armatis aequum concurrere nudas;
sic etiam vobis vincere turpe, viri.
dixerit e multis aliquis «quid virus in angues
adicis, et rabidae tradis ovile lupae?»
parcite paucarum diffundere crimen in omnes;
spectetur meritis quaeque puella suis.
si minor Atrides Helenen, Helenesque sororem
quo premat Atrides crimine maior habet,
si scelere Oeclides Talaioniae Eriphylae
cuius et in vivis ad Styga venit equis,
est pia Penelope lustris errante duobus
et totidem lustris bella gerente viro.
respice Phylaciden et quae comes isse marito
fertur et ante annos occubuisse suos.
fata Pheretiadae coniunx Pagasaea redemit
proque viro est uxor funere lata viri.
«accipe me, Capaneu! cineres miscebimur» inquit
Iphias, in medios desiluitque rogos.
ipsa quoque et cultu est et nomine femina Virtus:
non mirum, populo si placet illa suo.
nec tamen hae mentes nostra poscuntur ab arte;
conveniunt cumbae vela minora meae.
nil nisi lascivi per me discuntur amores;
femina praecipiam quo sit amanda modo.
femina nec flammas nec saevos discutit arcus;
parcius haec video tela nocere viris.
saepe viri fallunt: tenerae non saepe puellae,
paucaque, si quaeras, crimina fraudis habent.
Phasida iam matrem fallax dimisit Iaso;
venit in Aesonios altera nupta sinus.
quantum in te, Theseu, volucres Ariadna marinas
pavit in ignoto sola relicta loco.
quaere, Novem cur una Viae dicatur, et audi
depositis silvas Phyllida flesse comis.
et famam pietatis habet, tamen hospes et ensem
praebuit et causam mortis, Elissa, tuae.
quid vos perdiderit, dicam: nescistis amare;
defuit ars vobis; arte perennat amor.
nunc quoque nescirent: sed me Cytherea docere
iussit, et ante oculos constitit ipsa meos.
tum mihi «quid miserae» dixit «meruere puellae?
traditur armatis vulgus inerme viris.
illos artifices gemini fecere libelli;
haec quoque pars monitis erudienda tuis.
probra Therapnaeae qui dixerat ante maritae,
mox cecinit laudes prosperiore lyra.
si bene te novi, cultas ne laede puellas:
gratia, dum vives, ista petenda tibi est.»
dixit, et e myrto (myrto nam vincta capillos
constiterat) folium granaque pauca dedit;
sensimus acceptis numen quoque: purior aether
fulsit, et e toto pectore cessit onus.
dum facit ingenium, petite hinc praecepta, puellae,
quas pudor et leges et sua iura sinunt.
venturae memores iam nunc estote senectae:
sic nullum vobis tempus abibit iners.
dum licet, et vernos etiam nunc editis annos,
ludite: eunt anni more fluentis aquae;
nec, quae praeteriit, iterum revocabitur unda,
nec, quae praeteriit, hora redire potest.
utendum est aetate: cito pede labitur aetas,
nec bona tam sequitur, quam bona prima fuit.
hos ego, qui canent, frutices violaria vidi;
hac mihi de spina grata corona data est.
tempus erit, quo tu, quae nunc excludis amantes,
frigida deserta nocte iacebis anus,
nec tua frangetur nocturna ianua rixa,
sparsa nec invenies limina mane rosa.
quam cito (me miserum!) laxantur corpora rugis,
et perit in nitido qui fuit ore color.
quasque fuisse tibi canas a virgine iuras,
sparguntur subito per caput omne comae.
anguibus exuitur tenui cum pelle vetustas,
nec faciunt cervos cornua iacta senes:
nostra sine auxilio fugiunt bona: carpite florem,
qui, nisi carptus erit, turpiter ipse cadet.
adde, quod et partus faciunt breviora iuventae
tempora: continua messe senescit ager.
Latmius Endymion non est tibi, Luna, rubori,
nec Cephalus roseae praeda pudenda deae.
ut Veneri, quem luget adhuc, donetur Adonis,
unde habet Aenean Harmoniamque suos?
ite per exemplum, genus o mortale, dearum,
gaudia nec cupidis vestra negate viris.
ut iam decipiant, quid perditis? omnia constant;
mille licet sumant, deperit inde nihil.
conteritur ferrum, silices tenuantur ab usu;
sufficit et damni pars caret illa metu.
quis vetet adposito lumen de lumine sumi,
quisve cavo vastas in mare servet aquas?
et tamen ulla viro mulier «non expedit» inquit?
quid, nisi quam sumes, dic mihi, perdis aquam?
nec vos prostituit mea vox, sed vana timere
damna vetat: damnis munera vestra carent.
Sed me flaminibus venti maioris iturum,
dum sumus in portu, provehat aura levis.
Ordior a cultu; cultis bene Liber ab uvis
provenit, et culto stat seges alta solo.
forma dei munus; forma quota quaeque superbit?
pars vestrum tali munere magna caret.
cura dabit faciem; facies neclecta peribit,
Idaliae similis sit licet illa deae.
corpora si veteres non sic coluere puellae,
nec veteres cultos sic habuere viros:
si fuit Andromache tunicas induta valentes,
quid mirum? duri militis uxor erat.
scilicet Aiaci coniunx ornata venires,
cui tegumen septem terga fuere boum!
simplicitas rudis ante fuit; nunc aurea Roma est
et domiti magnas possidet orbis opes.
aspice quae nunc sunt, Capitolia, quaeque fuerunt:
alterius dices illa fuisse Iovis.
Curia, concilio quae nunc dignissima tanto,
de stipula Tatio regna tenente fuit.
quae nunc sub Phoebo ducibusque Palatia fulgent,
quid nisi araturis pascua bubus erant?
prisca iuvent alios: ego me nunc denique natum
gratulor: haec aetas moribus apta meis,
non quia nunc terrae lentum subducitur aurum
lectaque diverso litore concha venit,
nec quia decrescunt effosso marmore montes,
nec quia caeruleae mole fugantur aquae,
sed quia cultus adest, nec nostros mansit in annos
rusticitas priscis illa superstes avis.
vos quoque nec caris aures onerate lapillis,
quos legit in viridi decolor Indus aqua,
nec prodite graves insuto vestibus auro,
per quas nos petitis, saepe fugatis, opes.
Munditiis capimur: non sint sine lege capilli;
admotae formam dantque negantque manus.
nec genus ornatus unum est: quod quamque decebit
eligat et speculum consulate ante suum.
longa probat facies capitis discrimina puri:
sic erat ornatis Laodamia comis.
exiguum summa nodum sibi fronte relinqui,
ut pateant aures, ora rotunda volunt.
alterius crines umero iactentur utroque:
talis es adsumpta, Phoebe canore, lyra.
altera succinctae religetur more Dianae,
ut solet, attonitas cum petit illa feras.
huic decet inflatos laxe iacuisse capillos,
illa sit adstrictis impedienda comis;
hanc placet ornari testudine Cyllenea,
sustineat similes fluctibus illa sinus.
sed neque ramosa numerabis in ilice glandes,
nec quot apes Hyblae nec quot in Alpe ferae,
nec mihi tot positus numero conprendere fas est:
adicit ornatus proxima quaeque dies.
et neglecta decet multas coma: saepe iacere
hesternam credas, illa repexa modo est.
ars casu similis: sic capta vidit ut urbe
Alcides Iolen, «hanc ego» dixit «amo.»
talem te Bacchus Satyris clamantibus «euhoe»
sustulit in currus, Cnosi relicta, suos.
o quantum indulget vestro natura decori,
quarum sunt multis damna pianda modis!
nos male detegimur, raptique aetate capilli,
ut Borea frondes excutiente, cadunt.
femina canitiem Germanis inficit herbis,
et melior vero quaeritur arte color,
femina procedit densissima crinibus emptis,
proque suis alios efficit aere suos.
nec rubor est emisse: palam venire videmus
Herculis ante oculos virgineumque chorum.
quid de veste loquar? nec nunc segmenta requiro
nec te, quae Tyrio murice, lana, rubes.
cum tot prodierint pretio leviore colores,
quis furor est census corpore ferre suos?
aeris, ecce, color, tum cum sine nubibus aer
nec tepidus pluvias concitat auster aquas;
ecce, tibi similis, quae quondam Phrixon et Hellen
diceris Inois eripuisse dolis;
hic undas imitatur, habet quoque nomen ab undis:
crediderim nymphas hac ego veste tegi.
ille crocum simulat (croceo velatur amictu,
roscida luciferos cum dea iungit equos),
hic Paphias myrtos, hic purpureas amethystos,
albentesve rosas, Threiciamve gruem;
nec glandes, Amarylli, tuae, nec amygdala desunt,
et sua velleribus nomina cera dedit.
quot nova terra parit flores, cum vere tepenti
vitis agit gemmas pigraque fugit hiems,
lana tot aut plures sucos bibit: elige certos,
nam non conveniens omnibus omnis erit.
pulla decent niveas: Briseida pulla decebant;
cum rapta est, pulla tum quoque veste fuit.
alba decent fuscas: albis, Cephei, placebas:
sic tibi vestitae pressa Seriphos erat.
