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I HAVE just armed the Greeks against the Amazons; now, Penthesilea, it remains for me to arm thee against the Greeks, thee and thy valiant troop. Fight with equal resources and let the victory go to he side favoured by beloved Dione and the boy who flies over the whole world. It was not right to expose you, all defenceless as you were, to the attacks of a well-armed foe. Victory, my men, at such a price as that would be a disgrace.

But perchance one among you will say to me, "Wherefore give fresh poison to the snake, wherefore surrender the lamb to the raging wolf?" Now forbear to condemn the whole sex for the crimes of a few of its members; let every woman be judged on her own merits. If the young Alcides had reason to complain of Helen, if his elder brother could with justice accuse Clytemnestra, Helen's sister; if, through the crime of Eriphyle, the daughter of Talaos, Amphiaraus went riding to the under-world on his living steeds, is it not also true that Penelope remained chaste when sundered from her husband who was kept for ten years fighting before Troy and who, when Troy had fallen, wandered over the seas for ten years more? Look at Laodamia, who, in order to join her husband in the grave, died long before her tale of years was told. And Alcestis, who, by sacrificing her own life, redeemed her husband, Admetus, from the tomb. "Take me in thine arms, Capaneus, and let our ashes at least be mingled," exclaimed the daughter of Iphis, and forthwith leapt into the midst of the pyre.

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Virtue is a woman both in vesture and in name; what wonder, therefore, that she should favour her own sex? Nevertheless, it is not these lofty souls that my art requires; lighter sails are suited to my pinnace. Only wanton loves are the burden of my discourse; to women I am about to teach the art of making themselves beloved.

Woman cannot resist the flames and cruel darts of love, shafts which, methinks, pierce not the heart of man so deeply. Man is ever a deceiver; woman deceives but rarely. Make a study of women, you'll find but few unfaithful ones among them. False Jason cast off Medea when she was already a mother, and took another woman to his arms. It is no thanks to thee, O Theseus, that Ariadne, abandoned on an unknown shore, fell not a prey to the birds of the sea.

Wherefore did Phyllis return nine times to the seashore? Ask that question of the woods, who, in sorrow for her loss, shed their green raiment. Thy guest, Dido, for all his much-belauded conscience, fled from thee leaving thee nought save the sword that brought thee death. Ah, hapless ones, shall I reveal to you the cause of your undoing? You knew not how to love. You lacked the art, and art makes love endure. And even now they would still continue in their ignorance, but that Cytherea bids me instruct them. Into my presence did Cytherea come and thus she did command. "What ill, then, have they wrought thee, these unhappy women, that thou deliverest them, all defenceless as they are, into the hands of the' men whom thou thyself hast armed? Thou hast devoted two poems to instructing men. And now the women in their turn demand thy aid. The poet who had outpoured the vials of his scorn on the wife of Menelaus, soon repented, and sang her praises in a palinode. If I know thee truly., thou art not the man to be unkind to the women. Thou wouldst rather seek to serve them so long as thou dost

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live." Thus she spake, and from the wreath that crowned her hair, she took a leaf and a few myrtle berries, the which she gave to me. As I took them, an influence divine was shed about me. The air shone purer round about me, and it seemed as though a burden had been lifted from my heart.

While Venus inspires me, my fair ones, give ear unto my counsel. Modesty and the law and your privileges permit. Bethink you, then, of old age which cometh all too soon, and not an instant will you lose. While yet you may, and while you yet enjoy the spring-time of your years, taste of the sweets of life. The years flow on like to the waters of a river. The stream that fleeteth by, never returns to the source whence it sprang. The hour that hath sped returns again no more. Make the most of your youth; youth that flies apace. Each new day that dawns is less sweet than those which went before. Here, where the land is rough with withering bracken, I have seen the violet bloom; from this thorny bush, I once did wreathe me garlands of roses. Thou who rejectest love, to-day art but a girl; but the time will come when, all alone and. old, thou wilt shiver with cold through the long dark hours in thy solitary bed. No more shall rival swains come of a night and, battling for your favours, batter down your doors; no more, of a morning, will you find your threshold strewn with roses. Ah me! How soon the wrinkles come; how swiftly fades the colour from the beauteous cheek! Those white hairs, which (so at least you swear) you had when you were quite a child, will swiftly cover all your head. The snake, when he sloughs off his skin, sloughs off the burden of his years, and the stag, when he sprouts new horns, renews his youth. But nothing brings amends for what Time filches from us. Pluck, then, the rose and lose no time, since if thou pluck it not ’twill fall forlorn and withered, of its own accord. Besides, the toil of child-bearing shortens the span of youth;

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too frequent harvests make the soil wax old. Blush not, O Phœbe, that thou didst love Endymion upon the Latmian height. And Dawn, thou goddess of the rosy fingers, that thou didst bear off Cephalus, was no shame to thee Nay, though of Adonis we refrain to speak, whom Venus still doth mourn to-day, to whom, if not to love, owed she Æneas and Hermione? Follow then, ye mortal maidens, in the footsteps of these goddesses; withhold not your favours from your ardent lovers.

If they deceive you, wherein is your loss? All your charms remain; and even if a thousand should partake of them, those charms would still be unimpaired. Iron and stone will wear thin by rubbing; that precious part of you defies attrition, and you need never fear ’twill wear away. Doth a torch lose aught of its brightness by giving flame to another torch? Should we fear to take water from the mighty ocean? "A woman," you will say, "ought not thus to give herself to a man." Come now, why not? What does she lose? Nought but the liquid which she may take in again at will. Ah, no! I am not telling you to make drabs of yourselves; but merely not to be scared of some imaginary ill; the bestowal of such gifts will never make you poor.

But I am still within the harbour. A gentle breeze will waft me to the main. Once well out on the open sea, I shall be borne along by a stronger wind. Let me begin with dress. A well-tended vine yields a good harvest, and high stands the corn on the well-tilled field. Good looks are the gift of God; but how few can pride themselves upon their beauty. The majority of you have not been vouchsafed this favour. A careful toilet will make you attractive, but without such attention, the loveliest faces lose their charm, even were they comparable to those of the Idalian goddess herself. If the beautiful women of ancient times recked not of their appearance, the men were not a whit less careless.

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[paragraph continues] If Andromache arrayed herself in a coarse tunic, why should we marvel? She was the wife of a rugged soldier. Would the wife of Ajax come richly apparelled to a warrior clad in the hides of seven oxen? In those far-off days, the ways of our forefathers were rude and simple. Rome nowadays is all ablaze with gold, rich with the wealth of the world that she hath conquered. Look at the Capitol; compare it now with what it once was. You would say it was a temple consecrated to another Jupiter. The palace of the Senate, worthy now of the august assembly that sits within it, was, in the days when Tatius was king, nothing but a thatched cottage. These gorgeous edifices on the Palatine Hill, built in honour of Apollo and our great leaders, were once but pasture ground for oxen that dragged the plough. Let others belaud those ancient times; I am satisfied to be a child of to-day. I find it better suited to my tastes, not because nowadays we ransack the bowels of the earth for gold, and import purple dyes from distant shores; not because we see the mountains shrink because we are eternally quarrying them for marble; not because vast moles keep far away the billows of the deep; but because we enjoy the amenities of life, and because those rough and boorish ways, which for a long time characterised our ancestors, have not endured to our day.

Nevertheless, burden not your ears with those sumptuous pearls which the dusky Indian seeks beneath the green waves. Go not forth in garments heavily inwrought with gold. The wealth by which you would fain attract us, very often just repels us. Neatness is what we like. Let your hair be nicely done. That depends greatly on the skill of the person that dresses it. Of course there are innumerable ways of doing it. Every woman should study to find out the style that suits her best; and for that her mirror is the surest guide! Long features demand that the hair should be simply parted

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on the forehead. Such was the style of Laodamia. Women with round faces should wear their hair lightly twisted into a knot on the top of the head, leaving the ears exposed. One woman will let her hair fall loose on either shoulder, like Apollo when he holds his dulcet lyre. Another must needs have her hair tied up behind, like Diana when she pursueth the wild beasts in the forests. One delights us with her loose flowing ringlets, another by wearing her hair closely patted down upon her temples. Some women like to adorn their hair with the shell of the Cyllenian tortoise, others to wear it in towering waves. But there are not more acorns on an oak tree, more bees on Hybla, or wild beasts on the mountains, than there are modes of doing a woman's hair, and new ones are invented every day. Some women look well with their hair done in careless fashion: you might think it hadn't been done since yesterday. In point of fact it has only just been combed. Artifice should look like carelessness. Such was Iole when Hercules first saw her in the captured city. "That is the woman for me," he exclaimed. Such, too, was Ariadne, forsaken on the shores of Naxos, when Bacchus bore her away in his chariot, while the Satyrs cried, "Evoë" Ah, you women! Nature, kindly toward your charms, has given you how many means to repair the ravages of time! We men, alas, grow bald. Our hair, of which time robs us, falls even as the leaves when the North wind brings them down. A woman will dye her hair with the juice of some German herb; and the artificial colour becomes her better than the natural one. A woman will appear wearing a mass of hair that she has just purchased. For a little money she can buy another's tresses. She'll do the deal without a blush, quite openly, in front of Hercules and the Virgin band.

Now what shall I say about clothes? I care not for those golden flounces, or wool twice dipped in Tyrian purple? There are so many other colours that cost

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less money. Why carry all your fortune on your back? Look at this azure blue like a clear sky when the wind has ceased to herd the rain clouds from the South. Now look, too, at this golden yellow; ’tis the colour of the ram which once on a time saved Phryxus and Helle from the snares of Ino. That green is called water-green from the colour that it imitates; I could easily imagine that the Nymphs were clothed in such apparel. This hue resembles saffron; it is the colour wherein. Aurora arrays herself when, moist with dew, she yokes her shining coursers to her car. There you will recognise the colour of the myrtle of Paphos; here the purple amethyst, the whitening rose, or the Thracian stork; and here again the colour of thy chestnuts, Amaryllis, or thy almonds, or the colour of that stuff to which wax has given its name. As numerous as the flowers which blow when sluggish Winter hath departed, and when beneath the Spring's soft breath, the vine puts forth its buds, so many and more are the hues that wool receives from all its many dyes. Choose then with care, for all colours are not becoming to all people. Black suits a fair complexion: it became Briseis; she was dressed in black when she was carried off. White suits dark people; white, Andromeda, set off your charms, and ’twas white that you were wearing when you set foot on the isle of Seriphos.

