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I.2
| Because it’s stone, I ask who’s made my bed this way: | |
| Sweet sleep slips off, and sweat-soaked sheets won’t stay. | |
| All night I cannot sleep at all, but toss and turn | |
| Until my bones ache and my muscles burn. | |
| I think I’d know if racking Love tormented me— | 5 |
| Unless he hid his arts in secrecy. | |
| That must be it. He’s let it fly, his sneaky dart, | |
| And I’m so weak, he twists it in my heart. | |
| Should I give in—and up? Or fight—and feed the fire? | |
| Surrender, or he’ll pile the pyre higher! | 10 |
| (I’ve seen what happens when you flourish one small brand: | |
| Flame leaps. But don’t? It dies out in your hand.) | |
| They whip an ox that fights the yoke and will not pull, | |
| But ploughing’s painless for a docile bull. | |
| The fiercest stallion breaks his mouth on iron bits; | 15 |
| The broken filly feels a curb that fits. | |
| So Love will crush that bridling enemy who braves | |
| Him—crush him harder than surrendering slaves. | |
| And Cupid, look: I’m one! Your newest prize says yes, | |
| And puts his hands up. See how I profess | 20 |
| Your creed? Your word is law; there is no war. I plead | |
| For peace, so where’s the glory in a deed | |
| Like conquering an unarmed man? No, braid your hair | |
| With myrtle, hitch your mother’s pigeon pair | |
| To Vulcan’s chariot, and in that war car, steer | 25 |
| Those doves, as crowds cry out their love and cheer. | |
| And youth that you lead on, those captive girls and boys, | |
| Will make a mighty triumph of your toys. | |
| Myself, your latest spoil, will wear a wound that’s fresh, | |
| Bearing as mind-forged chains what binds the flesh. | 30 |
| Good Sense and Shame, their hands bound back by cuff and clamp, | |
| Trudge on with everyone not in Love’s camp. | |
| The crowd that cries your triumph “Io!” cries from fear, | |
| Hands high. Their one great throat gives out that cheer. | |
| Then Frenzy and Delusion follow in your train | 35 |
| Forever, and caresses made in vain. | |
| These are your forces that defeat all human foes; | |
| Sans them, you’re just a boy without his clothes. | |
| Oh, how your mother high above will clap, and shower | |
| Your head with roses in your finest hour! | 40 |
| You’ll shine like gold, with jeweled wings, gems in your hair. | |
| Your golden self will dazzle all the air. | |
| And we who know you well, know you will leave wound-free | |
| Few souls you fire with your ardency. | |
| Boy Archer, all your arrows are their own. Blind seer, | 45 |
| They scorch and singe whatever they come near, | |
| As if you were great Bacchus on the Ganges’ shore, | |
| Whose tigers had been tamed—like doves—for war. | |
| So spare me as a victim in your triumph’s train, | |
| And save your breath to blast some other swain. | 50 |
| Extend the kindness cousin Caesar’s smiles exude: | |
| His arms reach out to each new land subdued. |
I.3
| Love, give me justice. Make my heart’s thief love me, or… | |
| Make her the one I’ll live forever for. | |
| No, that’s too much to ask. Just let her let me love, | |
| And hear my prayers, O Venus up above. | |
| Accept me for a man who’ll be your lifelong servant; | 5 |
| Take one who in your faith will be observant | |
| Despite the fact my family name’s not old or fine, | |
|
And though
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