T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
To His Mistress
By Ovid (43 B.C.18 A.D.)(From Amours, Book 1, Elegy IV. Translated by John Dryden) 1 |
YOUR husband will be with us at the Treat; | |
May that be the last Supper he shall Eat. | |
And am poor I, a Guest invited there, | |
Only to see, while he may touch the Fair? | |
To see you Kiss and Hug your nauseous Lord, | 5 |
While his lewd Hand descends below the Board? | |
Now wonder not that Hippodamia’s Charms, | |
At such a sight, the Centaurs urged to Arms; | |
That in a rage they threw their Cups aside, | |
Assailed the Bridegroom, and would force the Bride. | 10 |
I am not half a Horse (I would I were): | |
Yet hardly can from you my Hands forbear. | |
Take then my Counsel; which observed, may be | |
Of some Importance both to you and me. | |
Be sure to come before your Man be there; | 15 |
There’s nothing can be done; but come how e’re. | |
Sit next him (that belongs to Decency); | |
But tread upon my Foot in passing by. | |
Read in my Looks what silently they speak, | |
And silly, with your Eyes, your Answer make. | 20 |
My Lifted Eye-brow shall declare my Pain; | |
My Right-Hand to his fellow shall complain; | |
And on the Back a Letter shall design; | |
Besides a Note that shall be Writ in Wine. | |
When e’re you think upon our last Embrace, | 25 |
With your Fore-finger gently touch your Face. | |
If any Word of mine offend my Dear, | |
Pull, with your Hand, the Velvet of your Ear. | |
If you are pleased with what I do or say, | |
Handle your Rings, or with your Fingers play. | 30 |
As Suppliants use at Altars, hold the Board, | |
When e’re you wish the Devil may take your Lord. | |
When he fills for you, never touch the Cup; | |
But bide th’ officious Cuckold drink it up. | |
The Waiter on those Services employ. | 35 |
Drink you, and I will snatch it from the Boy: | |
Watching the part where your sweet Mouth hath been, | |
And thence, with eager Lips, will suck it in. | |
If he, with Clownish Manners, thinks it fit | |
To taste, and offer you the nasty bit, | 40 |
Reject his greazy Kindness, and restore | |
Th’ unsavory Morsel he had chewed before. | |
Nor let his Arms embrace your Neck, nor rest | |
Your tender Cheek upon his hairy Breast. | |
Let not his Hand within your Bosom stray, | 45 |
And rudely with your pretty Bubbles play. | |
But above all, let him no Kiss receive; | |
That’s an Offence I never can forgive. | |
Do not, O do not that sweet Mouth resign, | |
Lest I rise up in Arms, and cry, ’Tis mine. | 50 |
I shall thrust in betwixt, and void of Fear | |
The manifest Adult’rer will appear. | |
These things are plain to Sight; but more I doubt | |
What you conceal beneath your Petticoat. | |
Take not his Leg between your tender Thighs, | 55 |
Nor, with your Hand, provoke my Foe to rise. | |
How many Love-Inventions I deplore, | |
Which I, myself, have practised all before? | |
How oft have I been forced the Robe to lift | |
In Company, to make a homely shift | 60 |
For a bare Bout, ill huddled o’er in hast, | |
While o’er my side the Fair her Mantle cast. | |
You to your Husband shall not be so kind; | |
But, lest you should, your Mantle leave behind. | |
Encourage him to Tope; but Kiss him not, | 65 |
Nor mix one drop of Water in his Pot. | |
If he be Fuddled well, and Snores apace | |
Then we may take Advice from Time and Place, | |
When all depart, when Complements are loud, | |
Be sure to mix among the thickest Crowd. | 70 |
There I will be, and there we cannot miss, | |
Perhaps to Grubble, or at least to Kiss. | |
Alas, what length of Labour I employ, | |
Just to secure a short and transient Joy! | |
For Night must part us: and when Night is come, | 75 |
Tucked underneath his Arm he leads you Home. | |
He locks you in; I follow to the Door, | |
His Fortune envy, and my own deplore. | |
He kisses you, he more than kisses too; | |
Th’ outrageous Cuckold thinks it all his due. | 80 |
But, add not to his Joy, by your consent, | |
And let it not be given, but only lent. | |
Return no Kiss, nor move in any sort; | |
Make it a dull and a malignant Sport. | |
Had I my Wish, he should no Pleasure take, | 85 |
But slubber o’er your Business for my sake. | |
And what e’re Fortune shall this Night befall, | |
Coax me to-morrow, by forswearing all. |
Note 1. See translation by Marlowe. [back] |