I was going to tell you not to let your armpits smell, and to see that your legs were not rough with bristles. But it's not, of course, to the coarse Caucasian women I am addressing my remarks, nor yet to the women who drink the waters of the Caicus. I need not tell you never to neglect to keep your teeth white and to rinse your mouth out every morning with clean water. With wax you know how to whiten your skin, and with carmine to give yourself the rosy hue which Nature has denied you. Your art will tell you how to fill the space between your eyebrows, if it be too, faintly marked, and how,

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with cosmetics, to conceal the all too patent evidence of the growing years. You fear not to increase the brightness of your eyes with finely powdered ash, or with the saffron that grows on the banks of the Cydnus. I have told of the ways of restoring beauty in a work, which though slender, is of great value by reason of the studied care with which I wrote it. Consult it for the remedies you need, all you young women on whom Nature has not lavished her favours. You will find my treatise abounds in useful counsel.

But on no account let your lover find you with a lot of "aids to beauty" boxes about you. The art that adorns you should be unsuspected. Who but would feel a sensation of disgust if the paint on your face were so thick that it oozed down on to your breasts? What words could describe the sickening smell of the œsypum although it comes from Athens; that oily juice which they extract from the fleece of sheep. I should also disapprove of your using stag's marrow, or of your cleaning your teeth when anyone is there to see. I know all that would enhance your charms, but the sight would be none the less disagreeable. How many things revolt us in the process, which delight us in the achievement. Those famous masterpieces of the sculptor Myron were once but useless, shapeless blocks of marble. If you want a ring of gold, you've got to hammer it into shape; the material you wear was once dirty, evil-smelling wool. That marble, once an unhewn block, is now a masterpiece--Venus, naked, wringing the water from her dripping hair. Let your servants tell us you are still asleep, if we arrive before your toilet's finished. You will appear all the lovelier when you've put on the finishing touch. Why should I know what it is that makes your skin so white? Keep your door shut, and don't let me see the work before it's finished. There are a whole host of things we men should know nothing about. Most of these various artifices would give us a

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nasty turn, if you didn't take care not to let us see them. Look at those brilliant ornaments that adorn the stage. If you examined them closely, you would see that they are merely gilded wood. None of the audience are allowed to go near till everything is finished and in order. Just in the same way, it's only when the men are away that you ought to do your titivating.

Howbeit, I do not b any means forbid you to comb your hair before us; I love to see it fall in floating tresses about your shoulders. But never get vexed or petulant, and don't keep on fidgeting with your curls. Don't treat your maid so as to make her in terror of you. I detest the sort of shrew that scratches her maid's face, or sticks a needle in her arm, in a fit of temper. It makes the poor girl wish the devil would take the head she is holding between her hands, and with blood and tears she moistens her mistress's hateful tresses. Every woman who has but little hair should have a sentinel at her door, or else always have her hair attended to in the temple of the Bona Dea. One day I was announced unexpectedly to my mistress, and in her flurry she put on her false hair all awry. May such a mischance never befall any but our enemies! May such a disgrace be reserved for the daughters of the Parthians. A mutilated animal, a barren field, a leafless tree are hideous things to see: a bald head is not less so.

’Tis not to you, Semele or Leda, that I address my lessons, nor to thee, O fair Sidonian, who wast borne by a fictitious bull across the seas; nor yet to Helen whom thou with reason, Menelaus, didst demand, and whom thou, her ravisher, did with equal reason refuse to give up. My host of pupils is composed of fair women and of plain, and these latter always outnumber the rest. The pretty ones are less in need of art's assistance and take its admonitions less to heart; they are the fortunate possessors of charms whose potency owes nought to art. When the sea is calm, the mariner

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lays him down to rest in careless ease; when the tempest sets it on a roar, he quits not his station even for an instant.

Rare, however, is the face without a fault. Hide these blemishes with care, and so far as may be, conceal the defects of your figure. If you are short, sit down, lest when standing you should be thought to be sitting; if you are a dwarf, lie stretched at full length on your couch, and so that none may see how short you are, throw something over your feet to hide them. If you are thin, wear dresses of thick material and have a mantle hanging loosely about your shoulders. If you are sallow, put on a little rouge; if you are swarthy, see what the fish of Pharos will do for you. Let an ungainly foot be hid in a white leathern shoe. If your legs are thin, don't be seen unlacing your sandals. If your shoulder-blades are prominent, little pads will correct the defect. If you have too full a bust, contain it with a brassière. If your fingers are stumpy and your nails unsightly, don't gesticulate when you are talking. If your breath is strong, you should never talk when your stomach's empty, and always keep some distance away from your lover. A woman whose teeth are discoloured, or prominent, or uneven, will often give herself away when she laughs. Who would imagine it? Women are even taught how to laugh. Even in such a detail as that, they study to be charming. Don't open your mouth too wide; let the dimples on either side be small, and let the extremity of the lips cover the upper part of the teeth. Don't laugh too often and too loud. Let there be something feminine and gentle in your laughter, something agreeable to the ear. Some women cannot laugh without making a hideous grimace; others try to show how pleased they are, and you would imagine they were crying; others offend the car with harsh and ugly sounds; like the noise a dirty old she-ass makes as she brays at the mill-stone.

Where indeed does Art not have a say! Why, women

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even learn to weep gracefully; to cry when they will, and as much as they will. And then there are women who don't pronounce a certain letter in their words, and lisp with affectation when they come to it. This assumed defect lends them an added charm; so they actually practise speaking imperfectly. All these, are details, but, since they have their uses, practise them assiduously. Learn also how to walk as a woman should. There is a style in walking that should be carefully cultivated; and that style, or the lack of it, will often attract or repel a stranger. This woman, for example, walks with an elegant swing from the hips; her gown floats gracefully in the breeze, and she moves with dignity and charm. And here again is a woman who elbows her way along with huge strides like the red-faced wife of an Umbrian peasant. But in this matter of walking, as in everything else, we must have a sense of proportion. One woman will walk too much like a country wench, another with over-much mincing and affectation. Then, again, you should leave uncovered the top of your shoulder and the upper part of your left arm. That is especially becoming to women who have a white skin. At the mere sight of it, I should be mad to cover all I could touch with kisses.

The Sirens were monsters of the deep, and, with their wondrous singing, stayed the swiftest vessels in their flight. When their song fell upon his ears, Ulysses was sore tempted to unbind himself from the mast; as for his companions, their ears were stopped with wax. Music is a soothing thing. Women should learn to sing. Many a woman has made up for her lack of beauty by the sweetness of her voice. Sometimes sing over the songs you have heard at the theatre; sometimes sing voluptuous, Oriental airs. A woman, who is fain to attract, should know how to play the lute and the harp. Thracian Orpheus, with his lyre, charmed rocks and wild beasts, aye, and Acheron and the triple-headed

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[paragraph continues] Cerberus. And thou, Amphion, righteous avenger of thy mother's wrong, didst thou not behold stones rise up at the sound of thy voice and range themselves into walls? Who has not heard of the wonders wrought by Arion with his lyre? Even the dumb fish is said to have listened, enchanted, to his song. Learn, too, to sweep the strings of the joyous psaltery with either hand. ’Tis an instrument favourable to the dalliance of lovers. You should also learn Callimachus by heart, and Philetas and Anacreon, who loved his drop of wine. And Sappho too; for what is more exciting than her verse? Then there's the poet who tells us about a father being hoodwinked by the crafty Geta. You might also read the verses of the tender-souled Propertius, and the poems of my beloved Tibullus, and something out of Gallus, or the poem Varro wrote about the golden fleece so bitterly lamented, Phrixus, by thy sister; and the story of the fugitive, Æneas, and the origins of lofty Rome; for Latium boasts no prouder masterpiece than that. And peradventure shall my name with theirs be numbered, and my writings shall not be given over to the waters of Lethe, and perchance someone will say, "Read o’er these dainty lines wherein our Master gives instruction both to men and women; or choose, in those three books, the which he calls the Loves, passages which you will read with sweetly modulated voice; or, if thou wilt, declaim with skill one of those letters from his Heroines, a kind of work unknown before his time and whereof he himself was the inventor." Hear my prayers, O Phœbus, hear them, mighty Bacchus, and you, ye Muses, divine protectresses of poets.

Who could doubt that I want my charmer to be skilled in the dance? I would that, when the wine-cup is placed upon the table, she should be accomplished in swaying her arms to the measure of the music. Graceful dancers delight your theatre-goer. Such grace, such airy lightness, charms us all.

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I am loth to enter into petty details, but I should like my pupil to know how to throw the dice with skill, and to calculate with nicety the impetus she gives them as she tosses them on to the table. I should like her to know when to throw the three numbers, and when to take and when to call. I should wish her to play chess with skill and caution. One piece against two is bound to go under. A king that is battling, separated from his queen is liable to be taken; and his rival is often compelled to retrace his steps. Again, when the ball bounces against the broad racquet, you must only touch the one you intend to serve. There is another game divided into as many parts as there are months in the year. A table has three pieces on either side; the winner must get all the pieces in a straight line. It is a bad thing for a woman not to know how to play, for love often comes into being during play.

Still, it is only half the battle merely to play well; the important thing is to be master of yourself. Sometimes, when we are not properly on our guard, when we are carried away by the heat of the game, we forget ourselves and let our inmost nature stand revealed. Rage and love of gain, such are the shameful vices that lay hold on us; thence spring quarrels, brawls and vain regrets. Hot words are bandied to and fro; the air resounds with angry shouts, and each one calls in turn on the wrathful gods for help. Then no player trusts another: "The pieces have been tampered with," they cry; and to have fresh ones they insist; and many a time, I've seen their faces bathed with tears. May Jove preserve us from tantrums such as that, any woman who aims at pleasing us.

Such are the games which kindly Nature to your weakness doth vouchsafe. To man she opens forth an ampler field: to him the flying ball, the spear, the quoit and, daring feats of horsemanship. You are not made to strive in contests on the field of Mars, or to

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plunge into the icy waters of the Virgin's spring, or into the tranquil current of the Tiber. But you may, and you would do well to do so, walk in the shade of Pompey's Portico when the fiery coursers of the Sun are entering the constellation of Virgo. Visit the temple sacred to Apollo, to the god whose brow is decked with the laurel, and who, at Actium, whelmed the Egyptian fleet beneath the wave; visit those stately buildings raised by the sister and wife of Augustus, and his son-in-law decorated with the naval crown. Draw near to the altars where incense is offered to the sacred cow of Memphis; visit our three theatres, splendid places for displaying your attractions; go to the arena still warm with blood new-shed, and that goal round which the chariots whirl with fiery wheel.

