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. The jilting harlot strikes the surest blow,
  2. A truth which I by sad experience know;
  3. The kind, poor, constant creature we despise,
  4. Man but pursues the quarry while it flies.
  5. But thou dull husband of a wife too fair,
  6. Stand on thy guard, and watch the precious ware;
  7. If creaking doors, or barking dogs, thou hear,
  8. Or windows scratch'd, suspect a rival there.
  9. An orange wench would tempt thy wife abroad;
  10. Kick her, for she's a letter-bearing bawd.
  11. In short, be jealous as the devil in hell,
  12. And set my wit on work to cheat thee well.
  13. The sneaking city-cuckold is my foe;
  14. I scorn to strike but when he wards the blow.
  15. Look to thy hits and leave off thy conniving,
  16. I'll be no drudge to any wittol living;
  17. I have been patient, and forborne thee long,
  18. In hope thou wouldst not pocket up thy wrong:
  19. If no affront can rouse thee, understand
  20. I'll take no more indulgence at thy hand.
  21. What, ne'er to be forbid thy house and wife
  22. Damn him who loves to lead so ill a life.
  23. Now I can neither sigh, nor whine, nor pray;
  24. All those occasions thou hast ta'en away.
  25. Why art thou so incorrigibly civil ?
  26. Do somewhat I may wish thee at the devil
  27. For shame, be no accomplice in my treason;
  28. A pimping husband is too much in reason.
  29. Once more wear horns, before I quite forsake her
  30. In hopes whereof, I rest thy cuckold-maker.
  1. Unhurt by steel, arose an ancient wood,
  2. A mansion fit for some retiring god;
  3. With craggy stones a secret grot was hung,
  4. And in the midst a sacred fountain sprung;
  5. The courting birds repeating songs of love,
  6. With soft complainings sweetly fill'd the grove:
  7. Here wand'ring thoughtful, and intent to choose
  8. Some theme unsung, to please the busy muse;
  9. Fair elegy came on with gentle pace,
  10. Unforc'd her air and easy was her grace.
  11. Her flaxen hair, in curious tresses wreath'd,
  12. Ambrosial sweets and heav'nly odours breath'd;
  13. A simple dress the careless charmer bore,
  14. And loving looks, and smiles unartful wore.
  15. Next came the goddess of the tragic scene,
  16. With stately tread, and proud majestic mien
  17. Her front severe, with hanging curls was drown'd,
  18. Her length of robe was full, and swept the ground:
  19. Her hand held out, a regal sceptre grac'd,
  20. And Lydian buskins half her legs embrac'd.
  21. She first; "Must love for ever tune thy voice,
  22. Fond idle bard, and trifling in thy choice
  23. Thy wanton songs employ the drunkard's tongue,
  24. In ev'ry street thy ribald lays are sung;
  25. The finger marks thee in thy passing by,
  26. 'Behold, where goes the slave of love,' they cry.
  27. Thy lewd exploits, thou profligate, are grown
  28. The public theme, and talk of all the town;
  29. Whilst unconcern'd, and lost to sense of shame,
  30. Thou still runn'st on nor mind'st thy ruin'd fame.
  31. Enough thou'st told the plaints of fond desire,
  32. Now let a nobler inspiration fire;
  33. Thy matter cramps thy genius, learn to find
  34. A manly subject, and exert thy mind.
  35. In songs for girls, fond toys, and idle play,
  36. Thy muse has wanton'd all her hours away.
  37. But youth at length has fill'd its measure up;
  38. My friend, 'tis time to taste of t'other cup.
  39. Now in my service let thy force be shown,
  40. Assert my honour, and retrieve thy own;
  41. Thy sprightly fancy, and inventive wit,
  42. The lofty style of tragic scenes will fit."
  43. She said; and proudly rising in her gait,
  44. Thrice shook her tresses, and display'd her state.
  45. With open look (nor was my sight beguil'd)
  46. And joyous eyes her rival sweetly smil'd;
  47. Sustain'd her hand a myrtle branch upright?
  48. Or did my fancy form the charming sight?
  49. "Still so severe, 0, tragedy ! (she cried);
  50. And canst thou ne'er forego thy sullen pride?
  51. I not compare my lowly lays to thine;
  52. Too weak materials for the vast design.
  53. The style unlabour'd, negligent the dress,
  54. My verse is humbler, and my matter less.
  55. Gay, wanton, soft, my business is to move,
  56. With melting strains, the playful god of love.
  57. Bereft of me, fair Venus wants her charms,
  58. I help the goddess, and prepare her arms.
  59. My luring art, and soothing lays prevail,
  60. Where lofty port, and tragic buskins fail.