Quam paene admonui, ne trux caper iret in alas,
neve forent duris aspera crura pilis!
sed non Caucasea doceo de rupe puellas
quaeque bibant undas, Myse Caice, tuas.
quid si praecipiam ne fuscet inertia dentes
oraque suscepta mane laventur aqua?
scitis et inducta candorem quaerere creta;
sanguine quae vero non rubet, arte rubet.
arte supercilii confinia nuda repletis
parvaque sinceras velat aluta genas.
nec pudor est oculos tenui signare favilla
vel prope te nato, lucide Cydne, croco.
est mihi, quo dixi vestrae medicamina formae,
parvus, sed cura grande, libellus, opus:
hinc quoque praesidium laesae petitote figurae;
non est pro vestris ars mea rebus iners.
non tamen expositas mensa deprendat amator
pyxidas: ars faciem dissimulata iuvat.
quem non offendat toto faex inlita vultu,
cum fluit in tepidos pondere lapsa sinus?
oesypa quid redolent? quamvis mittatur Athenis
demptus ab inmundo vellere sucus ovis?
nec coram mixtas cervae sumpsisse medullas
nec coram dentes defricuisse probem.
ista dabunt formam, sed erunt deformia visu;
multaque, dum fiunt, turpia, facta placent:
quae nunc nomen habent operosi signa Myronis,
pondus iners quondam duraque massa fuit;
anulus ut fiat, primo conliditur aurum;
quas geritis vestis, sordida lana fuit;
cum fieret, lapis asper erat: nunc, nobile signum,
nuda Venus madidas exprimit imbre comas.
tu quoque dum coleris, nos te dormire putemus:
aptius a summa conspiciere manu.
cur mihi nota tuo causa est candoris in ore?
claude forem thalami! quid rude prodis opus?
multa viros nescire decet; pars maxima rerum
offendat, si non interiora tegas.
aurea quae pendent ornato signa theatro
inspice, contemnes: brattea ligna tegit;
sed neque ad illa licet populo, nisi facta, venire,
nec nisi summotis forma paranda viris.
at non pectendos coram praebere capillos,
ut iaceant fusi per tua terga, veto.
illo praecipue ne sis morosa caveto
tempore, nec lapsas saepe resolve comas.
tuta sit ornatrix: odi, quae sauciat ora
unguibus et rapta brachia figit acu.
devovet, et tangit, dominae caput illa, simulque
plorat in invisas sanguinolenta comas.
quae male crinita est, custodem in limine ponat
orneturve Bonae semper in aede Deae.
dictus eram subito cuidam venisse puellae:
turbida perversas induit illa comas.
hostibus eveniat tam foedi causa pudoris,
inque nurus Parthas dedecus illud eat.
turpe pecus mutilum, turpis sine gramine campus,
et sine fronde frutex, et sine crine caput.
Non mihi venistis, Semele Ledeve, docendae,
perque fretum falso, Sidoni, vecta bove,
aut Helene, quam non stulte, Menelae, reposcis,
tu quoque non stulte, Troice raptor, habes.
turba docenda venit pulchrae turpesque puellae,
pluraque sunt semper deteriora bonis.
formosae non artis opem praeceptaque quaerunt;
est illis sua dos, forma sine arte potens:
cum mare compositum est, securus navita cessat;
cum tumet, auxiliis adsidet ille suis.
rara tamen mendo facies caret: occule mendas,
quaque potes vitium corporis abde tui.
si brevis es, sedeas, ne stans videare sedere:
inque tuo iaceas quantulacumque toro;
hic quoque, ne possit fieri mensura cubantis,
iniecta lateant fac tibi veste pedes.
quae nimium gracilis, pleno velamina filo
sumat, et ex umeris laxus amictus eat.
pallida purpureis spargat sua corpora virgis,
nigrior ad Pharii confuge piscis opem.
pes malus in nivea semper celetur aluta:
arida nec vinclis crura resolve suis.
conveniunt tenues scapulis analemptrides altis:
angustum circa fascia pectus eat.
exiguo signet gestu, quodcumque loquetur,
cui digiti pingues et scaber unguis erit.
cui gravis oris odor numquam ieiuna loquatur
et semper spatio distet ab ore viri.
Si niger aut ingens aut non erit ordine natus
dens tibi, ridendo maxima damna feres.
quis credat? discunt etiam ridere puellae,
quaeritur atque illis hac quoque parte decor.
sint modici rictus, parvaeque utrimque lacunae,
et summos dentes ima labella tegant,
nec sua perpetuo contendant ilia risu,
sed leve nescioquid femineumque sonet.
est, quae perverso distorqueat ora cachinno;
cum risu laeta est altera, flere putes.
illa sonat raucum quiddam atque inamabile: ridet,
ut rudit a scabra turpis asella mola.
quo non ars penetrat? discunt lacrimare decenter
quoque volunt plorant tempore, quoque modo.
quid, cum legitima fraudatur littera voce
Blaesaque fit iusso lingua coacta sono?
in vitio decor est: quaerunt male reddere verba
discunt, posse minus, quam potuere, loqui.
omnibus his, quoniam prosunt, inpendite curam;
discite femineo corpora ferre gradu.
est et in incessu pars non temnenda decoris;
allicit ignotos ille fugatque viros.
haec movet arte latus, tunicisque fluentibus auras
accipit, expensos fertque superba pedes;
illa velut coniunx Umbri rubicunda mariti
ambulat, ingentes varica fertque gradus.
sed sit, ut in multis, modus hic quoque: rusticus alter
motus, concesso mollior alter erit.
pars umeri tamen ima tui, pars summa lacerti
nuda sit, a laeva conspicienda manu.
hoc vos praecipue, niveae, decet: hoc ubi vidi,
oscula ferre umero, qua patet usque libet.
Monstra maris Sirenes erant, quae voce canora
quamlibet admissas detinuere rates.
his sua Sisyphides auditis paene resolvit
corpora, nam sociis inlita cera fuit.
res est blanda canor: discant cantare puellae,
pro facie multis vox sua lena fuit,
et modo marmoreis referant audita theatris,
et modo Niliacis carmina lusa modis.
nec plectrum dextra, citharam tenuisse sinistra
nesciat arbitrio femina docta meo.
saxa ferasque lyra movit Rhodopeius Orpheus,
Tartareosque lacus tergeminumque canem.
saxa tuo cantu, vindex iustissime matris,
fecerunt muros officiosa novos.
quamvis mutus erat, voci favisse putatur
piscis Arioniae fabula nota lyrae.
disce etiam duplici genialia nablia palma
verrere: conveniunt dulcibus illa iocis.
sit tibi Callimachi, sit Coi nota poetae,
sit quoque vinosi Teia Musa senis;
nota sit et Sappho (quid enim lascivius illa?)
cuive pater vafri luditur arte Getae.
et teneri possis carmen legisse Properti,
sive aliquid Galli sive, Tibulle, tuum
dictaque Varroni fulvis insignia villis
vellera germanae, Phrixe, querenda tuae:
et profugum Aenean, altae primordia Romae,
quo nullum Latio clarius extat opus.
forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis,
nec mea Lethaeis scripta dabuntur aquis
atque aliquis dicet «nostri lege culta magistri
carmina, quis partes instruit ille duas,
deve tribus libris, titulus quos signat Amorum,
elige, quod docili molliter ore legas,
vel tibi composita cantetur Epistula voce;
ignotum hoc aliis ille novavit opus.»
o ita, Phoebe, velis, ita vos, pia numina vatum,
insignis cornu Bacche novemque deae!
Quis dubitet, quin scire velim saltare puellam,
ut moveat posito brachia iussa mero?
artifices lateris, scenae spectacula, amantur:
tantum mobilitas illa decoris habet.
parva monere pudet, talorum dicere iactus
ut sciat, et vires, tessera missa, tuas;
et modo tres iactet numeros, modo cogitet, apte
quam subeat partem callida, quamque vocet,
cautaque non stulte latronum proelia ludat,
unus cum gemino calculus hoste perit,
bellatorque sua prensus sine compare bellat
aemulus et coeptum saepe recurrit iter.
reticuloque pilae leves fundantur aperto
nec, nisi quam tolles, ulla movenda pila est.
est genus in totidem tenui ratione redactum
scriptula, quot menses lubricus annus habet;
parva tabella capit ternos utrimque lapillos,
in qua vicisse est continuasse suos.
mille facesse iocos; turpe est nescire puellam
ludere: ludendo saepe paratur amor.
sed minimus labor est sapienter iactibus uti;
maius opus mores composuisse suos.
tum sumus incauti, studioque aperimur in ipso
nudaque per lusus pectora nostra patent;
ira subit, deforme malum, lucrique cupido,
iurgiaque et rixae sollicitusque dolor;
crimina dicuntur, resonat clamoribus aether,
invocat iratos et sibi quisque deos.
nulla fides tabulae: quae non per vota petuntur?
et lacrimis vidi saepe madere genas.
Iuppiter a vobis tam turpia crimina pellat,
in quibus est ulli cura placere viro.
Hos ignava iocos tribuit natura puellis;
materia ludunt uberiore viri.
sunt illis celeresque pilae iaculumque trochique
armaque et in gyros ire coactus equus.
nec vos Campus habet, nec vos gelidissima Virgo,
nec Tuscus placida devehit amnis aqua.
at licet et prodest Pompeias ire per umbras,
Virginis aetheriis cum caput ardet equis;
visite laurigero sacrata Palatia Phoebo,
ille Paraetonicas mersit in alta rates,
quaeque soror coniunxque ducis monimenta pararunt,
navalique gener cinctus honore caput,
visite turicremas vaccae Memphitidos aras,
visite conspicuis terna theatra locis;
spectentur tepido maculosae sanguine harenae
metaque ferventi circumeunda rota.
quod latet, ignotum est; ignoti nulla cupido:
fructus abest, facies cum bona teste caret.
tu licet et Thamyran superes et Amoebea cantu,
non erit ignotae gratia magna lyrae.
si Venerem Cous nusquam posuisset Apelles,
mersa sub aequoreis illa lateret aquis.
quid petitur sacris, nisi tantum fama, poetis?
hoc votum nostri summa laboris habet.
cura deum fuerant olim regumque poetae,
praemiaque antiqui magna tulere chori;
sanctaque maiestas et erat venerabile nomen
vatibus, et largae saepe dabantur opes.