Things that are hidden no one heeds, and none desires what he has never known. What avails a beautiful face if none be there to see it? Even though you should sing songs more sweet than the songs of Thamyras and Amœbeus, who would praise the merits of your lyre, if there were none to hear it? If Apelles, of Cos, had not given us his vision of Venus, the goddess would still be buried beneath the waves. What does the poet long for? He longs for fame. That is the guerdon we look for to crown our toil. Time was when poets were the favourites of heroes and of kings, and in ancient days a choir of singers gained a rich reward. Hallowed was the dignity and venerable the name of Poet, and upon them great riches were often bestowed. Ennius, born in the mountains of Calabria, was deemed worthy of being buried nigh to thee, great Scipio. But now the poet's crown of ivy lies unhonoured, and they, who through the hours of night do strictly meditate the Muse, are idlers held. Howbeit, they strive, and love to strive, for fame. Who would have heard of Homer if the Iliad--the deathless Iliad--had never seen the light? Who would have known Danaë if, for ever a

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prisoner, she had languished till old age came upon her in her tower?

You, my fair young charmers, will do well to mingle with the throng; bend your roaming footsteps full oft beyond your thresholds. The she-wolf has her eye on many a sheep before she selects her prey; the eagle pursues more birds than one. Thus a pretty girl should show herself in public. In the throng there is perhaps one lover in whom her charms will strike an answering chord. Wherever she be, let her show herself eager to please, and let her be mindful of everything that could enhance her charms. You never know when a chance may occur. Always have the bait ready. The fish will come and bite when you least expect it. It often happens that the dogs scour the woods and hills in vain, and then the stag comes of his own accord, and steps into the net. When Andromeda was chained to her rock, how was she to hope that anyone should have compassion on her tears? Often a new husband is discovered at the old one's funeral: nothing makes a woman so alluring as to walk with dishevelled hair and let her tears flow unrestrainedly.

But avoid the man that makes a parade of his clothes and his good looks, and is on the tenterhooks lest his hair should get ruffled. The sort of thing such men will tell you, they've said over and over again to other women. They're of the roving sort and never settle anywhere. What can a woman do when a man is more of a woman than she is, and perhaps has a bigger following of lovers? Perhaps you won't believe this, and yet it's perfectly true: Troy would still be standing, if the Trojans had listened to old Priam's advice. There are men who get on good terms with women by making out they love them; and having done so, proceed disgracefully to fleece them. Don't be taken in by their scented locks, their dandified clothes, their affected æstheticism, and their much-beringed fingers. Perhaps the smartest of

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all these fine gentlemen is nothing but a crook, whose sole aim is to rob you of your fine clothes. "Give me back my property," is the burden of many a poor woman's complaint, whom some such ruffian has taken in. "Give me back my property," is what you are always hearing in every court of justice. And you, O Venus, and you, ye goddesses, whose temples grace the Appian Way, look down upon the scene unmoved. And some there are among these rakes, whose reputation is so blown upon, that any women who are taken in by them deserve no sympathy.

Women, learn, from the misfortunes of others, how to avoid a similar fate, and never let your door give admittance to a swindler. Beware, ye daughters of Cecrops, of paying heed to the protestations of Theseus! It wouldn't be the first time he had taken his solemn oath to a lie. And you, Demophoön, who inherited Theseus' gift for lying, how can we trust you, seeing how you broke your vows to Phyllis! If, my dears, your lovers bring you glittering promises, do the like to them; if they bring you presents, let them have the favours they have bargained for. A woman who, after receiving presents from her lover, withholds from him the pleasure that he has a right to, would be capable of extinguishing Vesta's eternal flame, of stealing the sacred vessels from the temple of Inachus, and of sending her husband to his last account with a glass of aconite and hemlock.

But come now, where am I getting to? Come, my Muse, draw in your reins a little' lest your steeds carry me beyond my goal. When your lover has paved the way with a brief note or two, and when your wide-awake maid has duly received and delivered them, read them over very carefully, weigh every word, and try to find out whether his love is merely pretence or whether he really means what he says. Don't be in too great a hurry to answer him; suspense, if it be not too prolonged,

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acts as a spur to love. Don't appear too accommodating to him, if he's a youngster; on the other hand, don't rap him too severely over the knuckles. Act in such a way as to instil him at once with hope and fear, and every time you say " No," make him think he'll have a better chance next time. What you write him should be ladylike, but simple and direct. Ordinary, unaffected language pleases the most. It often happens that a letter gives the necessary impulse to a hesitating heart; and how often too has some clumsy uncouth utterance completely neutralised a girl's good looks.

But you women who, though you don't aim at the honours of chastity, want to cuckold your husbands without their knowing it, be sure not to send your letters by any but a trusty hand. On no account send these evidences of your passion to an inexperienced lover. For failing to observe this precaution, I have seen young married women white with fear and spending their unhappy days in a condition of continuous slavery.

Doubtless it is a shame for a man to keep such damning proofs; but they put into his hands weapons as terrible as the fires of Etna. In my idea, deceit should be countered by deceit, just as the law allows us to repel violence by violence. You should practise varying your handwriting as much as possible. Foul fall the knaves that compel me to give you such advice. And you should be sure and not write on a tablet that has been used, without making quite sure that the original writing has been quite rubbed out, lest the wax should give evidence of two different hands. The letters you write to your lover should be addressed as though to a woman, and you should always allude to him as she, her.

But let us leave these minor details for graver subjects; let us cram on all sail. If you want to retain your good looks, you must restrain your temper. Peace, gentle peace, is the attribute of man, as rage and fury are the characteristics of wild beasts. Rage puffs out

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the face, gorges the veins with blood, and kindles in the eye the fiery fury of the Gorgon. "Away with thee, miserable flute, thou deservest not that I should spoil my beauty for thee," said Pallas, when in the stream she beheld her distorted visage. And so with you. If any of you women looked at yourselves in the glass when you were in a raging temper, you wouldn't know yourselves, not one of you! Another thing, just as unbecoming, is pride. You must have a soft, appealing expression, if you want to attract a lover. Believe an old hand at the game. A haughty, disdainful look puts a man out of tune at once, and sometimes, even though a woman doesn't say a word, her countenance betrays something hostile and disagreeable. Look at whoever looks at you; smile back when you're smiled at; if anyone makes signs to you, send back an answering signal. ’Tis thus that love, after making essay with harmless arrows, draws from his quiver his pointed darts. We also dislike gloomy women. Let Ajax love his Tecmessa. We are a jovial company, and we like a woman to be gay. As for you, Andromache, and you, Tecmessa, I should never have wanted either of you for a mistress; and beyond mere child-getting, I doubt whether your husbands sought, or found, any great pleasure within your arms. How can we imagine so dreary a woman as Tecmessa ever saying to Ajax, "O Light of my life," and all those other sweet things that charm us and console.

Let me be suffered to illustrate my own gay trifling art with examples from a much more serious affair. Let me compare it to the tactics of a general commanding an army. A leader that knows his business will entrust, to one officer the command of a hundred infantrymen, to another a squadron of cavalry, to another, the standards. Now you women should consider in what respect we can serve you best, and assign to each of us his special part. If a man's rich, make

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him give you presents; let the legal luminary give you his professional advice; let the eloquent barrister plead his lovely client's cause. As for us poets, we've got nothing to offer you but our verses; but what we can do better than the rest of them is to love, and we spread far and wide the renown of the charmer that has succeeded in captivating us. Nemesis and Cynthia are famous names; Lycoris from East to West is known, and now on every hand they want to know who is this Corinna that I sing about. Perjury is hateful to a poet, and poetry too is a great factor in the making of a gentleman. Ambition, love of riches, these things torment us not; we reck not of the Forum and its triumphs; all we seek is seclusion and repose. Love is swift to take hold of us and burns us with its fiercest flame, and into our love, alas, we put over-much of trust and confidence.

The peaceful art which we pursue lends a softness to our manners, and our mode of life is consonant with our work. My fair ones, never withhold your favours, from the poets; the gods inspire them and the Muses smile upon them. Ay, a god dwells within us and we commerce with the skies. From the high heavens doth our inspiration come. How shameful to expect hard cash from a poet; yet it's a shame no pretty woman is afraid to incur.

Learn how to dissemble, and don't display your avarice all at once. Mind you don't lose a fresh lover when he realises the trap you are laying for him. A skilful groom doesn't treat a colt just broken like a horse that has grown used to harness. In the same way, you won't catch a novice with the same snare as you use for a veteran. The one, a new recruit, is fighting for the first time in his life beneath the standards of love; he has never before been captured, and now that you have snared him, you must let him know none but you. He is like a young sapling, and you must surround him with a lofty fence. Be sure to keep all possible rivals out of

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the way. You will only retain your conquest if you share it with no one. Love's dominion, like a king's, admits of no partition. So much for the novice. The other is an old campaigner. His pace is slower and more deliberate. He will endure many things that a raw recruit could never stand. He won't come battering in or burning down your front door. He won't scratch and tear his sweetheart's dainty check till the blood comes. He won't rend his garments, or hers either; he won't pull her hair out and make her cry. Such tantrums as that are only permitted in youngsters, in the heyday of youth and heat. But your older man is not a bit like that. He'll put up with all manner of snubs. He smoulders with a small fire like a damp torch or like green wood fresh hewn on the mountain top. His love is more sure; the other's is more blithe, but it doesn't last so long. Be quick and pluck the fleeting blossom. Well, let us surrender the whole stronghold, lock, stock, and barrel. The gates have been flung open to the besiegers. Let them be easy in their minds. The traitor won't betray them. Now if too soon you yield, too soon you'll lose your love. Denials must be sometimes mingled with dalliance. You must sometimes keep your lover begging and praying and threatening before your door. Sweet things are bad for us. Bitters are the best tonic for the jaded appetite. More than one ship has sailed to perdition with a following wind. What makes men indifferent to their wives is that they can see them when they please. So shut your door and let your surly porter growl, "There's no admittance here!" This will renew the slumbering fires of love.

