T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
From Elegies: Book III. Elegia VII.
By Ovid (43 B.C.–18 A.D.)(Translated by Christopher Marlowe) Quod ab amica receptus, cum ea coire non potuit, conqueritur. |
EITHER she was foul, or her attire was bad, | |
| Or she was not the wench I wished to have had. | |
| Idly I lay with her, as if I loved not, | |
| And like a burden grieved the bed that moved not. | |
| Though both of us performed our true intent, | 5 |
| Yet could I not cast anchor where I meant. | |
| She on my neck her ivory arms did throw, | |
| Her arms far whiter than the Scythian snow. | |
| And eagerly she kissed me with her tongue, | |
| And under mine her wanton thigh she flung, | 10 |
| Yes, and she soothed me up, and called me “Sir,” | |
| And used all speech that might provoke and stir. | |
| Yet like as if cold hemlock I had drunk, | |
| It mockèd me, hung down the head and sunk. | |
| Like a dull cipher, or rude block I lay, | 15 |
| Or shade, or body was I, who can say? | |
| What will my age do, age I cannot shun, | |
| Seeing in my prime my force is spent and done? | |
| I blush, that being youthful, hot, and lusty, | |
| I prove neither youth nor man, but old and rusty. | 20 |
| Pure rose she, like a nun to sacrifice, | |
| Or one that with her tender brother lies. | |
| Yet boarded I the golden Chie twice, | |
| And Libas, and the white-cheeked Pitho thrice. | |
| Corinna craved it in a summer’s night, | 25 |
| And nine sweet bouts had we before daylight. | |
| What, waste my limbs through some Thessalian charms? | |
| May spells and drugs do silly souls such harms? | |
| With virgin wax hath some imbast my joints? | |
| And pierced my liver with sharp needle-points? | 30 |
| Charms change corn to grass and make it die: | |
| By charms are running springs and fountains dry. | |
| By charms mast drops from oaks, from vines grapes fall, | |
| And fruit from trees when there’s no wind at all. | |
| Why might not then my sinews be enchanted? | 35 |
| And I grow faint as with some spirit haunted? | |
| To this, add shame: shame to perform it quailed me, | |
| And was the second cause why vigour failed me. | |
| My idle thoughts delighted her no more, | |
| Than did the robe or garment which she wore. | 40 |
| Yet might her touch make youthful Pylius fire, | |
| And Tithon livelier than his years require. | |
| Even her I had, and she had me in vain, | |
| What might I crave more, if I ask again? | |
| I think the great gods grieved they had bestowed, | 45 |
| This benefit: which lewdly I foreslowed, | |
| I wished to be received in, in I get me. | |
| To kiss, I kiss; to lie with her, she let me. | |
| Why was I blest? why made king to refuse it? | |
| Chuff-like had I not gold and could not use it? | 50 |
| So in a spring thrives he that told so much, | |
| And looks upon the fruits he cannot touch. | |
| Hath any rose so from a fresh young maid, | |
| As she might straight have gone to church and prayed? | |
| Well, I believe, she kissed not as she should, | 55 |
| Nor used the sleight and cunning which she could. | |
| Huge oaks, hard adamants might she have moved, | |
| And with sweet words caus[ed] deaf rocks to have loved. | |
| Worthy she was to move both gods and men, | |
| But neither was I man nor livèd then. | 60 |
| Can deaf ears take delight when Phæmius sings? | |
| Or Thamyris in curious painted things? | |
| What sweet thought is there but I had the same? | |
| And one gave place still as another came. | |
| Yet notwithstanding, like one dead it lay, | 65 |
| Drooping more than a rose pulled yesterday. | |
| Now, when he should not jet, he bolts upright, | |
| And craves his task, and seeks to be at fight. | |
| Lie down with shame, and see thou stir no more. | |
| Seeing thou would’st deceive me as before. | 70 |
| Then cozenest me: by thee surprised am I, | |
| And bide sore loss with endless infamy. | |
| Nay more, the wench did not disdain a whit | |
| To take it in her hand, and play with it. | |
| But when she saw it would by no means stand, | 75 |
| But still drooped down, regarding not her hand, | |
| “Why mock’st thou me,” she cried, “or being ill, | |
| Why bade thee lie down here against thy will? | |
| Either thou art witched with blood of frogs new dead, | |
| Or jaded cam’st thou from some other’s bed.” | 80 |
| With that, her loose gown on, from me she cast her; | |
| In skipping out her naked feet much graced her. | |
| And lest her maid should know of this disgrace, | |
| To cover it, spilt water on the place. | |