Ennius emeruit, Calabris in montibus ortus,
contiguus poni, Scipio magne, tibi.
nunc hederae sine honore iacent operataque doctis
cura vigil Musis nomen inertis habet.
sed famae vigilare iuvat: quis nosset Homerum,
Ilias aeternum si latuisset opus?
quis Danaen nosset, si semper clusa fuisset
inque sua turri perlatuisset anus?
utilis est vobis, formosae, turba, puellae.
saepe vagos ultra limina ferte pedes.
ad multas lupa tendit oves, praedetur ut unam,
et Iovis in multas devolat ales aves.
se quoque det populo mulier speciosa videndam;
quem trahat, e multis forsitan unus erit.
omnibus illa locis maneat studiosa placendi
et curam tota mente decoris agat.
casus ubique valet: semper tibi pendeat hamus;
quo minime credas gurgite, piscis erit.
saepe canes frustra nemorosis montibus errant
inque plagam nullo cervus agente venit.
quid minus Andromedae fuerat sperare revinctae
quam lacrimas ulli posse placere suas?
funere saepe viri vir quaeritur: ire solutis
crinibus et fletus non tenuisse decet.
Sed vitate viros cultum formamque professos
quique suas ponunt in statione comas.
quae vobis dicunt, dixerunt mille puellis;
errat et in nulla sede moratur Amor.
femina quid faciat, cum sit vir levior ipsa
forsitan et plures possit habere viros?
vix mihi credetis, sed credite: Troia maneret,
praeceptis Priami si foret usa sui.
sunt qui mendaci specie grassentur amoris
perque aditus talis lucra pudenda petant.
nec coma vos fallat liquido nitidissima nardo
nec brevis in rugas lingula pressa suas,
nec toga decipiat filo tenuissima, nec si
anulus in digitis alter et alter erit.
forsitan ex horum numero cultissimus ille
fur sit, et uratur vestis amore tuae.
«redde meum» clamant spoliatae saepe puellae,
«redde meum» toto voce boante foro.
has, Venus, e templis multo radiantibus auro
lenta vides lites Appiadesque tuae.
sunt quoque non dubia quaedam mala nomina fama:
deceptae, a, multi crimen amantis habent.
discite ab alterius vestras timuisse querellis,
ianua fallaci ne sit aperta viro.
parcite, Cecropides, iuranti credere Theseo:
quos faciet testis, fecit et ante deos.
et tibi, Demophoon, Thesei criminis heres,
Phyllide decepta nulla relicta fides.
si bene promittent, totidem promittite verbis:
si dederint, et vos gaudia pacta date.
illa potest vigiles flammas extinguere Vestae
et rapere e templis, Inachi, sacra tuis,
et dare mixta viro tritis aconita cicutis,
accepto Venerem munere si qua negat.
Fert animus propius consistere: supprime habenas,
Musa, nec admissis excutiare rotis.
verba vadum temptent abiegnis scripta tabellis:
accipiat missas apta ministra notas.
inspice, quodque leges, ex ipsis collige verbis
fingat, an ex animo sollicitusque roget;
postque brevem rescribe moram: mora semper amantes
incitat, exiguum si modo tempus habet.
sed neque te facilem iuveni promitte roganti
nec tamen e duro quod petit ille nega.
fac timeat speretque simul, quotiensque remittes,
spesque magis veniat certa minorque metus.
munda sed e medio consuetaque verba, puellae,
scribite: sermonis publica forma placet.
a, quotiens dubius scriptis exarsit amator
et nocuit formae barbara lingua bonae!
sed quoniam, quamvis vittae careatis honore,
est vobis vestros fallere cura viros,
ancillae puerique manu perarate tabellas,
pignora nec iuveni credite vestra novo.
vidi ego pallentes isto terrore puellas
servitium miseras tempus in omne pati;
perfidus ille quidem, qui talia pignora servat,
sed tamen Aetnaei fulminis instar habent.
iudice me fraus est concessa repellere fraudem,
armaque in armatos sumere iura sinunt.
ducere consuescat multas manus una figuras
(a, pereant, per quos ista monenda mihi!)
nec nisi deletis tutum rescribere ceris,
ne teneat geminas una tabella manus.
femina dicatur scribenti semper amator:
«illa» sit in vestris, qui fuit «ille», notis.
Si licet a parvis animum ad maiora referre
plenaque curvato pandere vela sinu,
pertinet ad faciem rabidos compescere mores:
candida pax homines, trux decet ira feras.
ora tument ira, nigrescunt sanguine venae,
lumina Gorgoneo saevius igne micant.
«i procul hinc,» dixit «non es mihi, tibia, tanti,»
ut vidit vultus Pallas in amne suos.
vos quoque si media speculum spectetis in ira,
cognoscat faciem vix satis ulla suam.
nec minus in vultu damnosa superbia vestro:
comibus est oculis alliciendus Amor.
odimus inmodicos (experto credite) fastus:
saepe tacens odii semina vultus habet.
spectantem specta, ridenti mollia ride;
innuet, acceptas tu quoque redde notas.
sic ubi prolusit, rudibus puer ille relictis
spicula de pharetra promit acuta sua.
odimus et maestas; Tecmessam diligat Aiax;
nos hilarem populum femina laeta capit.
numquam ego te, Andromache, nec te, Tecmessa, rogarem,
ut mea de vobis altera amica foret.
credere vix videor, cum cogar credere partu,
vos ego cum vestris concubuisse viris.
scilicet Aiaci mulier maestissima dixit
«lux mea» quaeque solent verba iuvare viros!
quis vetat a magnis ad res exempla minores
sumere nec nomen pertimuisse ducis?
dux bonus huic centum commisit vite regendos,
huic equites, illi signa tuenda dedit:
vos quoque, de nobis quem quisque erit aptus ad usum,
inspicite et certo ponite quemque loco.
munera det dives; ius qui profitebitur, adsit;
facundus causam saepe clientis agat.
carmina qui facimus, mittamus carmina tantum:
hic chorus ante alios aptus amare sumus.
nos facimus placitae late praeconia formae:
nomen habet Nemesis, Cynthia nomen habet;
Vesper et Eoae novere Lycorida terrae:
et multi, quae sit nostra Corinna, rogant.
adde, quod insidiae sacris a vatibus absunt
et facit ad mores ars quoque nostra suos.
nec nos ambitio, nec amor nos tangit habendi;
contempto colitur lectus et umbra foro.
sed facile haeremus validoque perurimur aestu
et nimium certa scimus amare fide.
scilicet ingenium placida mollitur ab arte
et studio mores convenienter eunt.
vatibus Aoniis faciles estote, puellae:
numen inest illis Pieridesque favent.
est deus in nobis et sunt commercia caeli;
sedibus aetheriis spiritus ille venit.
a doctis pretium scelus est sperare poetis;
me miserum, scelus hoc nulla puella timet.
dissimulate tamen, nec prima fronte rapaces
este: novus viso casse resistet amans.
Sed neque vector equum, qui nuper sensit habenas,
comparibus frenis artificemque reget,
nec, stabilis animos annis viridemque iuventam
ut capias, idem limes agendus erit.
hic rudis et castris nunc primum notus Amoris,
qui tetigit thalamos praeda novella tuos,
te solam norit, tibi semper inhaereat uni;
cingenda est altis saepibus ista seges.
effuge rivalem: vinces, dum sola tenebis;
non bene cum sociis regna Venusque manent.
ille vetus miles sensim et sapienter amabit,
multaque tironi non patienda feret;
nec franget postes, nec saevis ignibus uret
nec dominae teneras adpetet ungue genas
nec scindet tunicasve suas tunicasve puellae
nec raptus flendi causa capillus erit.
ista decent pueros aetate et amore calentes;
hic fera composita vulnera mente feret.
ignibus heu lentis uretur, ut umida faena,
ut modo montanis silva recisa iugis.
certior hic amor est: brevis et fecundior ille:
quae fugiunt, celeri carpite poma manu.
Omnia tradantur (portas reseravimus hosti)
et sit in infida proditione fides.
quod datur ex facili, longum male nutrit amorem:
miscenda est laetis rara repulsa iocis.
ante fores iaceat, «crudelis ianua!» dicat
multaque summisse, multa minanter agat.
dulcia non ferimus; suco renovemur amaro;
saepe perit ventis obruta cumba suis.
hoc est, uxores quod non patiatur amari:
conveniunt illas, cum voluere, viri.
adde forem, et duro dicat tibi ianitor ore
«non potes,» exclusum te quoque tanget amor.
ponite iam gladios hebetes, pugnetur acutis;
nec dubito, telis quin petar ipse meis.
dum cadit in laqueos, captus quoque nuper, amator
solum se thalamos speret habere tuos.
postmodo rivalem partitaque foedera lecti
sentiat: has artes tolle, senescet amor.
tum bene fortis equus reserato carcere currit,
cum quos praetereat quosque sequatur habet.
quamlibet extinctos iniuria suscitat ignes:
en ego, confiteor, non nisi laesus amo.
causa tamen nimium non sit manifesta doloris,
pluraque sollicitus, quam sciet, esse putet.
incitat et ficti tristis custodia servi
et nimium duri cura molesta viri.
quae venit ex tuto, minus est accepta voluptas;
ut sis liberior Thaide, finge metus.
cum melius foribus possis, admitte fenestra
inque tuo vultu signa timentis habe.
callida prosiliat dicatque ancilla «perimus!»
tu iuvenem trepidum quolibet abde loco.
admiscenda tamen Venus est secura timori,
ne tanti noctes non putet esse tuas.
