At me Apollo bends his pliant bow;
At me Jove's right hand lightning hath to throw.
The wronged gods dread fair ones to offend,
And fear those, that to fear them least intend.
Who now will care the altars to pertume?
Tut, men should not their courage so consume.
Jove throws down woods and castles with his fire,
But bids his darts from perjured girls retire.
Poor Semele among so many burn'd,
Her own request to her own torment turn'd.
But when her lover came, had she drawn back,
The father's thigh should unborn Bacchus lack.
Why grieve I' and of heaven reproaches pen?
The gods have eyes, and breasts as well as men.
Were a god, I should give women leave,
With lying lips my godhead to deceive.
Myself would swear the wenches true did swear,
And I would be none of the gods severe.
But yet their gift more moderately use,
Or in mine eyes, good wench, no pain transfuse.
Ad virum servantem conjugem.
RUDE man, 'tis vain thy damsel to commend,
To keepers trust: their wits should them defend.
Who, without fear, is chaste; is chaste in sooth:
Who, because means want, doth not, she doth.
Though thou her body guard, her mind is stain'd;
Nor, lest she will, can any be restrain'd.
Nor can❜st by watching keep her mind from sin,
All being shut out, the adulterer is within.
Who may offend, sins least; power to do ill,
The fainting seeds of naughtiness doth kill.
Forbear to kindle vice by prohibition,
Sooner shall kindness gain thy will's fruition.
I saw a horse against the bit stiff-neck'd,
Like lightning go, his struggling mouth being check'd:
When he perceived the reins let slack, he staid,
And on his loose mane the loose bridle laid.
How to attain what is denied, we think,
Even as the sick desire forbidden drink.
Argus had either way an hundred eyes,
Yet by deceit love did them all surprise.
In stone and iron walls Danae shut,
Came forth a mother, though a maid there put.
Penelope, though no watch look'd unto her,
Was not defil'd by any gallant wooer.
What's kept, we covet more: the care makes theft,
Few love what others have unguarded left.
Nor doth her face please, but her husband's love;
I know not what men think should thee so move.
She is not chaste that keeps away therefore:
Thy fear is than her body valued more.
Although thou chafe, stol'n pleasure is sweet play,
She pleaseth best, I fear, if any say.
A free-born wench, no right 'tis up to lock,
So use we women of strange nations' stock.
Because the keeper may come, say, I did it,
She must be honest to thy servant's credit.
He is too clownish, whom a lewd wife grieves,
And this town's well-known custom not believes;
Where Mars his sons not without fault did breed,
Remus and Romulus, Ilia's twin-born seed.
Cannot a fair one, if not chaste, please thee?
Never can these by any means agree.
Kindly thy mistress use, if thou be wise;
Look gently, and rough husbands' laws despise.
Honour what friends thy wife gives, she'll give many,
Least labour, thou shalt win great grace of any.
So shalt thou go with youths to feasts together,
And see at home much, that thou ne'er brought'st
thither.
Ad amnem dum iter faceret ad amicam.
FLOOD with red-grown slime banks, 'till I be past,
Thy waters stay: I to my mistress haste.
Thou hast no bridge, nor boat with ropes to throw,
That may transport me without oars to row.
Thee I have pass'd, and knew thy stream none such,
When thy wave's brim did scarce my ankles touch.
This, which is the sixth elegy of Ovid, is numbered 5 in the edition from which we print-an error caused by the omission of a translation of the fifth elegy, and running throughout the remainder of the Book. The same mistake occurs in the "Certaine Elegies," although it only contains two from the third Book. This circumstance furnishes a strong reason for concluding that the "Certaine Elegies" was a selection from the present edition.
With snow, thaw'd from the next hill, now thou
And in thy foul deep waters thick thou pushest.
What helps my haste? what to have ta'en small rest?
What day and night to travel in her quest?
If standing here I can by no means get
My foot upon the further bank to set.
Now wish I those wings noble Perseus had,
Bearing the head with dreadful arrows clad ;
Now wish the chariot, whence corn fields were found,
First to be thrown upon the untill'd ground:
I speak old poets wonderful inventions,
Ne'er was, nor shall be, what my verse mentions.
Rather, thou large bank overflowing river,
Slide in thy bounds, so shalt thou run for ever.
(Trust me) land-stream, thou shalt no envy lack,
If I a lover be by thee held back.
Great floods ought to assist young men in love,
Great floods the force of it do often prove.
In mid Bithynia, 'tis said, Inachus
Grew pale, and in cold fords not lecherous.
Troy had not yet been ten years' siege out-stander,
When nymph Neæra rapt thy looks, Scamander.
What? not Alpheus in strange lands to run,
The Arcadian virgin's constant love hath won?
And Creusa unto Xanthus first affic'd,
They say Peneus near Phthia's town did hide.
What should I name Esop, that Thebe loved?
Thebe who mother of five daughters proved.
If Achelous, I ask where thy horns stand,
Thou say'st, broke with Alcides' angry hand.
Not Calydon, nor Ætolia did please;
One Deianira was more worth than these.
Rich Nile by seven mouths to the west sea flowing, Who so well keeps his water's head from knowing, Is by Evadne thought to take such flame,
As his deep whirlpools could not quench the same. Dry Enipeus, Tyro to embrace,
T'fly back his stream charg'd; the stream charg'd, gave place.
Nor pass I thee, who hollow rocks down tumbling, In Tiber's field with wat'ry foam art rumbling.
Whom Ilia pleased, though in her looks grief revell'd, Her cheeks were scratch'd, her goodly hairs dishevell'd.
She wailing Mars' sin, and her uncle's crime,
Stray'd barefoot through sole places on a time.
Her, from his swift waves, the bold flood perceiv'd,
And from the mid ford his hoarse voice upheav'd,
Saying why sadly tread'st my banks upon,
Ilia, sprung from Idæan Laomedon?
Where's thy attire? why wand'rest here alone?
To stay thy tresses white veil hast thou none?
Why weep'st? and spoil'st with tears thy wat'ry eyes?
And fiercely knock'st thy breast that open lies?
His heart consists of flint, and hardest steel,
That seeing thy tears can any joy then feel.
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