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. Mournful her looks; her mournful looks became
  2. Shining thro' grief, and beautiful in shame.
  3. I rush'd, resolv'd her golden locks to tear,
  4. And with mad violence disrobe the fair;
  5. But as I viewed her face, th' extended hand
  6. Shrunk back, nor hearken'd to the harsh command.
  7. Others protection seek by dint of arms,
  8. Her only safeguard was—her wondrous charms.
  9. I, who but late look'd insolently brave,
  10. Fell from my height, and couch'd a suppliant slave:
  11. I rav'd no longer at another's bliss,
  12. But begg'd the transport of as sweet a kiss.
  13. Smiling she said, " How grateful thy request!
  14. If e'er my kisses please thee, take the best."
  15. Oh, with what gust as from her soul they came!
  16. Such might melt Jove, and stop the vengeful flame;
  17. I fear'd my rival too enjoy'd the same.
  18. These, better than from me she learn'd I thought,
  19. Something taught new, alas! I wish'd untaught;
  20. What most gave pleasure, that now stings the most;
  21. Why were our darting tongues entirely lost?
  22. Nor fret I thou in kissing shouldst excel,
  23. And yet 'tis strange to know to kiss so well;
  24. But ah! such lectures only could be read
  25. By youthful tutors, and imbib'd abed.
  26. That sage who'er these large improvements made,
  27. Was by his pupil preciously repay'd.
  1. Alas! poor Poll, my Indian talker, dies!
  2. Go, birds, and celebrate his obsequies;
  3. Go, birds, and beat your breasts, your faces tear,
  4. And pluck your gaudy plumes instead of hair;
  5. Let doleful tunes the frighted forest wound,
  6. And your sad notes supply the trumpet's sound.
  7. Why, Philomel, dost mourn the Thracian rage?
  8. It is enough, thy grief at last assuage;
  9. His crimson faults are now grown white with age.
  10. Now mourn this bird; the cause of all thy woe
  11. Was great, 'tis true, but it was long ago.
  12. Mourn, all ye wing'd inhabitants of air,
  13. But you, my turtle, take the greatest share;
  14. You too liv'd constant friends and free from strife
  15. Your kindness was entire, and long as life:
  16. What Pylades to his Orestes vow'd.
  17. To thee, poor Poll, thy friendly turtle show'd,
  18. And kept his love as long as fate allow'd.
  19. But, ah! what did thy faith, thy plumes, and tail,
  20. And what thy pretty speaking art, avail?
  21. And what that thou wert giv'n, and pleas'd my miss,
  22. Since now the bird's unhappy glory dies ?
  23. A lovely verdant green grac'd ev'ry quill,
  24. The deepest vivid red did paint thy bill;
  25. In speaking thou didst ev'ry bird excel,
  26. None prattled, and none lisp'd the words so well.
  27. 'Twas envy only sent this fierce disease;