Qua vafer eludi possit ratione maritus
quaque vigil custos, praeteriturus eram.
nupta virum timeat, rata sit custodia nuptae;
hoc decet, hoc leges iusque pudorque iubent.
te quoque servari, modo quam vindicta redemit,
quis ferat? ut fallas, ad mea sacra veni.
tot licet observent, adsit modo certa voluntas,
quot fuerant Argo lumina, verba dabis.
scilicet obstabit custos ne scribere possis,
sumendae detur cum tibi tempus aquae;
conscia cum possit scriptas portare tabellas,
quas tegat in tepido fascia lata sinu.
cum possit sura chartas celare ligatas,
et vincto blandas sub pede ferre notas!
caverit haec custos, pro charta conscia tergum
praebeat, inque suo corpore verba ferat.
tuta quoque est fallitque oculos e lacte recenti
littera (carbonis pulvere tange, leges),
fallet et umiduli quae fiet acumine lini,
ut ferat occultas pura tabella notas.
adfuit Acrisio servandae cura puellae;
hunc tamen illa suo crimine fecit avum.
quid faciat custos, cum sint tot in Urbe theatra,
cum spectet iunctos illa libenter equos;
cum sedeat Phariae sistris operata iuvencae,
quoque sui comites ire vetantur, eat;
cum fuget a templis oculos Bona Diva virorum,
praeterquam siquos illa venire iubet?
cum, custode foris tunicas servante puellae
celent furtivos balnea multa iocos;
cum, quotiens opus est, fallax aegrotet amica
et cedat lecto quamlibet aegra suo;
nomine cum doceat, quid agamus, adultera clavis,
quasque petas non det ianua sola vias?
fallitur et multo custodis cura Lyaeo,
illa vel Hispano lecta sit uva iugo;
sunt quoque, quae faciant altos medicamina somnos
victaque Lethaea lumina nocte premant;
nec male deliciis odiosum conscia tardis
detinet, et longa iungitur ipsa mora.
quid iuvat ambages praeceptaque parva movere,
cum minimo custos munere possit emi?
munera, crede mihi, capiunt hominesque deosque:
placatur donis Iuppiter ipse datis.
quid sapiens faciet? stultus cum munere gaudet:
ipse quoque accepto munere mutus erit.
sed semel est custos longum redimendus in aevum;
saepe dabit, dederit quas semel, ille manus.
questus eram, memini, metuendos esse sodales;
non tangit solos ista querella viros.
credula si fueris, aliae tua gaudia carpent
et lepus hic aliis exagitatus erit.
haec quoque, quae praebet lectum studiosa locumque,
crede mihi, mecum non semel illa fuit.
nec nimium vobis formosa ancilla ministret:
saepe vicem dominae praebuit illa mihi.
Quo feror insanus? quid aperto pectore in hostem
mittor, et indicio prodor ab ipse meo?
non avis aucupibus monstrat, qua parte petatur,
non docet infestos currere cerva canes.
viderit utilitas; ego coepta fideliter edam:
Lemniasin gladios in mea fata dabo.
efficite (et facile est) ut nos credamus amari:
prona venit cupidis in sua vota fides.
spectet amabilius iuvenem et suspiret ab imo
femina, tam sero cur veniatque roget;
accedant lacrimae, dolor et de paelice fictus,
et laniet digitis illius ora suis;
iamdudum persuasus erit; miserebitur ultro
et dicet «cura carpitur ista mei.»
praecipue si cultus erit speculoque placebit,
posse suo tangi credet amore deas.
sed te, quaecumque est, moderate iniuria turbet,
nec sis audita paelice mentis inops;
nec cito credideris: quantum cito credere laedat,
exemplum vobis non leve Procris erit.
est prope purpureos colles florentis Hymetti
fons sacer et viridi caespite mollis humus;
silva nemus non alta facit; tegit arbutus herbam;
ros maris et lauri nigraque myrtus olent;
nec densum foliis buxum fragilesque myricae,
nec tenues cytisi cultaque pinus abest.
lenibus inpulsae zephyris auraque salubri
tot generum frondes herbaque summa tremit.
grata quies Cephalo: famulis canibusque relictis
lassus in hac iuvenis saepe resedit humo
«quaeque «meos releves aestus, cantare solebat
«accipienda sinu, mobilis aura, veni.»
coniugis ad timidas aliquis male sedulus aures
auditos memori detulit ore sonos;
Procris, ut accepit nomen, quasi paelicis, Aurae,
excidit, et subito muta dolore fuit;
palluit, ut serae lectis de vite racemis
pallescunt frondes, quas nova laesit hiems,
quaeque suos curvant matura Cydonia ramos
cornaque adhuc nostris non satis apta cibis.
ut rediit animus, tenues a pectore vestes
rumpit et indignas sauciat ungue genas;
nec mora, per medias passis furibunda capillis
evolat, ut thyrso concita Baccha, vias.
ut prope perventum, comites in valle relinquit,
ipsa nemus tacito clam pede fortis init.
quid tibi mentis erat, cum sic male sana lateres,
Procri? quis adtoniti pectoris ardor erat?
iamiam venturam, quaecumque erat Aura, putabas
scilicet, atque oculis probra videnda tuis.
nunc venisse piget (neque enim deprendere velles),
nunc iuvat: incertus pectora versat amor:
credere quae iubeant, locus est et nomen et index
et quia mens semper quod timet, esse putat.
vidit ut oppressa vestigia corporis herba,
pulsantur trepidi corde micante sinus.
iamque dies medius tenues contraxerat umbras,
inque pari spatio vesper et ortus erant:
ecce, redit Cephalus silvis, Cyllenia proles,
oraque fontana fervida pulsat aqua.
anxia, Procri, lates; solitas iacet ille per herbas
et «Zephyri molles auraque» dixit «ades.»
ut patuit miserae iucundus nominis error,
et mens et rediit verus in ora color.
surgit et oppositas agitato corpore frondes
movit, in amplexus uxor itura viri;
ille feram movisse ratus, iuvenaliter artus
corripit, in dextra tela fuere manu.
quid facis, infelix? non est fera, supprime tela!
me miserum, iaculo fixa puella tuo est.
«ei mihi!» conclamat «fixisti pectus amicum:
hic locus a Cephalo vulnera semper habet.
ante diem morior, sed nulla paelice laesa:
hoc faciet positae te mihi, terra, levem.
nomine suspectas iam spiritus exit in auras;
labor, io: cara lumina conde manu.»
ille sinu dominae morientia corpora maesto
sustinet, et lacrimis vulnera saeva lavat;
exit et incauto paulatim pectore lapsus
excipitur miseri spiritus ore viri.
Sed repetamus opus: mihi nudis rebus eundum est,
ut tangat portus fessa carina suos.
sollicite expectas, dum te in convivia ducam,
et quaeris monitus hac quoque parte meos.
sera veni positaque decens incede lucerna:
grata mora venies; maxima lena mora est.
etsi turpis eris, formosa videbere potis,
et latebras vitiis nox dabit ipsa tuis.
carpe cibos digitis (est quiddam gestus edendi),
ora nec immunda tota perungue manu.
neve domi praesume dapes, sed desine citra
quam capis; es paulo quam potes esse minus.
Priamides Helenen avide si spectet edentem,
oderit, et dicat «stulta rapina mea est.»
aptius est, deceatque magis potare puellas:
cum Veneris puero non male, Bacche, facis.
hoc quoque, qua patiens caput est, animusque pedesque
constant, nec, quae sunt singula, bina vide.
turpe iacens mulier multo madefacta Lyaeo:
digna est concubitus quoslibet illa pati.
nec somnis posita tutum succumbere mensa:
per somnos fieri multa pudenda solent.
Ulteriora pudet docuisse, sed alma Dione
«praecipue nostrum est, quod pudet,» inquit «opus.»
nota sibi sit quaeque; modos a corpore certos
sumite: non omnes una figura decet.
quae facie praesignis erit, resupina iaceto;
spectentur tergo, quis sua terga placent.
Milanion umeris Atalantes crura ferebat:
si bona sunt, hoc sunt accipienda modo.
parva vehatur equo: quod erat longissima, numquam
Thebais Hectoreo nupta resedit equo.
strata premat genibus, paulum cervice reflexa
femina per longum conspicienda latus.
cui femur est iuvenale, carent quoque pectora menda,
stet vir, in obliquo fusa sit ipsa toro.
nec tibi turpe puta crinem, ut Phylleia mater,
solvere, et effusis colla reflecte comis.
tu quoque, cui rugis uterum Lucina notavit,
ut celer aversis utere Parthus equis.
mille modi Veneris; simplex minimique laboris,
cum iacet in dextrum semisupina latus.
sed neque Phoebei tripodes nec corniger Ammon
vera magis vobis quam mea Musa canet;
si qua fides, arti, quam longo fecimus usu,
credite: praestabunt carmina nostra fidem.
sentiat ex imis Venerem resoluta medullis
femina, et ex aequo res iuvet illa duos.
nec blandae voces iucundaque murmura cessent
nec taceant mediis improba verba iocis.
tu quoque, cui Veneris sensum natura negavit,
dulcia mendaci gaudia finge sono.
infelix, cui torpet hebes locus ille, puella,
quo pariter debent femina virque frui.
tantum, cum finges, ne sis manifesta, caveto:
effice per motum luminaque ipsa fidem.
quam iuvet, et voces et anhelitus arguat oris;
a pudet! arcanas pars habet ista notas.
gaudia post Veneris quae poscet munus amantem,
illa suas nolet pondus habere preces.
nec lucem in thalamos totis admitte fenestris:
aptius in vestro corpore multa latent.
lusus habet finem: cygnis descendere tempus,
duxerunt collo qui iuga nostra suo.
ut quondam iuvenes, ita nunc, mea turba, puellae
inscribant spoliis «Naso magister erat.»