Now let us take the buttons off the foils, and to it with naked weapons; though, likely enough, I am instructing you for my own undoing. When you have netted your youthful novice, let him, at first, imagine he's the only one to enjoy your favours. But soon let

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him apprehend a rival. Let him think there's someone else with whom he has to share your charms. Some such tricks as these are needed, or his ardour would soon die down. A horse never runs so fast as when he has other horses to catch up and outpace. A slight gives a new life to our dying flame, and I confess that, for my own part, I couldn't go on loving unless I had a set-back to endure from time to time. But don't let him see so very much. Make him uneasy, and let him fear there's something more than just what meets his eye,. Tell him that some imaginary servant always has his plaguey eye upon you. Tell him your husband's green with jealousy and always on the prowl. That will stimulate his ardour. A safe pleasure is a tame pleasure. Even if you were as free to have your fling as Thaïs, trump up some imaginary fears. When it would be easier for you to have him admitted by the door, insist on his climbing in at a window, and put on a scared expression when he looks at you. Then let some smart maid come rushing in crying, "We're ruined," and thrust him, trembling, into a cupboard. But sometimes let him have his pleasure of you undisturbed, lest he begin to ask himself whether the game is wholly worth the candle.

I was not going to touch on the methods of hood winking a cunning husband and a watchful guard. A wife should fear her husband; she should be well looked after; that is quite as it should be; law, equity, decency--all require it so. But that you should have to put up with such servitude, you who have just been freed by the Lictor's rod, that would be intolerable. Come to me, and I'll initiate you into the secret of giving them the slip. If you had as many warders as Argus had eyes, you shall, if you really are resolved, evade them all. For example, how is your warder going to hinder you from writing, during the time you're supposed to be in your bath? Is he going to prevent a servant who is in your

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secrets and aids you in your amours from carrying your missives in her bosom under a wide shawl? Couldn't she stuff them in her stocking, or hide them under the sole of her foot? But suppose your warder checkmates all these subterfuges, let your confidante make her shoulders your tablets, and let her body become a living letter. Characters written in fresh milk are a well-known means of secret communication. Touch them with a little powdered charcoal and you will read them. You may also do likewise with a stalk of green flax, and your tablets will, unsuspected, take the invisible imprint of what you write. Acrisius did everything he could think of to keep Danaë intact. Yet Danaë did what she should not have done, and made a grandsire of him. What can a woman's keeper do when there are so many theatres in Rome, when she can go sometimes to a chariot race, sometimes to religious celebrations where men are not allowed to show their faces? When the Bona Dea turns away from her temples all men save, perchance, a few whom she has bidden to come; when the unhappy keeper has to keep an eye on his mistress's clothes outside the baths, in which, maybe, men are securely hiding? And whenever she wants, some friend and accomplice will say she's sick, and for all her illness accommodate her with the loan of her bed. Then, tool the name of "adulterous" given to a duplicate key tells plainly enough the use to which we ought to put it. Nor is the door the only way to get into a woman's house. You can get the keeper under, however prying he may be, by giving him a good stiff drink; an even if you have to give him Spanish Wine, it's worth it. There are also potions that induce sleep and cloud the brain with a darkness as heavy as Lethean night. And your accomplice may usefully entice the pestilent fellow to hope for her favours, and by soft dalliance make him oblivious of the fleeting hours.

But why should I teach you these tedious and minute

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devices when the man may be bought for a trifling tip. Presents, believe me, seduce both men and gods. Jove himself is not above accepting a present. What will the wise man do, when a very fool knows the value of a gift? A present will even shut the husband's mouth. But only tip the keeper once a year. When he's held out his hand once, he'll be holding it out for ever. I lately complained, I remember, that one must beware of one's friends. That unwelcome statement was not addressed solely to men. If you are too confiding, others will win the quarry that belonged to you and someone else will net the hare that you had started. That very kind friend, who lends you her room and her bed, has more than once been on excessively friendly terms there with your lover. And don't have too pretty servant-maids about you either. More than one maid has played her mistress's part for me.

Oh, what a fool I am! Why do I let my tongue run away with me like that? Why do I offer my naked bosom to be pierced? Why do I betray myself? The bird doesn't tell the fowler the way to snare her. The hind does not train the hounds to hunt her. No matter; if only I can be of service, I will loyally continue to impart my lessons, even if it means another Lemnian outrage. Act then, my dears, in such a way as to make us think you love us; there's nothing easier, for a man readily believes what he wants to believe. Look on a man seductively; keep sighing deeply; ask him why he's been so long in coming; make out you're jealous; sham indignation; look as if you're weeping, and even scratch his face for him. He'll very soon believe that you adore him, and as he looks upon your sufferings he'll exclaim, The woman's simply mad about me!" especially if he's a coxcomb and thinks that even a goddess would fall in love with him. But if he doesn't run quite straight himself, don't, whatever you do, put yourself out too much about it. Don't go and lose

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your head if you hear that you are not the only pebble on the beach. And don't be in too much of a hurry to believe everything you hear. Think of Procris, and be warned by he, how dangerous it is to be too credulous.

Nigh the soft slopes of flowery Hymettus is a hallowed fount whose lips are fledged with tender green; and all around low-growing shrubs form not so much a wood, a, a woodland brake; there the 'arbutus offers a kindly shelter; rosemary and laurel and the dark-leaved myrtle shed their perfume far and wide - there likewise grow the thick-leaved box, the fragile tamarisk, the humble clover and the soaring pine. The leaves of all these divers trees and plants and the tips of the blades of grass, tremble in the 'breeze, set a-dance by the soft breath of the zephyrs. Hither young Cephalus, leaving his comrades and his dogs would often come to rest his limbs o’erwearied with the chase; and here, he oft would say "Come, gentle Zephyr, steal into my breast and cool the heat wherewith I am opprest." It happened once some busybody heard him and must needs report these harmless words unto his anxious spouse. Procris no sooner heard this name of Zephyr than, deeming Zephyr was some rival, she was stricken dumb with grief and fell into a swoon. Pale was she, pale as those belated clusters which, when the wine-harvest is over, whiten at the first touch of frost, or like those ripe quinces which bend down the branches with their weight, or like the wild cherry ere yet it is ripe enough for our tables. As soon as she came to herself, she rent the flimsy garments that covered her bosom and scored her face with her nails. Then swift as lightning, in a tempest of fury, her hair flying in the wind, she tore across the country like some fierce Mænad. When she reached the fatal spot, she left her companions in the valley, and treading stealthily made her way boldly into the forest. What deed, O senseless Procris, dost thou meditate, hiding thyself thus? What fatal resolution

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arms thy distracted heart? Doubtless thou thinkest thou wilt see Zephyr, thine unknown rival, come upon the scene; thou thinkest with thine eyes to witness the unconscionable scene. Now dost thou repent thee of thy deed. For 'twere horror to surprise the guilty pair. Now dost thou glory in thy rashness. Love tortures thee and tosses thy bosom this way and that. All explains and excuses thy credulity. the place, the name, the story told thee, and that fatal gift that lovers have for believing that their fears are true. As soon as she saw the trampled grass and the print of recent footsteps, her heart beat faster than ever.

Already the noontide sun had curtailed the shadows and looked down at equal distances upon the East and West, when Cephalus, the son of the Cyllenian god, comes to the forest and bathes his face in the cool waters of a spring. Hidden close at hand, Procris, torn with suspense, gazes at him unseen. She sees him lie on the accustomed sward and hears him cry, "Come, thou sweet Zephyr, come thou cooling breeze." O what a joyful surprise is hers; she sees her error, and how a name had led her mind astray. Once more she is herself. Her wonted colour comes again; she rises to her feet and longs to fling herself into her husband's arms. But as she rises, she makes a rustling in the leaves. Cephalus, thinking it some wild creature of the woods, quickly seizes his bow, and even now he holds in his hands the fatal shaft. What, O hapless one, art thou about to do? ’Tis no wild animal . . . stay thy hand! Alas, it is too late; thy wife lies low, pierced by the arrow thou thyself hast sped! "Alas, alas " she cried. "Thou has stricken the breast of one who loved thee. And now that Zephyr, who did cause me so to err, bears away my spirit in the breeze. Ah me, I die . . . at least let thy beloved hand close my eyelids." Cephalus, distraught with grief, bears in his arms his dying loved one, and with his tears doth bathe her cruel wound.

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[paragraph continues] Little by little the soul of rash Procris ebbs from her bosom, and Cephalus, his lips pressed close to hers, receives her during breath.

But let us pursue our voyage and, so that our wearied bark may reach the haven at last, let us have done with illustrations and speak straight to the point. No doubt you are expecting me to conduct you to banquets, and you would like me to tell you what I have to teach you thereupon. Don't come too soon, and don't show all your graces till the torches are alight. Venus likes delay; and waiting lends an added value to your charms. Even if you were plain, eyes dimmed by wine would think you beautiful, and night would fling a veil over your imperfections. Take the food with the tips of your fingers; and you must know that eating is itself an art. Take care to wipe your hand, and don't leave dirty finger-marks about your mouth. Don't eat before meals when you are at home; and when you are at table, learn to be moderate and to eat a little less than you feel inclined to. If the son of Priam had seen Helen eating like a glutton, he would have taken to hating her. "What a fool I was," he would have said, "to have carried off such a thing as that!" It were better for a young woman to drink, rather than to eat, too freely. Love and wine go very well together. However, don't drink more than your head will stand. Don't lose the use of your head and feet; and never see two things when only one is there. It's a horrible thing to see a woman really drunk. When she's in that state, she deserves to be had by the first comer. When once she's at table, a woman should not drop off to sleep. A sleeping woman is a whoreson temptation to a man to transgress the bounds of modesty.

I am ashamed to proceed, but Venus whispers encouragingly in my ear. "What you blush to tell," says she, "is the most important part of the whole matter." Let every woman, then, learn to know herself, and to

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enter upon love's battle in the pose best suited to her charms. If a woman has a lovely face, let her lie upon her back; if she prides herself upon her hips let her display them to the best advantage. Melanion bore Atalanta's legs upon his shoulders; if your legs are as beautiful as hers, put them in the same position. If you are short, let your lover be the steed. Andromache, who was as tall as an Amazon, never comported herself like that with Hector. A woman, who is conspicuously tall, should kneel with her head turned slightly sideways. If your thighs are still lovely with the charm of youth, if your bosom is without a flaw, lie aslant upon your couch; and think it not a shame to let your hair float unbraided about your shoulders. If the labours of Lucina have left their mark upon you, then, like the swift Parthian, turn your back to the fray. Love has a thousand postures; the simplest and the least fatiguing is to lie on your right side.

