Amores

Ovid

Ovid. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Dryden, John, et al., translator. New York: Calvin Blanchard, 1855.

  1. What founder would have then been born to Rome?
  2. Had Venus, when she with Aeneas teem'd,
  3. To death, ere born, Anchises' son condemn'd,
  4. The world had of the Caesars been depriv'd;
  5. Augustus ne'er had reign'd, nor Julius liv'd.
  6. And thou, whose beauty is the boast of fame,
  7. Hadst perish'd, had thy mother done the same;
  8. Nor had I liv'd love's faithful slave to be,
  9. Had my own mother dealt as ill by me.
  10. Ah, vile invention, ah, accurs'd design,
  11. To rob of rip'ning fruit the loaded vine
  12. Ah, let it grow for nature's use mature,
  13. Ah, let it its full length of time endure;
  14. 'Twill of itself, alas! too soon decay,
  15. And quickly fall, like autumn leaves, away
  16. Why barb'rously dost thou thy bowels tear
  17. To kill the human load that quickens there?
  18. On venom'd drugs why venture, to destroy
  19. The pledge of pleasure past, the promis'd boy?
  20. Medea, guilty of her childrens' blood,
  21. The mark of ev'ry age's curse has stood;
  22. And Atys, murder'd by his mothers rage,
  23. Been pitied since by each succeeding age;
  24. Thy cruel parents by false lords abus'd,
  25. Had yet some plea, tho' none their crime excus'd.
  26. What, Jason, did your dire revenge provoke?
  27. What, Tereus, urge you to the fatal stroke?
  28. What rage your reason led so far away,
  29. As furious hands upon yourself to lay?
  30. The tigresses that haunt th' Armenian wood,
  31. Will spare their proper young, though pinch'd for food;
  32. Nor will the Libyan lionesses slay
  33. Their whelps,—but woman are more fierce than they;
  34. More barb'rous to the tender fruit they bear,
  35. Nor nature's call, tho' loud she cries, will hear.
  36. But righteous vengeance oft their crimes pursues,
  37. And they are lost themselves, who would their
  38. children lose;
  39. The pois'nous drugs with mortal juices fill
  40. Their veins, and, undesign'd, themselves they kill
  41. Themselves upon the bier are breathless borne,
  42. With hair tied up that was in ringlets worn,
  43. Thro' weeping crowds that on their course attend;
  44. Well may they weep for their unhappy end.
  45. Forbid it, heaven, that what I say may prove
  46. Presaging to the fair I blame and love;
  47. Thus let me ne'er, ye pow'rs, her death deplore,
  48. 'Twas her first fault, and she'll offend no more;
  49. No pardon she'll deserve a second time,
  50. But, without mercy, punish then her crime.