The Art Of Love
Book III

Part I: It's Time to Teach You Girls
I've given the Greeks arms, against Amazons: arms remain,
to give to you Penthesilea, and your Amazon troop.
Go equal to the fight: let them win, those who are favoured
by Venus, and her Boy, who flies through all the world.
It's not fair for armed men to battle with naked girls:
that would be shameful, men, even if you win.
Someone will say: ‘Why add venom to the snake,
and betray the sheepfold to the rabid she-wolf?'
Beware of loading the crime of the many onto the few:
let the merits of each separate girl be seen.
Though Menelaus has Helen, and Agamemnon
has Clytemnestra, her sister, to charge with crime,
though Amphiarus, and his horses too, came living to the Styx,
through the wickedness of Eriphyle,
Penelope was faithful to her husband for all ten years
of his waging war, and his ten years wandering.
Think of Protesilaus, and Laodameia who they say
followed her marriage partner, died before her time.
Alcestis, his wife, redeemed Admetus's life with her own:
the wife, for the man, was borne to the husband's funeral.
‘Capaneus, receive me! Let us mingle our ashes,'
Evadne cried, and leapt into the flames.
Virtue herself is named and worshipped as a woman too:
it's no wonder that she delights her followers.
Yet their aims are not required for my art,
smaller sails are suited to my boat,
Only playful passions will be learnt from me:
I'll teach girls the ways of being loved.
Women don't brandish flames or cruel bows:
I rarely see men harmed by their weapons.
Men often cheat: it's seldom tender girls,
and, if you check, they're rarely accused of fraud.
Falsely, Jason left Medea, already a mother:
he took another bride to himself.
As far as you knew, Theseus, the sea birds fed on Ariadne,
left all by herself on an unknown island!
Ask why one road's called Nine-Times and hear
how the woods, weeping, shed their leaves for Phyllis.
Though he might be famed for piety, Aeneas, your guest,
supplied the sword, Dido, and the reason for your death.
What destroyed you all, I ask? Not knowing how to love:
your art was lacking: love lasts long through art.
You still might lack it now: but, before my eyes,
stood Venus herself, and ordered me to teach you.
She said to me. then: ‘What have the poor girls done,
an unarmed crowd betrayed to well-armed men?
Two books of their tricks have been composed:
let this lot too be instructed by your warnings.
Stesichorus who spoke against Helen's un-chastity,
soon sang her praises in a happier key.
If I know you well (don't harm the cultured girls now!)
this favour will always be asked of you while you live.'
She spoke, and she gave me a leaf, and a few myrtle
berries (since her hair was crowned with myrtle):
I felt received power too: purer air
glowed, and a whole weight lifted from my spirit.
While wit works, seek your orders here girls,
those that modesty, principles and your rules allow.
Be mindful first that old age will come to you:
so don't be timid and waste any of your time.
Have fun while it's allowed, while your years are in their prime:
the years go by like flowing waters:
The wave that's past can't be recalled again,
the hour that's past never can return.
Life's to be used: life slips by on swift feet,
what was good at first, nothing as good will follow.
Those stalks that wither I saw as violets:
from that thorn-bush to me a dear garland was given.
There'll be a time when you, who now shut out your lover,
will lie alone, and aged, in the cold of night,
nor find your entrance damaged by some nocturnal quarrel,
nor your threshold sprinkled with roses at dawn.
How quickly (ah me!) the sagging flesh wrinkles,
and the colour, there, is lost from the bright cheek.
And hairs that you'll swear were grey from your girlhood
will spring up all over your head overnight.
Snakes shed their old age with their fragile skin,
antlers that are cast make the stag seem young:
un-aided our beauties flee: pluck the flower,
which, if not plucked, will of itself, shamefully, fall.
Add that the time of youth is shortened by childbirth:
the field's exhausted by continual harvest.
Endymion causes you no blushes, on Latmos, Moon,
nor is Cephalus the rosy goddess of Dawn's shameful prize.
Though Adonis was given to Venus, whom she mourns to this day,
where did she get Aeneas, and Harmonia, from?
O mortal girls go to the goddesses for your examples,
and don't deny your delights to loving men.
Even if you're deceived, what do you lose? It's all intact:
though a thousand use it, nothing's destroyed that way.
Iron crumbles, stone's worn away with use:
that part's sufficient, and escapes all fear of harm.
Who objects to taking light from a light nearby?
Who hoards the vast waters of the hollow deep?
So why should any woman say: ‘Not now'? Tell me,
why waste the water if you're not going to use it?
Nor does my voice say sell it, just don't be afraid
of casual loss: your gifts are freed from loss.
Part II: Take Care with How You Look
But I'm blown about by greater gusts of wind,
while we're in harbour, may you ride the gentle breeze.
I'll start with how you look: good wine comes from vines
that are looked after, tall crops stand in cultivated soil.
Beauty's a gift of the gods: how many can boast it?
The larger number among you lack such gifts.
Taking pains brings beauty: beauty neglected dies,
even though it's like that of Venus, the Idalian goddess.
If girls of old didn't cultivate their bodies in that way,
well they had no cultivated men in those days:
if Andromache was dressed in healthy clothes,
what wonder? Her husband was a rough soldier?
Do you suppose Ajax's wife would come to him all smart,
when his outer layer was seven hides of an ox?
There was crude simplicity before: now Rome is golden,
and owns the vast wealth of the conquered world.
Look what the Capitol is now, and what it was:
you'd say it belonged to a different Jove.
The Senate-House, now worthy of such debates,
was made of wattle when Tatius held the kingship.
Where the Palatine now gleams with Apollo and our leaders,
what was that but pasture for ploughmen's oxen?
Others may delight in ancient times: I congratulate myself
on having been born just now: this age suits my nature.
Not because stubborn gold's mined now from the earth,
or choice shells come to us from farthest shores:
nor because mountains shrink as marble's quarried,
or because blue waters retreat from the piers:
but because civilisation's here, and no crudity remains,
in our age, that survives from our ancient ancestors.
You too shouldn't weight your ears with costly stones,
that dusky India gathers in its green waters,
nor show yourself in stiff clothes sewn with gold,
wealth which you court us with, often makes us flee.
Part III: Taste and Elegance in Hair and Dress
We're captivated by elegance: don't ignore your hair:
beauty's granted or denied by a hand's touch.
There isn't only one style: choose what suits each one,
and consult your mirror in advance.
An oval-shaped head suggests a plain parting:
that's how Laodamia arranged her hair.
A round face asks for a small knot on the top,
leaving the forehead free, showing the ears.
One girl should throw her hair over both shoulders:
like Phoebus when he takes up the lyre to sing.
Another tied up behind, in Diana's usual style,
when, skirts tucked up, she seeks the frightened quarry.
Blown tresses suit this girl, loosely scattered:
that one's encircled by tight-bound hair.
This one delights in being adorned by tortoiseshell from Cyllene:
that one presents a likeness to the curves of a wave.
But you'll no more number the acorns on oak branches,
or bees on Hybla, wild beasts on Alpine mountains,
than I can possibly count so many fashions:
every new day adds another new style.
And tangled hair suits many girls: often you'd think
it's been hanging loose since yesterday: it's just combed.
Art imitates chance: when Hercules, in captured Oechalia,
saw Iole like that, he said: ‘I love that girl.'
So you Bacchus, lifted forsaken Ariadne,
into your chariot, while the Satyrs gave their cries.
O how kind nature is to your beauty,
how many ways you have to repair the damage!
We're sadly exposed, and our hair, snatched at by time,
falls like the leaves stripped by the north wind.
A woman dyes the grey with German herbs,
and seeks a better colour by their art:
a woman shows herself in dense bought curls,
instead of her own, pays cash for another's.
No blushes shown: you can see them coming, openly,
before the eyes of Hercules and the Virgin Muses Choir.
What to say about dress? Don't ask for brocade,
or wools dyed purple with Tyrian murex.
With so many cheaper colours having appeared,
it's crazy to bear your fortune on your back!
See, the sky's colour, when the sky's without a cloud,
no warm south-westerly threatening heavy rain.
See, what to you, you'll say, looks similar to that fleece,
on which Phrixus and Helle once escaped fierce Ino:
this resembles the waves, and also takes its name from the waves:
I might have thought the sea-nymphs clothed with this veil.
That's like saffron-flowers: dressed in saffron robes,
the dew-wet goddess yokes her shining horses:
this, Paphian myrtle: this, purple amethyst,
dawn roses, and the Thracian crane's grey.
Your chestnuts are not lacking, Amaryllis, and almonds:
and wax gives its name to various wools.
As many as the flowers the new world, in warm spring, bears
when vine-buds wake, and dark winter vanishes,
as many or more dyes the wool drinks: choose, decisively:
since all are not suitable for everyone.
dark-grey suits snow-white skin: dark-grey suited Briseis:
when she was carried off, then she also wore dark-grey.
White suits the dark: you looked pleasing, Andromeda, in white:
so dressed, the island of Seriphos was ruled by you.
Part IV: Make-Up, but in Private
How near I was to warning you, no rankness of the wild goat
under your armpits, no legs bristling with harsh hair!
But I'm not teaching girls from the Caucasian hills,
or those who drink your waters, Mysian Caicus.
So why remind you not to let your teeth get blackened,
be being lazy, and to wash your face each morning in water?