Never did the shrine of Phœbus Apollo, never did Jupiter Ammon, deliver surer oracles than the sayings chanted by my Muse. If the art which I so long have practised has aught of worth in it, then list to me; my words will not deceive you. So, then, my dear ones, feel the pleasure in the very marrow of your bones; share it fairly with your lover, say pleasant, naughty things the while. And if Nature has withheld from you the sensation of pleasure, then teach your lips to lie and say you feel it all. Unhappy is the woman who feels no answering thrill. But, if you have to pretend, don't betray yourself by over-acting. Let your movements and your eyes combine to deceive us, and, gasping, panting, complete the illusion. Alas that the temple of bliss should have its secrets and mysteries. A woman who, after enjoying the delights of love, asks for payment from her lover, cannot surely but be joking. Don't let the light in your bedroom be too bright; there are many things about a woman that are best seen in

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the dimness of twilight. Now, there, I've done; my pleasant task is o’er. Unyoke, for surely ’tis high time, the swans that have been harnessed this long while unto my car. And now, my fair young pupils, do as your youthful lovers did awhile ago; upon your trophies write, "Ovid was our master."



Arma dedi Danais in Amazonas; arma supersunt,
    quae tibi dem et turmae, Penthesilea, tuae.
ite in bella pares; uincant, quibus alma Dione
    fauerit et toto qui uolat orbe puer.
non erat armatis aequum concurrere nudas;
    sic etiam uobis uincere turpe, uiri.
dixerit e multis aliquis 'quid uirus in angues
    adicis, et rabidae tradis ouile lupae?'
parcite paucarum diffundere crimen in omnes;
    spectetur meritis quaeque puella suis.
si minor Atrides Helenen, Helenesque sororem
    quo premat Atrides crimine maior habet,
si scelere Oeclides Talaioniae Eriphylae
    uiuus et in uiuis ad Styga uenit equis,
est pia Penelope lustris errante duobus
    et totidem lustris bella gerente uiro.
respice Phylaciden et quae comes isse marito
    fertur et ante annos occubuisse suos.
fata Pheretiadae coniunx Pagasaea redemit
    proque uiro est uxor funere lata uiri.
'accipe me, Capaneu! cineres miscebimur' inquit
    Iphias, in medios desiluitque rogos.
ipsa quoque et cultu est et nomine femina Virtus:
    non mirum, populo si placet illa suo.
nec tamen hae mentes nostra poscuntur ab arte;
    conueniunt cumbae uela minora meae.
nil nisi lasciui per me discuntur amores;
    femina praecipiam quo sit amanda modo.
femina nec flammas nec saeuos discutit arcus;
    parcius haec uideo tela nocere uiris.
saepe uiri fallunt: tenerae non saepe puellae,
    paucaque, si quaeras, crimina fraudis habent.
Phasida iam matrem fallax dimisit Iaso;
    uenit in Aesonios altera nupta sinus.
quantum in te, Theseu, uolucres Ariadna marinas
    pauit in ignoto sola relicta loco.
quaere, Nouem cur una Viae dicatur, et audi
    depositis siluas Phyllida flesse comis.
et famam pietatis habet, tamen hospes et ensem
    praebuit et causam mortis, Elissa, tuae.
quid uos perdiderit, dicam: nescistis amare;
    defuit ars uobis; arte perennat amor.
nunc quoque nescirent: sed me Cytherea docere
    iussit, et ante oculos constitit ipsa meos.
tum mihi 'quid miserae' dixit 'meruere puellae?
    traditur armatis uulgus inerme uiris.
illos artifices gemini fecere libelli;
    haec quoque pars monitis erudienda tuis.
probra Therapnaeae qui dixerat ante maritae,
    mox cecinit laudes prosperiore lyra.
si bene te noui, cultas ne laede puellas:
    gratia, dum uiues, ista petenda tibi est.'
dixit, et e myrto (myrto nam uincta capillos
    constiterat) folium granaque pauca dedit;
sensimus acceptis numen quoque: purior aether
    fulsit, et e toto pectore cessit onus.
dum facit ingenium, petite hinc praecepta, puellae,
    quas pudor et leges et sua iura sinunt.
uenturae memores iam nunc estote senectae:
    sic nullum uobis tempus abibit iners.
dum licet, et uernos etiam nunc editis annos,
    ludite: eunt anni more fluentis aquae;
nec, quae praeteriit, iterum reuocabitur unda,
    nec, quae praeteriit, hora redire potest.
utendum est aetate: cito pede labitur aetas,
    nec bona tam sequitur, quam bona prima fuit.
hos ego, qui canent, frutices uiolaria uidi;
    hac mihi de spina grata corona data est.
tempus erit, quo tu, quae nunc excludis amantes,
    frigida deserta nocte iacebis anus,
nec tua frangetur nocturna ianua rixa,
    sparsa nec inuenies limina mane rosa.
quam cito (me miserum!) laxantur corpora rugis,
    et perit in nitido qui fuit ore color.
quasque fuisse tibi canas a uirgine iuras,
    sparguntur subito per caput omne comae.
anguibus exuitur tenui cum pelle uetustas,
    nec faciunt ceruos cornua iacta senes:
nostra sine auxilio fugiunt bona: carpite florem,
    qui, nisi carptus erit, turpiter ipse cadet.
adde, quod et partus faciunt breuiora iuuentae
    tempora: continua messe senescit ager.
Latmius Endymion non est tibi, Luna, rubori,
    nec Cephalus roseae praeda pudenda deae.
ut Veneri, quem luget adhuc, donetur Adonis,
    unde habet Aenean Harmoniamque suos?
ite per exemplum, genus o mortale, dearum,
    gaudia nec cupidis uestra negate uiris.
ut iam decipiant, quid perditis? omnia constant;
    mille licet sumant, deperit inde nihil.
conteritur ferrum, silices tenuantur ab usu;
    sufficit et damni pars caret illa metu.
quis uetet adposito lumen de lumine sumi,
    quisue cauo uastas in mare seruet aquas?
et tamen ulla uiro mulier 'non expedit' inquit?
    quid, nisi quam sumes, dic mihi, perdis aquam?
nec uos prostituit mea uox, sed uana timere
    damna uetat: damnis munera uestra carent.
sed me flaminibus uenti maioris iturum,
    dum sumus in portu, prouehat aura leuis.
Ordior a cultu; cultis bene Liber ab uuis
    prouenit, et culto stat seges alta solo.
forma dei munus; forma quota quaeque superbit?
    pars uestrum tali munere magna caret.
cura dabit faciem; facies neclecta peribit,
    Idaliae similis sit licet illa deae.
corpora si ueteres non sic coluere puellae,
    nec ueteres cultos sic habuere uiros:
si fuit Andromache tunicas induta ualentes,
    quid mirum? duri militis uxor erat.
scilicet Aiaci coniunx ornata uenires,
    cui tegumen septem terga fuere boum!
simplicitas rudis ante fuit; nunc aurea Roma est
    et domiti magnas possidet orbis opes.
aspice quae nunc sunt, Capitolia, quaeque fuerunt:
    alterius dices illa fuisse Iouis.
Curia, concilio quae nunc dignissima tanto,
    de stipula Tatio regna tenente fuit.
quae nunc sub Phoebo ducibusque Palatia fulgent,
    quid nisi araturis pascua bubus erant?20
prisca iuuent alios: ego me nunc denique natum
    gratulor: haec aetas moribus apta meis,
non quia nunc terrae lentum subducitur aurum
    lectaque diuerso litore concha uenit,
nec quia decrescunt effosso marmore montes,
    nec quia caeruleae mole fugantur aquae,
sed quia cultus adest, nec nostros mansit in annos
    rusticitas priscis illa superstes auis.
uos quoque nec caris aures onerate lapillis,
    quos legit in uiridi decolor Indus aqua,
nec prodite graues insuto uestibus auro,
    per quas nos petitis, saepe fugatis, opes.
munditiis capimur: non sint sine lege capilli;
    admotae formam dantque negantque manus.
nec genus ornatus unum est: quod quamque decebit
    eligat et speculum consulate ante suum.
longa probat facies capitis discrimina puri:
    sic erat ornatis Laodamia comis.
exiguum summa nodum sibi fronte relinqui,
    ut pateant aures, ora rotunda uolunt.
alterius crines umero iactentur utroque:
    talis es adsumpta, Phoebe canore, lyra.
altera succinctae religetur more Dianae,
    ut solet, attonitas cum petit illa feras.
huic decet inflatos laxe iacuisse capillos,
    illa sit adstrictis impedienda comis;
hanc placet ornari testudine Cyllenea,
    sustineat similes fluctibus illa sinus.
sed neque ramosa numerabis in ilice glandes,
    nec quot apes Hyblae nec quot in Alpe ferae,
nec mihi tot positus numero conprendere fas est:
    adicit ornatus proxima quaeque dies.
et neglecta decet multas coma: saepe iacere
    hesternam credas, illa repexa modo est.
ars casu similis: sic capta uidit ut urbe
    Alcides Iolen, 'hanc ego' dixit 'amo.'
talem te Bacchus Satyris clamantibus 'euhoe'
    sustulit in currus, Cnosi relicta, suos.
o quantum indulget uestro natura decori,
    quarum sunt multis damna pianda modis!
nos male detegimur, raptique aetate capilli,
    ut Borea frondes excutiente, cadunt.
femina canitiem Germanis inficit herbis,
    et melior uero quaeritur arte color,
femina procedit densissima crinibus emptis,
    proque suis alios efficit aere suos.
nec rubor est emisse: palam uenire uidemus
    Herculis ante oculos uirgineumque chorum.
quid de ueste loquar? nec nunc segmenta requiro
    nec te, quae Tyrio murice, lana, rubes.
cum tot prodierint pretio leuiore colores,
    quis furor est census corpore ferre suos?
aeris, ecce, color, tum cum sine nubibus aer
    nec tepidus pluuias concitat auster aquas;
ecce, tibi similis, quae quondam Phrixon et Hellen
    diceris Inois eripuisse dolis;
hic undas imitatur, habet quoque nomen ab undis:
    crediderim nymphas hac ego ueste tegi.
ille crocum simulat (croceo uelatur amictu,
    roscida luciferos cum dea iungit equos),
