Amores

89. Her few gray hairs in rage I vow'd to pull,
90. And thrust her drunken eyes into her skull.
91. "Poor in a dungeon's bottom may'st thou rot,
92. Die with a blow with thy beloved pot;
93. No brandy, and eternal thirst, thy lot."

1. Trust me, my Atticus, in love are wars;
2. And Cupid has his camp, as well as Mars:
3. The age that's fit for war best suits with love,
4. The old in both unserviceable prove,
5. Infirm in war, and impotent in love.
6. The soldiers which a general does require,
7. Are such as ladies would in bed desire:
8. Who but a soldier, and a lover, can
9. Bear the night's cold, in show'rs of hail and rain?
10. One in continual watch his station keeps,
11. Or on the earth in broken slumbers sleeps;
12. The other takes his still repeated round
13. By mistress' house — then lodges on the ground.
14. Soldiers, and lovers, with a careful eye,
15. Observe the motions of the enemy:
16. One to the walls makes his approach in form,
17. Pushes the siege, and takes the town by storm:
18. The other lays his close to Celia's fort,
19. Presses his point, and gains the wish'd-for port.
20. As soldiers, when the foe securely lies
21. In sleep, and wine dissolv'd, the camp surprise;
22. So when the jealous to their rest remove,
23. And all is hush'd, — the other steals to love.
24. You then, who think that love's an idle fit,
25. Know, that it is the exercise of wit.
26. In flames of love the fierce Achilles burns,
27. And, quitting arms, absent Briseis mourns:
28. From the embraces of Andromache
29. Went Hector arm'd for war, and victory.
30. As Agamemnon saw Cassandra pass
31. With hair dishevell'd, and disorder'd dress,
32. H' admir'd the beauties of the prophetess:
33. The god of war was caught in th' act of love;
34. A story know to all the court above.
35. Once did I pass my hours in sloth and ease,
36. Cool shades and beds of down could only please;
37. When a commanding beauty rais'd my mind,
38. I left all little trifling thoughts behind,
39. And to her service all my heart resign'd:
40. Since, like an active soldier, have I spent
41. My time in toils of war, in beauty's tent:
42. And for so sweet a pay all dangers underwent.
43. You see, my Atticus, by what I prove,
44. Who would not live in idleness-must love.

Poem 10, in which the poet complains that his mistress has asked him for money, is not here translated.

1. Nape, who know'st so well to set the hair,
2. And all the fashions of the modish fair,
3. Like thee no lady's woman in the town
4. Can forward an intrigue, or pin a gown;
5. No maid than thee can boast a quicker eye,
6. Nor sooner the sour husband's coming spy.
7. Here, Nape, take this billet-doux, and bear
8. My soul's soft wishes to the absent fair.
9. If I can guess, thy heart is not of flint,
10. Nor is there the least vein of iron in't;
11. I something in thy looks and manners see
12. Above the rudeness of thy low degree;
13. A softer turn, to pity more inclined,
14. Than vulgar souls, a more complacent mind;
15. Thou feel'st, if I can guess, an equal flame,
16. And thine and my distemper is the same.
17. If how I do, she asks, do thou reply,
18. For the dear night, and night's dear joys, I die.
19. Tell her the letter will the rest explain,
20. And does my soul, and all its hopes contain.
21. But time, while I am speaking, flies: be sure
22. To give the billet in a leisure hour:
23. Don't be content with her imperfect view,
24. But make her, when she has it, read it through.
25. I charge thee, as she reads, observe her eyes,
26. Catch, if thou canst, her gentle looks and sighs;
27. As these are sure presages of my joy,
28. So frowns and low'rs my flattering hopes destroy.
29. Pray her, when she has read it, to indite
30. An answer, and a long epistle write.
31. I hate a billet, where at once I view
32. A page all empty, but a line or two.
33. Let her without a margin fill it up,
34. And crowd it from the bottom to the top.
35. But why should I her pretty fingers tire?
36. A word's enough, and all that I desire.
37. Ah, Nape, let her only bid me come;
38. The page is large, which for that word has room.
39. Her letter, like a conqu'ror's, shall be bound
40. With bays, for it with conquests shall be crown'd.

1. Ah, pity me, my friends! the cruel fair