Ars Amatoria, Liber I

Aid my enterprise, Venus! Respectable ladies, the kind who
Wear hairbands and ankle-length skirts,
Are hereby warned off. Safe love, legitimate liaisons
Will be my theme. This poem breaks no taboos.
First, then, you fledgling troopers in passion's service,
Comes the task of finding an object for your love.
Next, you must labor to woo and win your lady;
Thirdly, ensure the affair will last.
Such are my limitations, such the ground I will cover,
The race I propose to run.
While you are fancy-free still, and can drive at leisure,
Pick a girl, tell her, "You're the one I love.
And only you." But this search means using your eyes:
A mistress won't drop out of the sky at your feet.


Ars Amatoria, Liber III

There's no place in a poet for stratagems and deceptions:
Vocation and art combine to fashion forth his essential nature.
We stay untouched by ambition or love of profit,
Despise the forum, prefer a couch in the shade.
But we're easily hooked, we burn with vehement passions,
And know -too well-how to give unswerving love.
Our natures are made more pliant by our gentle art:
An attitude to life grows from our studies.
So, girls, be generous with poets:
They're the Muses' darlings, contain
A divine spark.


Amores Liber I.i
Selected an arrow to lay me low,
Then bent the springy bow in a cresent against his knee, and
Let fly. 'Hey, poet!' he called, 'you want a theme? Take that!'
His shafts -worse luck for me- never miss their target:
I'm on fire now, Love owns the freehold of my heart


Ars Amatoria, Liber II

Nothing works on a mood like tactful tolerance:
Harshness provokes hatred, makes nasty rows.
We detest the hawk and the wolf, those natural hunters,
Always preying on timid flocks;
But the gentle swallow goes safe from man's snares,
We fashion little turreted houses for doves.
Love's sensitive, needs to be fed.
With gentle words. Leave nagging to wives and husbands,
Let them, if they want, think it a natural law,
A permanent state of feud.


Amores, Liber I.xv

Though Time, in time, can consume the enduring ploughshare,
Though flint itself will perish, poetry lives -
May my audience always consist of star-crossed lovers.
Never forget it's the living that Envy feeds on.
After death the pressure is taken off.
All men get their due in the end.


Amores, Liber II.xviii

I shall not cause you to complain,
nor will you be glad to see me go;
this will be no love we need to disavow.
Felicitous song, instead of great possession,
is mine, and many a fair one wishes for glory through me



Amores, Liber III.viii

Why arm for war? Why take to the sea -
as if happiness were far away?
Why not annex the sky too?
We have, in a modest way -by deifying Quirinus,
and Liber and Alcides and now Caesar.
We dig for gold instead of food.
Our soldiers earn blood money.
The Senate is barred to the poor. Capital is king,
creates the solemn judge and the censorious knight.
Let them own the world -knights controlling Campus and Forum,
Senate dictating peace and war,
but hands off love!
Sweethearts shouldn't be up for auction.
Leave the poor man his little corner.



Remedia Amoris

'Wars', said Love, after reading this book's name and title,
'I see wars are being planned against me.'
Please don't charge
Your favorite poet with such a crime, Cupid,' I answered,
'Think of the times I've borne, under your command,
The colours you gave me! No Diomede I, to wound your
Mother, so that she fled to the rarified heights
Of heaven in Mars's chariot: some young men may grow tepid,
But I've always been a lover, and if you should ask
What I'm up to now -I'm in love. Besides I've published a system
For winning you over: what was pure instinct once
Is now done by rule. Dear boy, I'm betraying neither
You nor my art; this new Muse will not reweave
Or unravel past work. Good Luck to the happy lover, let him
Rejoice in his passion, sail on with a following wind-
But for those who suffer the whims of an unworthy mistress
Help is at hand: learn the comfort which my art
Has to bestow! Why does one poor lover fasten
A noose around his neck, and swing-
depressing load-
From the roofbeam, or another run a sword through his gizzard?
You, Love, you peace-lover, You get blamed
For their slaughter. Let the man who'll die
(unless he lays off)
Of helpless passion, lay off -
then you'll have no deaths
On your conscience. Besides, you're a child,
should play games only:
So, play: a mild regime goes well with your years.