BOOK 1, ELEGY 3
Ad amicam (To his mistress)
I ask but right: let her that caught me late, Either love, or cause that I may never hate: I ask too much, would she but let me love her, Love knows with such like prayers, I daily move her: Accept him that will serve thee all his youth, Accept him that will love with spotless truth: If lofty titles cannot make me thine, That am descended but of knightly line, (Soon may you plough the little lands I have, I gladly grant my parents given to save), Apollo, Bacchus, and the Muses may, And Cupid who hath marked me for thy prey, My spotless life, which but to gods gives place, Naked simplicity, and modest grace. I love but one, and her I love change never, If men have faith, I'll live with thee forever. The years that fatal destiny shall give, I'll live with thee, and die, or thou shalt grieve. Be thou the happy subject of my books, That I may write things worthy thy fair looks: By verses horned Io got her name, And she to whom in shape of swan Jove came. And she that on a feign'd bull swam to land, Griping his false horns with her virgin hand: So likewise we will through the world be rung, And with my name shall thine be always sung.
BOOK 1, ELEGY 4
Amicam, qua arte, quibusve nutibus in coena, proesente viro uti debeat, admonet (He advises his mistress what stratagem or nods she should employ at dinner in her husband's presence)
Thy husband to a banquet goes with me, Pray God it may his latest supper be, Shall I sit gazing as a bashful guest, While others touch the damsel I love best? Wilt, lying under him, his bosom clip? About thy neck shall he at pleasure skip? Marvel not though the fair bride did incite The drunken Centaurs to a sudden fight. I am no half horse, nor in woods I dwell, Yet scarce my hands from thee contain I well. But how thou shouldst behave thyself now know; Nor let the winds away my warnings blow. Before thy husband come, though I not see What may be done, yet there before him be. Lie with him gently, when his limbs he spread Upon the bed, but on my foot first tread. View me, my becks, and speaking countenance: Take, and receive each secret amorous glance. Words without voice shall on my eyebrows sit, Lines thou shalt read in wine by my hand writ. When our lascivious toys come in thy mind, Thy rosy cheeks be to thy thumb inclined. If ought of me thou speak'st in inward thought, Let thy soft finger to thy ear be brought. When I (my light) do or say ought that please thee, Turn round thy gold-ring, as it were to ease thee. Strike on the boord like them that pray for evil, When thou dost wish thy husband at the devil. What wine he fills thee, wisely will him drink, Ask thou the boy, what thou enough dost think. When thou hast tasted, I will take the cup, And where thou drinkst, on that part I will sup. If he gives thee what first himself did taste, Even in his face his offered gobbets cast. Let not thy neck by his vile arms be pressed, Nor lean thy soft head on his boisterous breast. Thy bosom's roseate buds let him not finger, Chiefly on thy lips let not his lips linger. If thou givest kisses, I shall all disclose, Say they are mine, and hands on thee impose. Yet this I'll see, but if thy gown ought cover, Suspicious fear in all my veins will hover, Mingle not thighs, nor to his leg join thine, Nor thy soft foot with his hard foot combine. I have been wanton, therefore am perplexed, And with mistrust of the like measure vexed. I and my wench oft under clothes did lurk, When pleasure mov'd us to our sweetest work. Do not thou so, but throw thy mantle hence, Lest I should think thee guilty of offence. Entreat thy husband drink, but do not kiss, And while he drinks, to add more do not miss, If he lies down, with wine and sleep oppressed, The thing and place shall counsel us the rest. When to go homewards we rise all along, Have care to walk in middle of the throng. There will I find thee, or be found by thee, There touch whatever thou canst touch of me. Aye me, I warn what profits some few hours, But we must part, when heav'n with black night lowers. At night thy husband clips thee, I will weep And to the doors sight of thyself will keep: Then will he kiss thee, and not only kiss But force thee give him my stol'n honey bliss. Constrain'd against thy will, give it the peasant, Forbear sweet words, and be your sport unpleasant. To him I pray it no delight may bring, Or if it do, to thee no joy thence spring: But though this night thy fortune be to try it, To me tomorrow constantly deny it.