You know how to acquire whiteness with a layer of powder:
she who doesn't blush by blood, indeed, blushes by art.
You make good the naked edges of your eyebrows,
and hide your natural cheeks with little patches.
It's no shame to highlight your eyes with thinned ashes,
or saffron grown by your banks, bright Cydnus.
It's I who spoke of facial treatments for your beauty,
a little book, but one whose labour took great care.
There too you can find protection against faded looks:
my art's no idle thing in your behalf.
Still, don't let your lover find cosmetic bottles
on your dressing table: art delights in its hidden face.
Who's not offended by cream smeared all over your face,
when it runs in fallen drops to your warm breast?
Don't those ointments smell? Even if they are sent from Athens,
they're oils extracted from the unwashed fleece of a sheep.
Don't apply preparations of deer marrow openly,
and I don't approve of openly cleaning your teeth:
it makes for beauty, but it's not beautiful to watch:
many things that please when done, are ugly in the doing:
What now carries the signature of busy Myron
was once dumb mass, hard stone:
to make a ring, first crush the golden ore:
the dress you wear, was greasy wool:
That was rough marble, now it forms a famous statue,
naked Venus squeezing water from her wet hair.
We'll think you too are sleeping while you do your face:
fit to be seen after the final touches.
Why should I know the source of the brightness in your looks?
Close your bedroom door! Why betray unfinished work?
There are many things it's right men shouldn't know:
most things offend if you don't keep them secret.
The golden figures shining from the ornate theatre,
examine them, you'll despise them: gilding hiding wood:
but the crowd's not allowed to approach them till they're done,
and till your beauty's ready banish men.
But I don't forbid your hair being freely combed,
so that it falls, loosely spread, across your shoulders.
Beware especially lest you're irritable then,
or are always loosening your failed hairstyle again.
Leave your maid alone: I hate those who scratch her face
with their nails, or prick the arm they've snatched at with a pin.
She'll curse her mistress's head at every touch,
as she weeps, bleeding, on the hateful tresses.
If you're hair's appalling, set a guard at your threshold,
or always have it done at Bona Dea's fertile temple.
I was once suddenly announced arriving at some girl's:
in her confusion she put her hair on wrong way round.
May such cause of cruel shame come to my enemies,
and that disgrace be reserved for Parthian girls.
Hornless cows are ugly, fields are ugly without grass,
and bushes without leaves, and a head without its hair.
Part V: Conceal Your Defects
I've not come to teach Semele or Leda, or Sidon's Europa,
carried through the waves by that deceptive bull,
or Helen, whom Menelaus, being no fool, reclaimed,
and you, Paris, her Trojan captor, also no fool, withheld.
The crowd come to be taught, girls pretty and plain:
and always the greater part are not-so-good.
The beautiful ones don't seek art and instruction:
they have their dowry, beauty potent without art:
the sailor rests secure when the sea's calm:
when it's swollen, he uses every aid.
Still, faultless forms are rare: conceal your faults,
and hide your body's defects as best you may.
If you're short sit down, lest, standing, you seem to sit:
and commit your smallness to your couch:
there also, so your measure can't be taken,
let a shawl drop over your feet to hide them.
If you're very slender, wear a full dress, and walk about
in clothes that hang loosely from your shoulders.
A pale girl scatters bright stripes across her body,
the darker then have recourse to linen from Alexandria.
Let an ugly foot be hidden in snow-white leather:
and don't loose the bands from skinny legs.
Thin padding suits those with high shoulder blades:
a good brassiere goes with a meagre chest.
Those with thick fingers and bitten nails,
make sparing use of gestures whenever you speak.
Those with strong breath don't talk when you're fasting.
and always keep your mouth a distance from your lover.
Part VI: Be Modest in Laughter and Movement
If you're teeth are blackened, large, or not in line
from birth, laughing would be a fatal error.
Who'd believe it? Girls must even learn to laugh,
they seek to acquire beauty also in this way.
Laugh modestly, a small dimple either side,
the teeth mostly concealed by the lips.
Don't strain your lungs with continual laughter,
but let something soft and feminine ring out.
One girl will distort her face perversely by guffawing:
another shakes with laughter, you'd think she's crying.
That one laughs stridently in a hateful manner,
like a mangy ass braying at the shameful mill.
Where does art not penetrate? They're taught to cry,
with propriety, they weep when and how they wish.
Why! Aren't true words cheated by the voice,
and tongues forced to make lisping sounds to order?
Charm's in a defect: they try to speak badly:
they're taught, when they can speak, to speak less.
Weigh all this with care, since it's for you:
learn to carry yourself in a feminine way.
And not the least part of charm is in walking:
it attracts men you don't know, or sends them running.
One moves her hips with art, catches the breeze
with flowing robes, and points her toes daintily:
another walks like the wife of a red-faced Umbrian,
feet wide apart, and with huge paces.
But there's measure here as in most things: both the rustic's stride,
and the more affected step should be foregone.
Still, let the parts of your lower shoulder and upper arm
on the left side, be naked, to be admired.
That suits you pale-skinned girls especially: when I see it,
I want to kiss your shoulder, as far as it's shown.
Part VII: Learn Music and Read the Poets
The Sirens were sea-monsters, who, with singing voice,
could restrain a ship's course as they wished.
Ulysses, your body nearly melted hearing them,
while the wax filled your companions' ears.
Song is a thing of grace: girls, learn to sing:
for many your voice is a better procuress than your looks.
And repeat what you just heard in the marble theatre,
and the latest songs played in the Egyptian style.
No woman taught under my control should fail to know
how to hold her lyre with the left hand, the plectrum with her right.
Thracian Orpheus, with his lute, moved animals and stones,
and Tartarus's lake and Cerberus, the triple-headed hound.
At your song, Amphion, just avenger of your mother,
the stones obligingly made Thebes's new walls.
Though dumb, a Dolphin's thought to have responded
to a human voice, as the tale of Arion's lyre noted.
And learn to sweep both hands across the genial harp
that too is suitable for our sweet fun.
Let Callimachus, be known to you, Coan Philetas
and the Teian Muse of old drunken Anacreon:
And let Sappho be yours (well what's more wanton?),
Menander, whose master's gulled by his Thracian slaves' cunning.
and be able to recite tender Propertius's song,
or some of yours Gallus or Tibullus:
and the high-flown speech of Varro's fleece
of golden wool, Phrixus, your sister Helle's lament:
and Aeneas the wanderer, the beginnings of mighty Rome,
than which there is no better known work in Latin.
And perhaps my name will be mingled with those,
my works not all given to Lethe's streams:
and someone will say: ‘Read our master's cultured song,
in which he teaches both the sexes: or choose
from the three books stamped with the title Amores,
that you recite softly with sweetly-teachable lips:
or let your voice sing those letters he composed, the Heroides:
he invented that form unknown to others.'
O grant it so, Phoebus! And, you, sacred powers of poetry,
great horned Bacchus, and the Nine goddesses!
Part VIII: Learn Dancing, Games
Who doubts I'd wish a girl to know how to dance,
and move her limbs as decreed when the wine goes round?
The body's artistes, the theatre's spectacle, are loved:
so great's the gracefulness of their agility.
A few things shameful to mention, she must know how to call
the throws at knucklebones, and your values, you rolled dice:
sometimes throwing three, sometimes thinking, closely,
how to advance craftily, how to challenge.
She should play the chess match warily not rashly,
where one piece can be lost to two opponents,
and a warrior wars without his companion who's been taken,
and a rival often has to retrace the journey he began.
Light spills should be poured from the open bag,
nor should a spill be disturbed unless she can raise it.
There's a kind of game, the board squared-off by as many lines,
with precise calculation, as the fleeting year has months:
a smaller board presents three stones each on either side
where the winner will have made his line up together.
There's a thousand games to be had: it's shameful for a girl
not to know how to play: playing often brings on love.
But there's not much labour in knowing all the moves:
there's much more work in keeping to your rules.
We're reckless, and revealed by eagerness itself,
and in a game the naked heart's exposed:
Anger enters, ugly mischief, desire for gain,
quarrels and fights and anxious pain:
accusations fly, the air echoes with shouts,
and each calls on their outraged deities:
there's no honour, they seek to cancel their debts at whim:
and often I've seen cheeks wet with tears.
Jupiter keep you free from all such vile reproaches,
you who have any anxiety to please men.
Part IX: Be Seen Around
Idle Nature has allotted these games to girls:
men have more opportunity to play.
Theirs the swift ball, the javelin and the hoop,
and arms, and horses made to go in a circle.
You have no Field of Mars, no ice-cold Aqua Virgo,
you don't swim in the Tiber's calm waters.
But it's fine to be seen out walking in the shade of Pompey's Porch
when your head's on fire with Virgo's heavenly horses:
visit the holy Palatine of laurel-wreathed Phoebus:
he sank Cleopatra's galleys in the deep:
the arcades Livia, Caesar's wife, and his sister, Octavia, started,
and his son-in-law Agrippa's, crowned with naval honours:
visit the incense-smoking altars of the Egyptian heifer,
visit the three theatres, take some conspicuous seat:
let the sand that's drenched with warm blood be seen,
and the impetuous wheels rounding the turning-post.
What's hidden is unknown: nothing unknown's desired:
there's no prize for a face that truly lacks a witness.
Though you excel Thamyras and Amoebeus in song,
there's no great applause for an unknown lyre.
If Apelles of Cos had never sculpted Venus,
she'd be hidden, sunk beneath the waters.
What do sacred poets seek but fame?
It's the final goal of all our labours.
Poets were once the concern of gods and kings:
and the ancient chorus earned a big reward.
A bard's dignity was inviolable: his name was honoured,
and he was often granted vast wealth.