  28. Thou wert averse to war, and liv'dst in peace,
  29. A talking harmless thing, and lov'dst thine ease.
  30. The fighting quails still live 'midst all their strife,
  31. And even that, perhaps, prolongs their life.
  32. Thy meat was little, and thy prattling tongue
  33. Would ne'er permit to make thy dinner long:
  34. Plain fountain water all thy drink allow'd,
  35. And nut and poppy-seed were all thy food.
  36. The preying vultures and the kites remain,
  37. And the unlucky crow still caws for rain;
  38. The chough still lives 'midst fierce Minerva's hate,
  39. And scarce nine hundred years conclude her fate;
  40. But my poor Poll now hangs his sickly head,
  41. My Poll, my present from the east, is dead.
  42. Best things are sooner snatch'd by cov'tous fate,
  43. To worse she freely gives a longer date;
  44. Thersites brave Achilles' fate surviv'd,
  45. And Hector fell, whilst all his brothers liv'd.
  46. Why should I tell what vows Corinna made?
  47. How oft she begg'd thy life, how oft she pray'd ?
  48. The seventh day came, and now the Fates begin
  49. To end the thread, they had no more to spin;
  50. Yet still he talk'd, and when death nearer drew,
  51. His last breath said, "Corinna, now adieu!"
  52. There is a shady cypress grove below,
  53. And thither (if such doubtful things we know)
  54. The ghosts of pious birds departed go;
  55. 'Tis water'd well, and verdant all the year,
  56. And birds obscene do never enter there;
  57. There harmless swans securely take their rest,
  58. And there the single Phoenix builds her nest;
  59. Proud peacocks there display their gaudy train,
  60. And billing turtles coo o'er all the plain:
  61. To these dark shades my parrot's soul shall go,
  62. And with his talk divert the birds below;
  63. Whilst here his bones enjoy a noble grave,
  64. A little marble, and an epitaph:-
  65. "In talking I did ev'ry bird excel,
  66. And my tomb proves my mistress lov'd me well."
  1. And must I still be guilty, still untrue,
  2. And when old crimes are purg'd, still charg'd with new?
  3. What tho' at last my cause I clearly gain?
  4. Yet I'm asham'd so oft to strive in vain,
  5. And when the prize will scarce reward the pain.
  6. If at the play I in fop-corner sit,
  7. And with a squinting eye gloat o'er the pit,
  8. Or view the boxes, you begin to fear,
  9. And fancy straight some rival beauty there.
  10. If any looks on me, you think you spy
  11. A private assignation in her eye;
  12. A silent soft discourse in ev'ry grace,
  13. And tongues in all the features of her face.
  14. If I praise any one, you tear your hair,
  15. Show frantic tricks, and rage with wild despair;
  16. If discommend, 0 then 'tis all deceit,
  17. I strive to cloak my passion by the cheat.
  18. If I look well, I then neglect your charms,
  19. Lie dull and lazy in your active arms;
  20. If weak my voice, if pale my looks appear,
  21. 0 then I languish for another fair.
  22. Would I did sin, and you with cause complain,
  23. For when we strive to shun, yet strive in vain,
  24. 'Tis comfort sure to have deserv'd the pain.
  25. But sure fond fancies now such heats engage,
  26. Your cred'lous peevish humour spoils your rage.
  27. In frequent chidings I no force can see,
  28. You frown too often to prevail with me;
  29. The ass grows dull by stripes; the constant blow
  30. Beats off his briskness, and he moves but slow.
  31. But now I'm lavish of my kind embrace,
  32. And Moll, forsooth, supplies her lady's place!
  33. Kind love, forbid that I should stoop so low;
  34. What! unto mean, ignoble beauties bow ?
  35. A chambermaid ! no faith, my love flies high;
  36. My quarry is a miss of quality.
  37. Fye, who would clasp a slave ? who joy to feel
  38. Her hands of iron and her sides of steel ?
  39. 'Twill damp an eager thought, 'twill check my mind,
  40. To feel those knobs the lash hath left behind.
  41. Besides, she dresses well, with lovely grace
  42. She sets thy tow'r, and does adorn thy face;
  43. Thy nat'ral beauty all her hearts improve,
  44. And make me more enamour'd of my love.
  45. Then why should I tempt her, and why betray
  46. Thy useful slave, and have her turn'd away?
  47. I swear by Venus, by love's darts and bow,
  48. (A desp'rate oath, you must believe me now,)
  49. I am not guilty, I've not broke my vow!
  1. Dear, skilful Betty, who dost far excel
  2. My lady's other maids in dressing well;
  3. Dear Betty, fit to be preferred above
  4. To Juno's chamber, or the queen of love;
  5. Genteel, well-bred, not rustically coy,
  6. Not easy to deny desired joy;
  7. Thro' whose soft eyes still secret wishes shine,
  8. Fit for thy mistress' use, but more for mine;
  9. Who, Betty, did the fatal secret see?
  10. Who told Corinna you were kind to me!
  11. Yet when she chid me for my kind embrace,
  12. Did any guilty blush spread o'er my face!
  13. Did I betray thee, maid, or could she spy
  14. The least confession in my conscious eye !
  15. Not that I think it a disgrace to prove
  16. Stol'n sweets, or make a chambermaid my love;
  17. Achilles wanton'd in Briseis' arms,
  18. Atrides bow'd to fair Cassandra's charms: