ELEGY XII.
He curses the tablets which he has sent, because his mistress has written an answer on them, in which she refuses to grant his request.
Lament my misfortune; my tablets have returned to me with sad intelligence. Her unlucky letter announces that she cannot be seen to-day. There is something in omens; just now, when she was preparing to go, Napè stopped short, having struck her foot [178] against the threshold. When sent out of doors another time, remember to pass the threshold more carefully, and like a sober woman lift your foot high enough.
Away with you; obdurate tablets, fatal bits of board; and you wax, as well, crammed with the lines of denial. I doubt the Corsican bee [180] has sent you collected from the blossom of the tall hemlock, beneath its abominable honey.
Besides, you were red, as though you had been thoroughly dyed in vermilion; [181] such a colour is exactly that of blood. Useless bits of board, thrown out in the street, there may you lie; and may the weight of the wheel crush you, as it passes along. I could even prove that he who formed you to shape from the tree, had not the hands of innocence. That tree surely has afforded a gibbet for some wretched neck, and has supplied the dreadful crosses [182] for the executioner. It has given a disgusting shelter to the screeching owls; in its branches it has borne the eggs of the vulture and of the screech-owl. [183] In my madness, have I entrusted my courtship to these, and have I given soft words to be thus carried to my mistress?
These tablets would more becomingly hold the prosy summons, [184] which some judge [185] pronounces, with his sour face.