I can tell not only about a discomfort far greater than others,
But of a horror besides, thinking of which will arouse
Every fiber in me to revulsion. My friends, I confess it:
Great displeasure I take lying alone in my bed.
But it's a horror to fear on the pathways of love you'll discover
Snakes and their venom beneath roses of eager desire—
That at the moment supreme, when I'm yielding to pleasure so fully,
Right at my head as it droops, hissing disease may approach.
That's why Faustina as my companion in bed makes me happy:
Loving she always remains faithful, as I am to her.
Young men are aroused in their passions by obstacles and by excitement;
I prefer to go slow, savoring pleasures secure.
Is it not bliss to exchange tender kisses containing no dangers,
Sucking into our lungs, carefree, our partner's own life?
That is the way our long nights of enjoyment are passed. We listen,
Breast against breast, to the storm, pouring down rain in the wind
Morning begins to dawn, we expect from these hours approaching
Blossoms that will adorn festive the coming new day.
Quirites, permit me the joy, and may this, of all pleasures on earth the
First and the last, be vouchsafed all of mankind by the god.
XXII
Ah, to uphold one's respectable name is not easy. The Lady
Fame has an ancient foe: Cupid, my master and lord.
Oh, by the way, have you heard of the cause of their mutual hatred?
It's an old story, I think—Let me just tell it again.
Powerful ever the goddess, but nevertheless to her fellows
Overbearing and rude, quite unendurable. She
Had by the gods since time out of mind at their banquets been dreaded,
Yelling with brassiest voice orders to great and to small.
Once, in her arrogance even maintained that she had subjected
To her own will, as her slave, Jove's most illustrious son.
"One of these days, O father of deities," cried she in triumph,
"I shall be bringing you my—Hercules, as if new born.
Don't think that Hercules be still that boy whom Alcmene once bore you;
His adulation of me makes him now god upon earth.
When toward Olympus he gazes, I've no doubt you hope that he's looking
Piously toward your knees. Hardly. He's looking for me.
Worthiest man! O the vision of winning my favor makes easy
Hitherto unexplored paths, under that powerful foot.
I do my part, for I meet him halfway and proclaim his adventures
Praising his name in advance, even before he's begun.
One day you'll wed me to Hercules. Hero who Amazons conquered
That day will overwhelm me. Happily I'll call him: spouse."
All of the gods kept their counsel, and none would reply to the braggart,
Lest in a pique she devise vengeance against one of them.
Cupid, escaping attention, slipped off to enslave, however, her hero:
Artlessly conquering by—force of a beautiful girl,
Afterward decked out his couple in mute masquerade: lionskin
Over her shoulders, the club leaned (by much toil) at her side;
Wiry stiff hair of the hero larded with blossoms, a distaff
Laid in his fist, to conform strength to the dalliance of love.
Scene now completed and ready to tease, he goes scampering, shouting
For all Olympus to hear: "Come, see these glorious deeds!
Heaven and Earth and the Sun on his indefatigable journey
Over that infinite path never did witness the like!"
Everyone hastened, gulled by the dissolute boy, who feigning
Earnest, had summoned them all (Fame by no means lagged behind).
Which of the gods will now smile in sweet condescension on Cupid?
—Juno! delighted, of course, seeing a man humbled so.
Fame, on the other hand, stood there ashamed, embarrassed, despairing.
First she just laughed, saying: "Gods, be not deceived. It's a masque.
I know my hero too well to be fooled by disguises of actors."
Soon, though, in pain she perceived: Hercules, none but he.
(Vulcan had not been one thousandth so vexed to discover his playmate
Under his meshes ensnared, caught with his own lusty friend,
Lying just as the wiles of the net at the most crucial moment
Deftly embraced their embrace, trapping their instant of joy.
How those boys, Bacchus and Mercury, guffawed, and freely admitted:
Sweet must be the repose, lying on bosom so fine
Of this magnificent woman. They turned to Vulcan entreating:
"Do not release them just yet. Let us inspect them once more."
And the old cuckold was cuckold enough to comply with their wishes.)
As for poor Fame, in all haste, burning with wrath she must flee.