hic Paphias myrtos, hic purpureas amethystos,
    albentesue rosas, Threiciamue gruem;
nec glandes, Amarylli, tuae, nec amygdala desunt,
    et sua uelleribus nomina cera dedit.
quot noua terra parit flores, cum uere tepenti
    uitis agit gemmas pigraque fugit hiems,
lana tot aut plures sucos bibit: elige certos,
    nam non conueniens omnibus omnis erit.
pulla decent niueas: Briseida pulla decebant;
    cum rapta est, pulla tum quoque ueste fuit.
alba decent fuscas: albis, Cephei, placebas:
    sic tibi uestitae pressa Seriphos erat.
quam paene admonui, ne trux caper iret in alas,
    neue forent duris aspera crura pilis!
sed non Caucasea doceo de rupe puellas
    quaeque bibant undas, Myse Caice, tuas.
quid si praecipiam ne fuscet inertia dentes
    oraque suscepta mane lauentur aqua?
scitis et inducta candorem quaerere creta;
    sanguine quae uero non rubet, arte rubet.
arte supercilii confinia nuda repletis
    paruaque sinceras uelat aluta genas.
nec pudor est oculos tenui signare fauilla
    uel prope te nato, lucide Cydne, croco.
est mihi, quo dixi uestrae medicamina formae,
    paruus, sed cura grande, libellus, opus:
hinc quoque praesidium laesae petitote figurae;
    non est pro uestris ars mea rebus iners.
non tamen expositas mensa deprendat amator
    pyxidas: ars faciem dissimulata iuuat.
quem non offendat toto faex inlita uultu,
    cum fluit in tepidos pondere lapsa sinus?
oesypa quid redolent? quamuis mittatur Athenis
    demptus ab inmundo uellere sucus ouis?
nec coram mixtas ceruae sumpsisse medullas
    nec coram dentes defricuisse probem.
ista dabunt formam, sed erunt deformia uisu;
    multaque, dum fiunt, turpia, facta placent:
quae nunc nomen habent operosi signa Myronis,
    pondus iners quondam duraque massa fuit;
anulus ut fiat, primo conliditur aurum;
    quas geritis uestis, sordida lana fuit;
cum fieret, lapis asper erat: nunc, nobile signum,
    nuda Venus madidas exprimit imbre comas.
tu quoque dum coleris, nos te dormire putemus:
    aptius a summa conspiciere manu.
cur mihi nota tuo causa est candoris in ore?
    claude forem thalami! quid rude prodis opus?
multa uiros nescire decet; pars maxima rerum
    offendat, si non interiora tegas.
aurea quae pendent ornato signa theatro
    inspice, contemnes: brattea ligna tegit;
sed neque ad illa licet populo, nisi facta, uenire,
    nec nisi summotis forma paranda uiris.
at non pectendos coram praebere capillos,
    ut iaceant fusi per tua terga, ueto.
illo praecipue ne sis morosa caueto
    tempore, nec lapsas saepe resolue comas.
tuta sit ornatrix: odi, quae sauciat ora
    unguibus et rapta brachia figit acu.
deuouet, et tangit, dominae caput illa, simulque
    plorat in inuisas sanguinolenta comas.
quae male crinita est, custodem in limine ponat
    orneturue Bonae semper in aede Deae.
dictus eram subito cuidam uenisse puellae:
    turbida peruersas induit illa comas.
hostibus eueniat tam foedi causa pudoris,
    inque nurus Parthas dedecus illud eat.
turpe pecus mutilum, turpis sine gramine campus,
    et sine fronde frutex, et sine crine caput.
non mihi uenistis, Semele Ledeue, docendae,
    perque fretum falso, Sidoni, uecta boue,
aut Helene, quam non stulte, Menelae, reposcis,
    tu quoque non stulte, Troice raptor, habes.
turba docenda uenit pulchrae turpesque puellae,
    pluraque sunt semper deteriora bonis.
formosae non artis opem praeceptaque quaerunt;
    est illis sua dos, forma sine arte potens:
cum mare compositum est, securus nauita cessat;
    cum tumet, auxiliis adsidet ille suis.
rara tamen mendo facies caret: occule mendas,
    quaque potes uitium corporis abde tui.
si breuis es, sedeas, ne stans uideare sedere:
    inque tuo iaceas quantulacumque toro;
hic quoque, ne possit fieri mensura cubantis,
    iniecta lateant fac tibi ueste pedes.
quae nimium gracilis, pleno uelamina filo
    sumat, et ex umeris laxus amictus eat.
pallida purpureis spargat sua corpora uirgis,
    nigrior ad Pharii confuge piscis opem.
pes malus in niuea semper celetur aluta:
    arida nec uinclis crura resolue suis.
conueniunt tenues scapulis analemptrides altis:
    angustum circa fascia pectus eat.
exiguo signet gestu, quodcumque loquetur,
    cui digiti pingues et scaber unguis erit.
cui grauis oris odor numquam ieiuna loquatur
    et semper spatio distet ab ore uiri.
si niger aut ingens aut non erit ordine natus
    dens tibi, ridendo maxima damna feres.
quis credat? discunt etiam ridere puellae,
    quaeritur atque illis hac quoque parte decor.
sint modici rictus, paruaeque utrimque lacunae,
    et summos dentes ima labella tegant,
nec sua perpetuo contendant ilia risu,
    sed leue nescioquid femineumque sonet.
est, quae peruerso distorqueat ora cachinno;
    cum risu laeta est altera, flere putes.
illa sonat raucum quiddam atque inamabile: ridet,
    ut rudit a scabra turpis asella mola.
quo non ars penetrat? discunt lacrimare decenter
    quoque uolunt plorant tempore, quoque modo.
quid, cum legitima fraudatur littera uoce
    Blaesaque fit iusso lingua coacta sono?
in uitio decor est: quaerunt male reddere uerba
    discunt, posse minus, quam potuere, loqui.
omnibus his, quoniam prosunt, inpendite curam;
    discite femineo corpora ferre gradu.
est et in incessu pars non temnenda decoris;
    allicit ignotos ille fugatque uiros.
haec mouet arte latus, tunicisque fluentibus auras
    accipit, expensos fertque superba pedes;
illa uelut coniunx Vmbri rubicunda mariti
    ambulat, ingentes uarica fertque gradus.
sed sit, ut in multis, modus hic quoque: rusticus alter
    motus, concesso mollior alter erit.
pars umeri tamen ima tui, pars summa lacerti
    nuda sit, a laeua conspicienda manu.
hoc uos praecipue, niueae, decet: hoc ubi uidi,
    oscula ferre umero, qua patet usque libet.
monstra maris Sirenes erant, quae uoce canora
    quamlibet admissas detinuere rates.
his sua Sisyphides auditis paene resoluit
    corpora, nam sociis inlita cera fuit.
res est blanda canor: discant cantare puellae,
    pro facie multis uox sua lena fuit,
et modo marmoreis referant audita theatris,
    et modo Niliacis carmina lusa modis.
nec plectrum dextra, citharam tenuisse sinistra
    nesciat arbitrio femina docta meo.
saxa ferasque lyra mouit Rhodopeius Orpheus,
    Tartareosque lacus tergeminumque canem.
saxa tuo cantu, uindex iustissime matris,
    fecerunt muros officiosa nouos.
quamuis mutus erat, uoci fauisse putatur
    piscis Arioniae fabula nota lyrae.
disce etiam duplici genialia nablia palma
    uerrere: conueniunt dulcibus illa iocis.
sit tibi Callimachi, sit Coi nota poetae,
    sit quoque uinosi Teia Musa senis;
nota sit et Sappho (quid enim lasciuius illa?)
    cuiue pater uafri luditur arte Getae.
et teneri possis carmen legisse Properti,
    siue aliquid Galli siue, Tibulle, tuum
dictaque Varroni fuluis insignia uillis
    uellera germanae, Phrixe, querenda tuae:
et profugum Aenean, altae primordia Romae,
    quo nullum Latio clarius extat opus.
forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis,
    nec mea Lethaeis scripta dabuntur aquis
atque aliquis dicet 'nostri lege culta magistri
    carmina, quis partes instruit ille duas,
deue tribus libris, titulus quos signat Amorum,
    elige, quod docili molliter ore legas,
uel tibi composita cantetur Epistula uoce;
    ignotum hoc aliis ille nouauit opus.'
o ita, Phoebe, uelis, ita uos, pia numina uatum,
    insignis cornu Bacche nouemque deae!
quis dubitet, quin scire uelim saltare puellam,
    ut moueat posito brachia iussa mero?
artifices lateris, scenae spectacula, amantur:
    tantum mobilitas illa decoris habet.
parua monere pudet, talorum dicere iactus
    ut sciat, et uires, tessera missa, tuas;
et modo tres iactet numeros, modo cogitet, apte
    quam subeat partem callida, quamque uocet,
cautaque non stulte latronum proelia ludat,
    unus cum gemino calculus hoste perit,
bellatorque sua prensus sine compare bellat
    aemulus et coeptum saepe recurrit iter.
reticuloque pilae leues fundantur aperto
    nec, nisi quam tolles, ulla mouenda pila est.
est genus in totidem tenui ratione redactum
    scriptula, quot menses lubricus annus habet;
parua tabella capit ternos utrimque lapillos,
    in qua uicisse est continuasse suos.
mille facesse iocos; turpe est nescire puellam
    ludere: ludendo saepe paratur amor.
sed minimus labor est sapienter iactibus uti;
    maius opus mores composuisse suos.
tum sumus incauti, studioque aperimur in ipso
    nudaque per lusus pectora nostra patent;
ira subit, deforme malum, lucrique cupido,
    iurgiaque et rixae sollicitusque dolor;
crimina dicuntur, resonat clamoribus aether,
    inuocat iratos et sibi quisque deos.
nulla fides tabulae: quae non per uota petuntur?
    et lacrimis uidi saepe madere genas.
Iuppiter a uobis tam turpia crimina pellat,
    in quibus est ulli cura placere uiro.
hos ignaua iocos tribuit natura puellis;
    materia ludunt uberiore uiri.
sunt illis celeresque pilae iaculumque trochique
    armaque et in gyros ire coactus equus.
nec uos Campus habet, nec uos gelidissima Virgo,
    nec Tuscus placida deuehit amnis aqua.
at licet et prodest Pompeias ire per umbras,
    Virginis aetheriis cum caput ardet equis;
uisite laurigero sacrata Palatia Phoebo,
    ille Paraetonicas mersit in alta rates,
quaeque soror coniunxque ducis monimenta pararunt,
    naualique gener cinctus honore caput,
