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. This lass, because she's little, I approve;
  2. The least are lightest in the sports of love.
  3. With every size my passion does agree,
  4. And tall and short are both alike to me.
  5. I fancy, when undress'd I find the fair,
  6. 'Tis less her want of charms, than want of care.
  7. If with her dishabille, I cry, " I'm pleas'd,"
  8. How beauteous would she be if she were dress'd
  9. And when she does her best apparel wear,
  10. I think her riches in her pride appear.
  11. The fair, the olive, are to me the same,
  12. Alike the swarthy, and the sandy dame.
  13. When her black curls adown her shoulders flow,
  14. Such Leda's were, her skin as white as snow;
  15. And when her golden locks her head adorn,
  16. I straight compare her to the saffron morn.
  17. My love with no complexion disagrees,
  18. But all alike my ready passion please.
  19. The younger by their bloom my heart secure,
  20. The elder win it as they're more mature;
  21. And though the younger may excel in charms,
  22. The elder clasp you with experienc'd arms
  23. What all the city like, is liked by me,
  24. And I with them and all my loves agree.
  25. I'm proud to be the rival of the town,
  26. And to their taste will still conform my own.
  1. Cupid, be gone! I can for beauty sigh,
  2. But not be forc'd to wish each hour to die;
  3. For so I wish whene'er my restless thoughts
  4. Dwell on her falsehoods and repeated faults.
  5. All other plagues know sometimes to be civil,
  6. But woman is a sure, perpetual evil.
  7. No pimp I bribe to prove thy perjur'd vows,
  8. Nor intercepted once thy billet-doux.
  9. 0, cou dst thou but my arguments disprove!
  10. A cause so good is here unwish'd in love.
  11. Happy, who dares t' avow his censur'd flame,
  12. And vindicate the secret tripping dame.
  13. Blushless, tho' guilty, with uplifted eyes,
  14. "'Tis false, my life, by yon bright Heaven," she cries.