Since then no armistice has been proclaimed to the feuding between them.
Let her but favor a man, hot in pursuit is the boy.
He whom Fame honors most can least defend against Cupid,
And her most dang'rous attacks strike the most morally proud.
Whoever tries to escape him is dragged down from bad deeds to worse ones.
Yes, he will offer you girls—if like a fool you despise
These, only then do you feel from his bow the arrows most vicious:
Heat of man's love for man, ardent desires toward beasts.
For those ashamed of him Cupid reserves the bitterest passions,
Mingling for hypocrites their pleasure in vice and remorse.
But, at the same time, the goddess seeks him, she's watching and list'ning.
Should find him with you, ill disposed will she be:
Frighten you, frowning austerely, contemptuously, violently casting
Into the worst of repute houses he's known to frequent.
Ah, it's the same with me, too. I haven't escaped her, the goddess.
Jealously she seeks me out, sweet secret love to expose.
I will submit to the ancient law and in silence revere her,
For, when great lords fall out, I like the Greeks must atone.
XXIII
However comely be strength, or free and undaunted comportment,
Secrecy is for a man most important of all.
Mighty subduer of cities, Discretion, O princess of nations,
Goddess whom I adore, safely you've led me thus far.
Now, though, what fate shall befall me? My frivolous muse has now opened
—Cupid, the scamp—opens lips hitherto sealed so well.
Difficult is it, alas, to conceal the shame of a monarch;
Hide it can neither his crown, nor a tight Phrygian cap:
Midas has asses ears! the first servant discovers—O horror!
Shame of this secret so weighs, Midas unburdens his heart.
Into the earth for safekeeping the servant must bury the story,
Easing in this way the king: earth must conceal the tale.
Reeds in a trice are sprouting and rustling in murmuring breezes:
"Midas, o Midas the King—bears the ears of an ass!"
Mine is a secret more pleasant, but even more difficult keeping:
Out of abundance of heart eagerly speaketh my mouth.
None of my ladyfriends dare I confide in, for they would but chide me;
Nor any gentleman friend, lest he be rival to me.
Rapture proclaim to the grove, to the echoing cliffs perorate it?
One can do that if one's young, or if one's lonely enough.
I to hexameters tell, in pentameters I will confide it:
During the day she was joy, happiness all the night long.
Courted by so many suitors, avoided the snares that were set her
Now by one bolder than I, now by another in guile,
Cleverly, daintily, always slipped past them, and sure of the byways,
Comes to her lover's embrace, where he so eagerly waits.
Luna! Don't rise yet. She's coming, and must not be seen by the neighbor!
Breezes, rustle the leaves: muffle the sound of her feet.
And as for you, little poems, o grow and flower, your blossoms
Cradling themselves in the air, tepid and soft with love's breath.
Wafting, betray to Quirites, as Midas' reeds did with cheap gossip,
One happy couple in love, and their sweet secret, at last.
XXIV
I in the back of the garden, the last of the gods, in a corner,
Ineptly formed, must I stand. Evil the inroads of time.
Cucumber vines grow entwining about this primeval lingam,
Cracking it almost in two under the weight of the fruit.
Faggots are heaped all about me against the cold of the winter,
Which I so hate for the crows settling then down on my head,
Which they befoul very shamefully. Summer's no better: the servants
Empty their bowels and show insolent, naked behinds.
Filth, above and below! I was clearly in danger of turning
Into filth myself, toadstool, rotten wood!
Now, by your efforts, O noblest of artists, I shall recover
With fellow gods my just place. And it's no more than my due.
Jupiter's throne, so dishonestly won, it was I who secured it:
Color and ivory, marble and bronze, not to mention the poems.
Now, all intelligent men look upon me in kindness. They like to
Form their own image of me, just as the poet has done.
Nor do the girls take offense when they see me—by no means the matrons.
None finds me ugly today, though I am monstrously strong.
Half a foot long, as reward, your glorious rod (dear poet)
Proudly shall strut from your loins, when but your dearest commands,
Nor shall your member grow weary until you've enjoyed the full dozen
Artful positions the great poet Philainis describes.