Ennius earned it, born in Calabria's hills,
buried next to you, great Scipio.
Now the ivy wreaths lie without honour, and the painful toil
of the learned Muses, in the night, has the name of idleness.
But he's delighted to stay awake for fame: who'd know Homer,
if his immortal work the Iliad were unknown?
Who'd know of Danae, if she'd always been imprisoned,
and lay hidden, an old woman, in her tower?
Lovely girls, the crowd is useful to you.
Often lift your feet above the threshold.
The wolf shadows many sheep, to snatch just one,
and Jupiter's eagle stoops on many birds.
So too a lovely woman must let the people see her:
and perhaps there'll be one among them she attracts.
Keen to please she'll linger in all those places,
and apply her whole mind to caring for her beauty.
Chance rules everywhere: always dangle your bait:
the fish will lurk in the least likely pool.
Often hounds wander the wooded hills in vain,
and the deer, un-driven, walks into the net.
What was less hoped for by Andromeda, in chains,
than that her tears could please anyone?
Often a lover's found at a husband's funeral: walking
with loosened hair and unchecked weeping suits you.
Part X: Beware of False Lovers
Avoid those men who profess to looks and culture,
who keep their hair carefully in place.
What they tell you they've told a thousand girls:
their love wanders and lingers in no one place.
Woman, what can you do with a man more delicate than you,
and one perhaps who has more lovers too?
You'll scarcely credit it, but credit this: Troy would remain,
if Cassandra's warnings had been heeded.
Some will attack you with a lying pretence of love,
and through that opening seek a shameful gain.
But don't be tricked by hair gleaming with liquid nard,
or short tongues pressed into their creases:
don't be ensnared by a toga of finest threads,
or that there's a ring on every finger.
Perhaps the best dressed among them all's a thief,
and burns with love of your finery.
‘Give it me back!' the girl who's robbed will often cry,
‘Give it me back!' at the top of her voice in the cattle-market.
Venus, from your temple, all glittering with gold,
you calmly watch the quarrel, and you, Appian nymphs.
There are names known for a certain sort of reputation too,
they're guilty of deceiving many lovers.
Learn from other's grief to fear your own:
don't let the door be opened to lying men.
Athenian girls, beware of trusting Theseus's oaths:
those gods he calls to witness, he's called on before.
And you, Demophoon, heir to Theseus's crimes,
no honour remains to you, with Phyllis left behind.
If they promise truly, promise in as many words:
and if they give, you give the joys that were agreed.
She might as well put out the sleepless Vestal's fire,
and snatch the holy relics from your Temple, Ino,
and give her man hemlock and monkshood crushed together,
as deny him sex if she's received his gifts.
Part XI: Take Care with Letters
Let me speak closer to the theme: hold the reins,
Muses, don't smash the wheels with galloping.
His letters written on fir-wood tablets test the waters:
make sure a suitable servant receives the message.
Consider it: and read what, gathered from his own words, he said,
and perhaps, from its intent, what he might anxiously be asking.
And wait a little while before you answer: waiting
always arouses love, if it's only for a short time.
But don't give in too easily to a young man's prayers,
nor yet deny him what he seeks out of cruelty.
Make him fear and hope together, every time you write,
let hope seem more certain and fear grow less.
Write elegantly girls, but in neutral ordinary words,
an everyday sort of style pleases:
Ah! How often a doubting lover's been set on fire by letters,
and good looks have been harmed by barbarous words!
But since, though you lack the marriage ribbons,
it's your concern to deceive your lovers,
write the tablets in your maid's or boy's hand,
don't trust these tokens to a new young man.
He who keeps such tokens is treacherous,
but nevertheless he holds the flames of Etna.
I've seen girls, made pallid by this terror,
submit to slavery, poor things, for many years.
I judge that countering fraud with fraud's allowed,
the law lets arms be wielded against arms.
One form's used in exercising many hands,
(Ah! Perish those that give me reason for this warning)
don't write again on wax unless it's all been scraped,
lest the single tablet contain two hands.
And always speak of your lover as female when you write:
let it be ‘her' in your letters, instead of ‘him'.
Part XII: Avoid the Vices, Favour the Poets
If I might turn from lesser to greater things,
and spread the full expanse of swelling sail,
it's important to banish looks of anger from your face:
bright peace suits human beings, anger the wild beast.
Anger swells the face: the veins darken with blood:
the eyes flash more savagely than the Gorgon's.
‘Away with you, flute, you're not worth all that,'
said Pallas when she saw her face in the water.
You too if you looked in the mirror in your anger,
that girl would scarcely know her own face.
Pride does no less harm to your looks:
love is attracted to friendly eyes.
We hate (believe the expert) extravagant disdain:
a silent face often sows the seeds of our dislike.
Glance at a glance, smile tenderly at a smile:
he nods, you too return the signal you received.
When he's practised, so, the boy leaves the foils,
and takes his sharp arrows from his quiver.
We hate sad girls too: let Ajax choose Tecmessa:
a happy girl charms us cheerful people.
I'd never ask you, Andromache, or you, Tecmessa
while there's another lover for me than you.
I find it hard to believe, though I'm forced to by your children,
that you ever slept with your husbands.
Do you suppose that gloomy wife ever said to Ajax:
‘Light of my life': or the words that usually delight a man?
Who'll prevent me using great examples for little things,
why should we be afraid of the leader's name?
Our good leader trusts those commanders with a squad,
these with the cavalry, that man to guard the standard:
You too should judge what each of us is good for,
and place each one in his proper role.
The rich give gifts: the lawyer appears as promised:
often he pleads a client's case that must be heard:
We who make songs, can only send you songs:
we are the choir here best suited above all to love.
We can make beauties that please us widely known:
Nemesis has a name, and Cynthia has:
you'll have heard of Lycoris from East to West:
and many ask who my Corinna is.
Add that guile is absent from the sacred poets,
and our art too fashions our characters.
Ambition and desire for possession don't touch us:
the shady couch is cherished, the forum scorned.
But we're easily caught, torn by powerful passions,
and we know too well how to love with perfect faith.
No doubt our minds are sweetened by gentle art,
and our natures are consistent with our studies.
Girls, be kind to the poets of Helicon:
there's divinity in them, and they're the Muses' friends.
There's a god in us, and our dealings are with the heavens:
this inspiration comes from ethereal heights.
It's a sin to hope for gifts from the poet:
ah me! No girl's afraid of that sin.
Still hide it, don't look greedy at first sight:
new love will balk when it sees the snare.
Part XIII: Try Young and Older Lovers
No rider rules a horse that's lately known the reins,
with the same bit as one that's truly mastered,
nor will the same way serve to captivate
the mind of mature years and of green youth.
This raw recruit, first known of now in love's campaigns,
who reaches your threshold, a fresh prize,
must know you only, always cling to you alone:
this crop must be surrounded by high hedges.
Keep rivals away: you'll win while you hold just one:
love and power don't last long when they're shared.
Your older warrior loves sensibly and wisely,
suffers much that the beginner won't endure:
he won't break the door down, burn it with cruel fire,
attack his mistress's tender cheeks with his nails,
or rip apart his clothing or his girl's,
nor will torn hair be a cause of tears.
That suits hot boys, the time of strong desire:
but he'll bear cruel wounds with calm mind.
He burns, alas, with slow fires, like wet straw,
like new-cut timber on the mountain height.
This love's more sure: that's brief and more prolific:
snatch the swift fruits, that fly, in your hand.
Part XIV: Use Jealousy and Fear
Let all be betrayed: I've unbarred the gates to the enemy:
and let my loyalty be to treacherous betrayal.
What's easily given nourishes love poorly:
mingle the odd rejection with welcome fun.
Let him lie before the door, crying: ‘Cruel entrance!,
pleading very humbly, threatening a lot too.
We can't stand sweetness: bitterness renews our taste:
often a yacht sinks swamped by a favourable wind:
this is what bitter wives can't endure:
their husbands can come to them when they wish:
add a closed door and a hard-mouthed janitor,
saying: ‘You can't,' and love will touch you too.
Drop the blunted foils now: fight with blades:
no doubt I'll be attacked with my own weapons.
Also when the lover you've just caught falls into the net,
let him think that only he has access to your room.
Later let him sense a rival, the bed's shared pact:
remove these arts, and love grows old.
The horse runs swiftly from the starting gate,
when he has others to pass, and others follow.
Wrongs relight the dying fires, as you wish:
See (I confess!), I don't love unless I'm hurt.
Still, don't give cause for grief, excessively,
let the anxious man suspect it, rather than know.
Stir him with a dismal watchman, fictitiously set to guard you,
and the excessively irksome care of a harsh husband.
Pleasure that comes with safety's less enjoyable:
though you're freer than Thais, pretend fear.
Though the door's easier, let him in at the window,
and show signs of fear on your face.
A clever maid should leap up and cry: ‘We're lost!'
You, hide the trembling youth in any hole.
Still safe loving should be mixed with fright,
lest he consider you hardly worth a night.
Part XV: Play Cloak and Dagger
I nearly forgot the skilful ways by which you can
elude a husband, or a vigilant guardian.
let the bride fear her husband: to guard a wife is right:
it's fitting, it's decreed by law, the courts, and modesty.
But for you too be guarded, scarcely released from prison,
who could bear it? Adhere to my religion, and deceive!
Though as many eyes as Argus owned observe you,
you'll deceive them (if only your will is firm).
How can a guard make sure that you can't write,
when you're given all that time to spend washing?
When a knowing maid can carry letters you've penned,
concealed in the deep curves of her warm breasts?
When she can hide papers fastened to her calf,
or bear charming notes tied beneath her feet?