uisite turicremas uaccae Memphitidos aras,
    uisite conspicuis terna theatra locis;
spectentur tepido maculosae sanguine harenae
    metaque feruenti circumeunda rota.
quod latet, ignotum est; ignoti nulla cupido:
    fructus abest, facies cum bona teste caret.
tu licet et Thamyran superes et Amoebea cantu,
    non erit ignotae gratia magna lyrae.
si Venerem Cous nusquam posuisset Apelles,
    mersa sub aequoreis illa lateret aquis.
quid petitur sacris, nisi tantum fama, poetis?
    hoc uotum nostri summa laboris habet.
cura deum fuerant olim regumque poetae,
    praemiaque antiqui magna tulere chori;
sanctaque maiestas et erat uenerabile nomen
    uatibus, et largae saepe dabantur opes.
Ennius emeruit, Calabris in montibus ortus,
    contiguus poni, Scipio magne, tibi.
nunc hederae sine honore iacent operataque doctis
    cura uigil Musis nomen inertis habet.
sed famae uigilare iuuat: quis nosset Homerum,
    Ilias aeternum si latuisset opus?
quis Danaen nosset, si semper clusa fuisset
    inque sua turri perlatuisset anus?
utilis est uobis, formosae, turba, puellae.
    saepe uagos ultra limina ferte pedes.
ad multas lupa tendit oues, praedetur ut unam,
    et Iouis in multas deuolat ales aues.
se quoque det populo mulier speciosa uidendam;
    quem trahat, e multis forsitan unus erit.
omnibus illa locis maneat studiosa placendi
    et curam tota mente decoris agat.
casus ubique ualet: semper tibi pendeat hamus;
    quo minime credas gurgite, piscis erit.
saepe canes frustra nemorosis montibus errant
    inque plagam nullo ceruus agente uenit.
quid minus Andromedae fuerat sperare reuinctae
    quam lacrimas ulli posse placere suas?
funere saepe uiri uir quaeritur: ire solutis
    crinibus et fletus non tenuisse decet.
sed uitate uiros cultum formamque professos
    quique suas ponunt in statione comas.
quae uobis dicunt, dixerunt mille puellis;
    errat et in nulla sede moratur Amor.
femina quid faciat, cum sit uir leuior ipsa
    forsitan et plures possit habere uiros?
uix mihi credetis, sed credite: Troia maneret,
    praeceptis Priami si foret usa sui.
sunt qui mendaci specie grassentur amoris
    perque aditus talis lucra pudenda petant.
nec coma uos fallat liquido nitidissima nardo
    nec breuis in rugas lingula pressa suas,
nec toga decipiat filo tenuissima, nec si
    anulus in digitis alter et alter erit.
forsitan ex horum numero cultissimus ille
    fur sit, et uratur uestis amore tuae.
'redde meum' clamant spoliatae saepe puellae,
    'redde meum' toto uoce boante foro.
has, Venus, e templis multo radiantibus auro
    lenta uides lites Appiadesque tuae.
sunt quoque non dubia quaedam mala nomina fama:
    deceptae, a, multi crimen amantis habent.
discite ab alterius uestras timuisse querellis,
    ianua fallaci ne sit aperta uiro.
parcite, Cecropides, iuranti credere Theseo:
    quos faciet testis, fecit et ante deos.
et tibi, Demophoon, Thesei criminis heres,
    Phyllide decepta nulla relicta fides.
si bene promittent, totidem promittite uerbis:
    si dederint, et uos gaudia pacta date.
illa potest uigiles flammas extinguere Vestae
    et rapere e templis, Inachi, sacra tuis,
et dare mixta uiro tritis aconita cicutis,
    accepto Venerem munere si qua negat.
fert animus propius consistere: supprime habenas,
    Musa, nec admissis excutiare rotis.
uerba uadum temptent abiegnis scripta tabellis:
    accipiat missas apta ministra notas.
inspice, quodque leges, ex ipsis collige uerbis
    fingat, an ex animo sollicitusque roget;
postque breuem rescribe moram: mora semper amantes
    incitat, exiguum si modo tempus habet.
sed neque te facilem iuueni promitte roganti
    nec tamen e duro quod petit ille nega.
fac timeat speretque simul, quotiensque remittes,
    spesque magis ueniat certa minorque metus.
munda sed e medio consuetaque uerba, puellae,
    scribite: sermonis publica forma placet.
a, quotiens dubius scriptis exarsit amator
    et nocuit formae barbara lingua bonae!
sed quoniam, quamuis uittae careatis honore,
    est uobis uestros fallere cura uiros,
ancillae puerique manu perarate tabellas,
    pignora nec iuueni credite uestra nouo.
uidi ego pallentes isto terrore puellas
    seruitium miseras tempus in omne pati;
perfidus ille quidem, qui talia pignora seruat,
    sed tamen Aetnaei fulminis instar habent.
iudice me fraus est concessa repellere fraudem,
    armaque in armatos sumere iura sinunt.
ducere consuescat multas manus una figuras
    (a, pereant, per quos ista monenda mihi!)
nec nisi deletis tutum rescribere ceris,
    ne teneat geminas una tabella manus.
femina dicatur scribenti semper amator:
    'illa' sit in uestris, qui fuit 'ille', notis.
si licet a paruis animum ad maiora referre
    plenaque curuato pandere uela sinu,
pertinet ad faciem rabidos compescere mores:
    candida pax homines, trux decet ira feras.
ora tument ira, nigrescunt sanguine uenae,
    lumina Gorgoneo saeuius igne micant.
'i procul hinc,' dixit 'non es mihi, tibia, tanti,'
    ut uidit uultus Pallas in amne suos.
uos quoque si media speculum spectetis in ira,
    cognoscat faciem uix satis ulla suam.
nec minus in uultu damnosa superbia uestro:
    comibus est oculis alliciendus Amor.
odimus inmodicos (experto credite) fastus:
    saepe tacens odii semina uultus habet.
spectantem specta, ridenti mollia ride;
    innuet, acceptas tu quoque redde notas.
sic ubi prolusit, rudibus puer ille relictis
    spicula de pharetra promit acuta sua.
odimus et maestas; Tecmessam diligat Aiax;
    nos hilarem populum femina laeta capit.
numquam ego te, Andromache, nec te, Tecmessa, rogarem,
    ut mea de uobis altera amica foret.
credere uix uideor, cum cogar credere partu,
    uos ego cum uestris concubuisse uiris.
scilicet Aiaci mulier maestissima dixit
    'lux mea' quaeque solent uerba iuuare uiros!
quis uetat a magnis ad res exempla minores
    sumere nec nomen pertimuisse ducis?
dux bonus huic centum commisit uite regendos,
    huic equites, illi signa tuenda dedit:
uos quoque, de nobis quem quisque erit aptus ad usum,
    inspicite et certo ponite quemque loco.
munera det diues; ius qui profitebitur, adsit;
    facundus causam saepe clientis agat.
carmina qui facimus, mittamus carmina tantum:
    hic chorus ante alios aptus amare sumus.
nos facimus placitae late praeconia formae:
    nomen habet Nemesis, Cynthia nomen habet;
Vesper et Eoae nouere Lycorida terrae:
    et multi, quae sit nostra Corinna, rogant.
adde, quod insidiae sacris a uatibus absunt
    et facit ad mores ars quoque nostra suos.
nec nos ambitio, nec amor nos tangit habendi;
    contempto colitur lectus et umbra foro.
sed facile haeremus ualidoque perurimur aestu
    et nimium certa scimus amare fide.
scilicet ingenium placida mollitur ab arte
    et studio mores conuenienter eunt.
uatibus Aoniis faciles estote, puellae:
    numen inest illis Pieridesque fauent.
est deus in nobis et sunt commercia caeli;
    sedibus aetheriis spiritus ille uenit.
a doctis pretium scelus est sperare poetis;
    me miserum, scelus hoc nulla puella timet.
dissimulate tamen, nec prima fronte rapaces
    este: nouus uiso casse resistet amans.
sed neque uector equum, qui nuper sensit habenas,
    comparibus frenis artificemque reget,
nec, stabilis animos annis uiridemque iuuentam
    ut capias, idem limes agendus erit.
hic rudis et castris nunc primum notus Amoris,
    qui tetigit thalamos praeda nouella tuos,
te solam norit, tibi semper inhaereat uni;
    cingenda est altis saepibus ista seges.
effuge riualem: uinces, dum sola tenebis;
    non bene cum sociis regna Venusque manent.
ille uetus miles sensim et sapienter amabit,
    multaque tironi non patienda feret;
nec franget postes, nec saeuis ignibus uret
    nec dominae teneras adpetet ungue genas
nec scindet tunicasue suas tunicasue puellae
    nec raptus flendi causa capillus erit.
ista decent pueros aetate et amore calentes;
    hic fera composita uulnera mente feret.
ignibus heu lentis uretur, ut umida faena,
    ut modo montanis silua recisa iugis.
certior hic amor est: breuis et fecundior ille:
    quae fugiunt, celeri carpite poma manu.
omnia tradantur (portas reserauimus hosti)
    et sit in infida proditione fides.
quod datur ex facili, longum male nutrit amorem:
    miscenda est laetis rara repulsa iocis.
ante fores iaceat, 'crudelis ianua!' dicat
    multaque summisse, multa minanter agat.
dulcia non ferimus; suco renouemur amaro;
    saepe perit uentis obruta cumba suis.
hoc est, uxores quod non patiatur amari:
    conueniunt illas, cum uoluere, uiri.
adde forem, et duro dicat tibi ianitor ore
    'non potes,' exclusum te quoque tanget amor.
ponite iam gladios hebetes, pugnetur acutis;
    nec dubito, telis quin petar ipse meis.
dum cadit in laqueos, captus quoque nuper, amator
    solum se thalamos speret habere tuos.
postmodo riualem partitaque foedera lecti
    sentiat: has artes tolle, senescet amor.
tum bene fortis equus reserato carcere currit,
    cum quos praetereat quosque sequatur habet.
quamlibet extinctos iniuria suscitat ignes:
    en ego, confiteor, non nisi laesus amo.
causa tamen nimium non sit manifesta doloris,
    pluraque sollicitus, quam sciet, esse putet.
incitat et ficti tristis custodia serui
    et nimium duri cura molesta uiri.
quae uenit ex tuto, minus est accepta uoluptas;
    ut sis liberior Thaide, finge metus.
