BOOK 3, ELEGY 3
De amica, quae periuraverat (Concerning his mistress, who has perjured herself)
What, are there gods? Herself she hath forswore, And yet remains the face she had before. How long her locks were, ere her oath she took: So long they be, since she her faith forsook. Fair white with rose red was before commix'd: Now shine her looks pure white and red betwixt. Her foot was small: her foot's form is most fit: Comely tall was she, comely tall she's yet. Sharp eyes she had: radiant like stars they be, By which she perjur'd oft hath lied to me. In sooth th'eternal powers grant maids society Falsely to swear , their beauty hath some deity. By her eyes I remember late she swore, And by mine eyes, and mine were pained sore. Say gods: if she unpunish'd you deceive, For others faults, why do I loss receive? But did you not so envy Cepheus' daughter, For her ill-beauteous mother judg'd to slaughter? 'Tis not enough, she shakes your record off; And unreveng'd mock'd gods with me doth scoff. But by my pain to purge her perjuries, Cozen'd, I am the cozener's sacrifice. God is a name, no substance, fear'd in vain, And doth the world in fond belief detain. Or if there be a God, he loves fine wenches, And all things too much in their sole power drenches. Mars girts his deadly sword on for my harm: Pallas lance strikes me with unconquer'd arm. At me Apollo bends his pliant bow: At me Jove's right-hand lightning hath to throw. The wronged gods dread fair ones to offend, And fear those, that to fear them least intend. Who now will care the altars to perfume? Tut, men should not their courage so consume. Jove throws down woods and castles with his fire: But bids his darts from perjur'd girls retire. Poor Semele, among so many burn'd; Her own request to her own torment turn'd. But when her lover came, had she drawn back, The father's thigh should unborn Bacchus lack. Why grieve I? And of heaven reproaches pen? The gods have eyes and breasts as well as men. Were I a god, I should give women leave, With lying lips my godhead to deceive, Myself would swear , the wenches true did swear , And I would be none of the gods severe. But yet their gift more moderately use, Or in mine eyes, good wench, no pain transfuse.
BOOK 3, ELEGY 4
Ad virum servantem coniugem (To the husband keeping a watch on his spouse)
Rude man, 'tis vain, thy damsel to commend To keeper's trust: their wits should them defend. Who, without fear, is chaste, is chaste in sooth: Who, because means want, doeth not, she doth. Though thou her body guard, her mind is stain'd: Nor, lest she will, can any be restrain'd. Nor canst by watching keep her mind from sin. All being shut out, th'adulterer is within. Who may offend, sins least; power to do ill, The fainting seeds of naughtiness doth kill. Forbear to kindle vice by prohibition, Sooner shall kindness game thy will's fruition. I saw a horse against the bit stiff-neck'd, Like lightning go, his struggling mouth being check'd. When he perceiv'd the reins let slack, he stay'd, And on his loose mane the loose bridle laid. How to attain, what is denied, we think, Even as the sick desire forbidden drink. Argus had either way an hundred eyes, Yet by deceit Love did them all surprise. In stone, and iron walls Danae shut, Came forth a mother, though a maid there put. Penelope, though no watch look'd unto her, Was not defil'd by any gallant wooer. What's kept, we covet more: the care makes theft: Few love what others have unguarded left. Nor doth her face please, but her husband's love; I know not, what men think should thee so move. She is not chaste that's kept, but a dear whore: Thy fear is than her body valued more. Although thou chafe, stol'n pleasure is sweet play, She pleaseth best, I fear, if any say. A free-born wench, no right 'tis up to lock: So use we women of strange nations' stock. Because the keeper may come, say 'I did it', She must be honest to thy servant's credit. He is too clownish, whom a lewd wife grieves, And this town's well-known customs not believes, Where Mars his sons not without fault did breed, Remus and Romulus, Ilia's twin-born seed. Cannot a fair one, if not chaste, please thee? Never can these by any means agree. Kindly thy mistress use, if thou be wise. Look gently, and rough husbands laws despise. Honour what friends thy wife gives, she'll give many: Least labour so shall win great grace of any. So shalt thou go with youths to feasts together, And see at home much that thou ne'er brought'st thither.