The guard's on the look-out for that, your go-between
offers her back as paper, and takes your words on her flesh.
Also a letter's safe, and deceives the eye, written with fresh milk;
you read it by scattering it with crushed ashes.
And those traced out with a point wetted with linseed oil,
so that the empty tablet carries secret messages.
Acrisius took care to imprison his daughter, Danae:
but she still made him a grandfather by her sin.
What good's a guard, with so many theatres in the city,
when she's free to gaze at horses paired together,
when she sits occupied with the Egyptian heifer's sistrum,
and goes where male companions cannot go,
when male eyes are banned from Bona Dea's temple,
except those she orders to enter?
When, with the girls' clothes guarded by a servant at the door,
the baths conceal so many secret joys,
when, however many times she's needed, a friend feigns illness,
and however ill she is can leave her bed,
when the false key tells by its name what we should do,
and the door alone doesn't grant the exits you seek?
And the jailor's attention's fuddled with much wine,
even though the grapes were picked on Spanish hills:
then there are drugs that bring deep sleep,
and close eyes overcome by Lethe's night:
or your maid can rightly detain the wretch with lengthy games,
and be associated herself with long delays.
but why use these tortuous ways and minor rules,
when the least gift will buy a guardian?
Believe me gifts captivate men and gods:
Jupiter himself is pleased with the gifts he's given.
What can the wise man do, when the fool love's gifts?
He'll be silent too when a gift's accepted.
But let the guard be bought for once and all:
who surrenders to it once, will surrender often.
I remember I lamented, friends are to be feared:
that complaint's not only true of men.
If you're credulous, others snatch your joys,
and that hare you started running goes to others.
She too, who eagerly offers room and bed,
believe me, she's been mine more than once.
Don't let too beautiful a maid serve you:
she's often offered herself to me as my lady.
Part XVI: Make Him Believe He's Loved
What am I talking of, madman? Why show a naked front
to the enemy, and betray myself on my own evidence?
The bird doesn't show the hunter where to find it,
the stag doesn't teach the savage hounds to run.
Let others seek advantage: faithful to how I started, I'll go on:
I'll give the Lemnian girls swords to kill me.
Make us believe (it's so easy) that we're loved:
faith comes easily to the loving in their prayers.
let a woman look longingly at her young man, sigh deeply,
and ask him why he comes so late:
add tears, and feigned grief over a rival,
and tear at his cheeks with her nails:
he'll straight away be convinced: and she'll be pitied,
and he'll say: ‘She's seized by love of me.'
Especially if he's cultured, pleased with his mirror,
he'll believe he could touch the goddesses with love.
But you, whatever wrong occurs, be lightly troubled,
nor in poor spirits if you hear of a rival.
Don't believe too quickly: how quick belief can wound,
Procris should be an example to you.
There's a sacred fountain, and sweet green-turfed ground,
near to the bright slopes of flowered Hymettus:
the low woods form a grove: strawberry-trees touch the grass,
it smells of rosemary, bay and black myrtle:
there's no lack of foliage, dense box and fragile tamarisk,
nor fine clover, and cultivated pine.
The many kinds of leaves and grass-heads tremble
at the touch of light winds and refreshing breezes.
The quiet pleased Cephalus: leaving men and dogs behind,
the weary youth often settled on this spot,
‘Come, fickle breeze (Aura), who cools my heat'
he used to sing, ‘be welcome to my breast.'
Some officious person, evilly remembering what he'd heard,
brought it to the wife's fearful hearing:
Procris, as she took the name Aura to be some rival,
fainted, and was suddenly dumb with grief:
She grew pale, as the leaves of choice vine-stalks
grow pale, wounded by an early winter,
or ripe quinces arching on their branches,
or cornelian cherries not yet fit for us to eat.
As her breath returned, she tore the thin clothing from her breast,
and scratched at her innocent cheeks with her nails:
Then she fled quickly, frenzied, down the ways,
hair flowing, like a Maenad roused by the thyrsus.
As she came near, she left her companions in the valley,
bravely herself entered the grove, in secret, on silent feet.
What was in your mind, when you hid there so foolishly,
Procris? What ardour, in your terrified heart?
Did you think she'd come soon, Aura, whoever she was,
and her infamy be visible to your eyes.
Now regretting that you came (not wishing to surprise them)
now pleased: doubting love twists at your heart.
The place, the name, the witness, command belief,
and the mind always thinks what it fears is true.
She saw signs that a body had pressed down the grass,
her chest throbbed, quivering with its anxious heart.
Now noon had contracted the thin shadows,
and dawn and twilight were parted equally:
behold, Cephalus, Hermes's child, returned to the wood,
and plunged his burning face in the fountain's water.
You hid, Procris, anxiously: he lay down as usual on the grass,
and cried: ‘Come you zephyrs, you sweet air (Aura)!'
As her joyous error in the name came to the miserable girl,
her wits and the true colour of her face returned.
She rose, and with agitated body moved the opposing leaves,
a wife running to her husband's arms:
He, sure a wild beast moved, leapt youthfully to his feet,
grasping his spear in his right hand.
What are you doing, unhappy man? That's no creature,
hold back your throw! Alas, your girl's pierced by your spear!
She called out: ‘Ah me! You've pierced a loving heart.
That part always takes its wound from Cephalus.
I die before my time, but not wounded by a rival:
that will ensure you, earth, lie lightly on me.
Now my spirit departs into that air with its deceptive name:
I pass, I go, dear hand, close my eyes!'
He held the body of his dying lady on his sad breast,
and bathed the cruel wound with his tears.
She died, and her breath, passing little by little
from her rash breast, was caught on her sad lover's lips.
Part XVII: Watch How You Eat and Drink
But to resume the work: bare facts for me
so that my weary vessel can reach harbour.
You're anxiously expecting, while I lead you to dinner,
that you can even ask for my advice there too.
Come late, and come upon us charmingly in the lamplight:
you'll come with pleasing delay: delay's a grand seductress.
Even if you're plain, with drink you'll seem beautiful,
and night itself grants concealment to your failings.
Take the food daintily: how you eat does matter:
don't smear your face all over with a greasy hand.
Don't eat before at home, but stop before you're full:
be a little less eager than you can be:
if Paris, Priam's son, saw Helen eating greedily,
he'd detest it, and say: ‘Mine's a foolish prize.'
It's more fitting, and it suits girls more, to drink:
Bacchus you don't go badly with Venus's boy.
So long as the head holds out, and the mind and feet
stand firm: and you don't see two of what's only one.
Shameful a woman lying there, drenched with too much wine:
she's worthy of sleeping with anyone who'll have her.
And it's not safe to fall asleep at table:
many shameful things usually happen in sleep.
Part XVIII: And So To Bed
To have been taught more is shameful: but kindly Venus
said: ‘What's shameful is my particular concern.'
Let each girl know herself: adopt a reliable posture
for her body: one layout's not suitable for all.
She who's known for her face, lie there face upwards:
let her back be seen, she who's back delights.
Milanion bore Atalanta's legs on his shoulders:
if they're good looking, that mode's acceptable.
Let the small be carried by a horse: Andromache,
his Theban bride, was too tall to straddle Hector's horse.
Let a woman noted for her length of body,
press the bed with her knees, arch her neck slightly.
She who has youthful thighs, and faultless breasts,
the man might stand, she spread, with her body downwards.
Don't think it shameful to loosen your hair, like a Maenad,
and throw back your head with its flowing tresses.
You too, whom Lucina's marked with childbirth's wrinkles,
like the swift child of Parthia, turn your mount around.
There's a thousand ways to do it: simple and least effort,
is just to lie there half-turned on your right side.
But neither Phoebus's tripods nor Ammon's horn
shall sing greater truths to you than my Muse:
If you trust art's promise, that I've long employed:
my songs will offer you their promise.
Woman, feel love, melted to your very bones,
and let both delight equally in the thing.
Don't leave out seductive coos and delightful murmurings,
don't let wild words be silent in the middle of your games.
You too whom nature denies sexual feeling,
pretend to sweet delight with artful sounds.
Unhappy girl, for whom that sluggish place is numb,
which man and woman equally should enjoy.
Only beware when you feign it, lest it shows:
create belief in your movements and your eyes.
When you like it, show it with cries and panting breath:
Ah! I blush, that part has its own secret signs.
She who asks fondly for a gift after love's delights,
can't want her request to carry any weight.
Don't let light into the room through all the windows:
it's fitting for much of your body to be concealed.
The game is done: time to descend, you swans,
you who bent your necks beneath my yoke.
As once the boys, so now my crowd of girls
inscribe on your trophies ‘Ovid was my master.'

End of Book III

Contents of Book III

Part I: It's Time to Teach You Girls.
Part II: Take Care with How You Look.
Part III: Taste and Elegance in Hair and Dress.
Part IV: Make-Up, but in Private.
Part V: Conceal Your Defects.
Part VI: Be Modest in Laughter and Movement.
Part VII: Learn Music and Read the Poets.
Part VIII: Learn Dancing, Games.
Part IX: Be Seen Around.
Part X: Beware of False Lovers.
Part XI: Take Care with Letters.
Part XII: Avoid the Vices, Favour the Poets.
Part XIII: Try Young and Older Lovers.
Part XIV: Use Jealousy and Fear.
Part XV: Play Cloak and Dagger.
Part XVI: Make Him Believe He's Loved.
Part XVII: Watch How You Eat and Drink.
Part XVIII: And So To Bed.

- --oOo-- -

Ars amatoriaLiber tertius

The Art Of LoveBook III

End of Book III

Contents of Book III

Ars amatoria
Liber tertius

The Art Of Love
Book III