cum melius foribus possis, admitte fenestra
    inque tuo uultu signa timentis habe.
callida prosiliat dicatque ancilla 'perimus!'
    tu iuuenem trepidum quolibet abde loco.
admiscenda tamen Venus est secura timori,
    ne tanti noctes non putet esse tuas.
qua uafer eludi possit ratione maritus
    quaque uigil custos, praeteriturus eram.
nupta uirum timeat, rata sit custodia nuptae;
    hoc decet, hoc leges iusque pudorque iubent.
te quoque seruari, modo quam uindicta redemit,
    quis ferat? ut fallas, ad mea sacra ueni.
tot licet obseruent, adsit modo certa uoluntas,
    quot fuerant Argo lumina, uerba dabis.
scilicet obstabit custos ne scribere possis,
    sumendae detur cum tibi tempus aquae;
conscia cum possit scriptas portare tabellas,
    quas tegat in tepido fascia lata sinu.
cum possit sura chartas celare ligatas,
    et uincto blandas sub pede ferre notas!
cauerit haec custos, pro charta conscia tergum
    praebeat, inque suo corpore uerba ferat.
tuta quoque est fallitque oculos e lacte recenti
    littera (carbonis puluere tange, leges),
fallet et umiduli quae fiet acumine lini,
    ut ferat occultas pura tabella notas.
adfuit Acrisio seruandae cura puellae;
    hunc tamen illa suo crimine fecit auum.
quid faciat custos, cum sint tot in Vrbe theatra,
    cum spectet iunctos illa libenter equos;
cum sedeat Phariae sistris operata iuuencae,
    quoque sui comites ire uetantur, eat;
cum fuget a templis oculos Bona Diua uirorum,
    praeterquam siquos illa uenire iubet?
cum, custode foris tunicas seruante puellae
    celent furtiuos balnea multa iocos;
cum, quotiens opus est, fallax aegrotet amica
    et cedat lecto quamlibet aegra suo;
nomine cum doceat, quid agamus, adultera clauis,
    quasque petas non det ianua sola uias?
fallitur et multo custodis cura Lyaeo,
    illa uel Hispano lecta sit uua iugo;
sunt quoque, quae faciant altos medicamina somnos
    uictaque Lethaea lumina nocte premant;
nec male deliciis odiosum conscia tardis
    detinet, et longa iungitur ipsa mora.
quid iuuat ambages praeceptaque parua mouere,
    cum minimo custos munere possit emi?
munera, crede mihi, capiunt hominesque deosque:
    placatur donis Iuppiter ipse datis.
quid sapiens faciet? stultus cum munere gaudet:
    ipse quoque accepto munere mutus erit.
sed semel est custos longum redimendus in aeuum;
    saepe dabit, dederit quas semel, ille manus.
questus eram, memini, metuendos esse sodales;
    non tangit solos ista querella uiros.
credula si fueris, aliae tua gaudia carpent
    et lepus hic aliis exagitatus erit.
haec quoque, quae praebet lectum studiosa locumque,
    crede mihi, mecum non semel illa fuit.
nec nimium uobis formosa ancilla ministret:
    saepe uicem dominae praebuit illa mihi.
quo feror insanus? quid aperto pectore in hostem
    mittor, et indicio prodor ab ipse meo?
non auis aucupibus monstrat, qua parte petatur,
    non docet infestos currere cerua canes.
uiderit utilitas; ego coepta fideliter edam:
    Lemniasin gladios in mea fata dabo.
efficite (et facile est) ut nos credamus amari:
    prona uenit cupidis in sua uota fides.
spectet amabilius iuuenem et suspiret ab imo
    femina, tam sero cur ueniatque roget;
accedant lacrimae, dolor et de paelice fictus,
    et laniet digitis illius ora suis;
iamdudum persuasus erit; miserebitur ultro
    et dicet 'cura carpitur ista mei.'
praecipue si cultus erit speculoque placebit,
    posse suo tangi credet amore deas.
sed te, quaecumque est, moderate iniuria turbet,
    nec sis audita paelice mentis inops;
nec cito credideris: quantum cito credere laedat,
    exemplum uobis non leue Procris erit.
est prope purpureos colles florentis Hymetti
    fons sacer et uiridi caespite mollis humus;
silua nemus non alta facit; tegit arbutus herbam;
    ros maris et lauri nigraque myrtus olent;
nec densum foliis buxum fragilesque myricae,
    nec tenues cytisi cultaque pinus abest.
lenibus inpulsae zephyris auraque salubri
    tot generum frondes herbaque summa tremit.
grata quies Cephalo: famulis canibusque relictis
    lassus in hac iuuenis saepe resedit humo
'quae'que 'meos releues aestus,' cantare solebat
    'accipienda sinu, mobilis aura, ueni.'
coniugis ad timidas aliquis male sedulus aures
    auditos memori detulit ore sonos;
Procris, ut accepit nomen, quasi paelicis, Aurae,
    excidit, et subito muta dolore fuit;
palluit, ut serae lectis de uite racemis
    pallescunt frondes, quas noua laesit hiems,
quaeque suos curuant matura Cydonia ramos
    cornaque adhuc nostris non satis apta cibis.
ut rediit animus, tenues a pectore uestes
    rumpit et indignas sauciat ungue genas;
nec mora, per medias passis furibunda capillis
    euolat, ut thyrso concita Baccha, uias.
ut prope peruentum, comites in ualle relinquit,
    ipsa nemus tacito clam pede fortis init.
quid tibi mentis erat, cum sic male sana lateres,
    Procri? quis adtoniti pectoris ardor erat?
iamiam uenturam, quaecumque erat Aura, putabas
    scilicet, atque oculis probra uidenda tuis.
nunc uenisse piget (neque enim deprendere uelles),
    nunc iuuat: incertus pectora uersat amor:
credere quae iubeant, locus est et nomen et index
    et quia mens semper quod timet, esse putat.
uidit ut oppressa uestigia corporis herba,
    pulsantur trepidi corde micante sinus.
iamque dies medius tenues contraxerat umbras,
    inque pari spatio uesper et ortus erant:
ecce, redit Cephalus siluis, Cyllenia proles,
    oraque fontana feruida pulsat aqua.
anxia, Procri, lates; solitas iacet ille per herbas
    et 'Zephyri molles auraque' dixit 'ades.'
ut patuit miserae iucundus nominis error,
    et mens et rediit uerus in ora color.
surgit et oppositas agitato corpore frondes
    mouit, in amplexus uxor itura uiri;
ille feram mouisse ratus, iuuenaliter artus
    corripit, in dextra tela fuere manu.
quid facis, infelix? non est fera, supprime tela!
    me miserum, iaculo fixa puella tuo est.
'ei mihi!' conclamat 'fixisti pectus amicum:
    hic locus a Cephalo uulnera semper habet.
ante diem morior, sed nulla paelice laesa:
    hoc faciet positae te mihi, terra, leuem.
nomine suspectas iam spiritus exit in auras;
    labor, io: cara lumina conde manu.'
ille sinu dominae morientia corpora maesto
    sustinet, et lacrimis uulnera saeua lauat;
exit et incauto paulatim pectore lapsus
    excipitur miseri spiritus ore uiri.
sed repetamus opus: mihi nudis rebus eundum est,
    ut tangat portus fessa carina suos.
sollicite expectas, dum te in conuiuia ducam,
    et quaeris monitus hac quoque parte meos.
sera ueni positaque decens incede lucerna:
    grata mora uenies; maxima lena mora est.
etsi turpis eris, formosa uidebere potis,
    et latebras uitiis nox dabit ipsa tuis.
carpe cibos digitis (est quiddam gestus edendi),
    ora nec immunda tota perungue manu.
neue domi praesume dapes, sed desine citra
    quam capis; es paulo quam potes esse minus.
Priamides Helenen auide si spectet edentem,
    oderit, et dicat 'stulta rapina mea est.'
aptius est, deceatque magis potare puellas:
    cum Veneris puero non male, Bacche, facis.
hoc quoque, qua patiens caput est, animusque pedesque
    constant, nec, quae sunt singula, bina uide.
turpe iacens mulier multo madefacta Lyaeo:
    digna est concubitus quoslibet illa pati.
nec somnis posita tutum succumbere mensa:
    per somnos fieri multa pudenda solent.
ulteriora pudet docuisse, sed alma Dione
    'praecipue nostrum est, quod pudet,' inquit 'opus.'
nota sibi sit quaeque; modos a corpore certos
    sumite: non omnes una figura decet.
quae facie praesignis erit, resupina iaceto;
    spectentur tergo, quis sua terga placent.
Milanion umeris Atalantes crura ferebat:
    si bona sunt, hoc sunt accipienda modo.
parua uehatur equo: quod erat longissima, numquam
    Thebais Hectoreo nupta resedit equo.
strata premat genibus, paulum ceruice reflexa
    femina per longum conspicienda latus.
cui femur est iuuenale, carent quoque pectora menda,
    stet uir, in obliquo fusa sit ipsa toro.
nec tibi turpe puta crinem, ut Phylleia mater,
    soluere, et effusis colla reflecte comis.
tu quoque, cui rugis uterum Lucina notauit,
    ut celer auersis utere Parthus equis.
mille modi Veneris; simplex minimique laboris,
    cum iacet in dextrum semisupina latus.
sed neque Phoebei tripodes nec corniger Ammon
    uera magis uobis quam mea Musa canet;
si qua fides, arti, quam longo fecimus usu,
    credite: praestabunt carmina nostra fidem.
sentiat ex imis Venerem resoluta medullis
    femina, et ex aequo res iuuet illa duos.
nec blandae uoces iucundaque murmura cessent
    nec taceant mediis improba uerba iocis.
tu quoque, cui Veneris sensum natura negauit,
    dulcia mendaci gaudia finge sono.
infelix, cui torpet hebes locus ille, puella,
    quo pariter debent femina uirque frui.
tantum, cum finges, ne sis manifesta, caueto:
    effice per motum luminaque ipsa fidem.
quam iuuet, et uoces et anhelitus arguat oris;
    a pudet! arcanas pars habet ista notas.
gaudia post Veneris quae poscet munus amantem,
    illa suas nolet pondus habere preces.
nec lucem in thalamos totis admitte fenestris:
    aptius in uestro corpore multa latent.
lusus habet finem: cygnis descendere tempus,
    duxerunt collo qui iuga nostra suo.
ut quondam iuuenes, ita nunc, mea turba, puellae
    inscribant spoliis 'Naso magister erat.'


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