Some one may style my precepts harsh: I confess that they are harsh; but that you may recover, you will have to endure much that is to be lamented. Full oft, when ill, I have drunk of bitter potions, though reluctantly; and when I entreated for it, food has been refused me. To cure your body, you will have to endure iron and fire; and though thirsty, you will not refresh your parched lips with water. That you may be healed in spirit, will you refuse to submit to anything? Inasmuch as that part is ever of greater value than the body. But still, most difficult is the access to my art; and the one labour is how to endure the first moments of separation. Do you perceive how the yoke, at first, galls the oxen when caught? how the new girth hurts the flying steed?
Perhaps you will be loth to depart from your paternal home. But still you will depart; then you will be longing to return. No paternal home, but [1221] the love of your mistress, cloaking its own faultiness by specious words, will be calling you back. When once you have gone, the country, and your companions, and the long journey will afford a thousand solaces for your sorrow. And do not think it is enough to depart; be absent for a long time, until the flame has lost its power and the ashes are without their fire. If you shall hasten to return, except with your judgment strengthened, rebellious Love will be wielding his cruel arms against you. Suppose that, although you shall have absented yourself, you return both hungry and thirsty; will not all this delay even act to your detriment?
If any one supposes that the noxious herbs of the Hæmonian lands and magic arts can be of avail, let him see to it. That is the old-fashioned method of sorcery; my Apollo, in his hallowed lines, is pointing out an innoxious art. Under my guidance, no ghost shall be summoned to come forth [1222] from the tomb; no hag with her disgusting spells shall cleave the ground. No crops of corn shall remove from one field into another; nor shall the disk of Phoebus suddenly be pale. Tiberinus [1223] shall flow into the waves of the ocean just as he is wont; just as she is wont, shall the Moon be borne by her snow-White steeds. No breasts shall lay aside their cares dispelled by enchantments; vanquished by virgin sulphur, [1224] love shall not take to flight.
Colchian damsel, what did the herbs of the Phasian land avail thee, when thou didst desire to remain in thy native home? Of what use, Circe, were the herbs of thy mother Persia to thee, when the favouring breeze bore away the barks of Neritos? [1225] Every thing didst thou do that thy crafty guest might not depart; still did he give his filled sails to an assured flight.. Every thing didst thou do that the fierce flames might not consume thee; still a lasting passion settled deep in thy reluctant breast. Thou, who wast able to change men into a thousand shapes, wast not able to change the bent of thy own inclination. Thou art said to have detained the Lulicillan chief, [1226] when now he wished to depart, even in these words:
"I do not now entreat that which, as I remember, I was at first wont to hope for, that thou shouldst consent to be my husband. And still, I did seem worthy to be thy wife, since I was a Goddess, since I was the daughter of the Sun. Hasten not away, I entreat thee; a little delay, as a favour, do I ask. What less can he prayed for by my entreaties? Thou seest, too, that the seas are troubled; and of them thou oughtst to stand in dread. Before long, the winds will be more favourable to thy sails. What is the cause of thy flight? No Troy is rising here anew; no fresh Rhesus is calling his companions to arms. Here love abides, here peace exists; during which I alone am fatally wounded; the whole, too, of my realms shall be under thy sway."
She thus spoke; Ulysses unmoored his bark; the South winds bore away her unavailing words together with his sails. Circe was inflamed, and had recourse to her wonted arts; and still by them her passion was not diminished.
Come, then, whoever you are, that require aid from my skill, away with all belief in spells and charms. If some weighty reason shall detain you in the City mistress of the world, hear what is my advice in the City. He is the best assertor of his liberties who bursts the chains that gall his breast, and once for all ceases to grieve. If any one has so much courage, even I myself will admire him, and I shall say, "This man stands in no need of my admonitions." You who with difficulty are learning how not to love the object which you love; who are not able, and still would wish to be able, will require to be instructed by me. Full oft recall to your remembrance the deeds of the perfidious fair one, and place all your losses before your eyes.' Say, "This thing and that of mine does she keep; and not content with that spoliation, she has put up for sale [1227] my paternal home. Thus did she swear to me; thus having sworn, did she deceive me. How oft has she suffered me to be before her doors! She herself loves other men; by me she loathes to be loved. Some hawker, [1228] alas! enjoys those nights which she grants not to myself."
Let all these points ferment throughout your entire feelings; repeat them over and over hence seek the first germs of your hate. And would that you could be even eloquent upon them! Do' you only grieve; of your own accord you will be fluent. My attentions were lately paid to a certain fair one; to my passion she was not favourably disposed. Sick, like Podalirius, [1229] I cured myself with the proper herbs, and (I confess it) though a physician, to my shame, I was sick. It did me good to be ever dwelling upon the failings of my mistress; and that, when done, often proved wholesome for me. "How ill formed," I used to say, "are the legs of my mistress!" and yet, to confess the truth, they were not. "How far from beautiful are the arms of my mistress!" and yet, to confess the truth, they were. "How short she is!" and yet she was not; "How much does she beg of her lover?" From that arose the greatest cause of my hatred.
There are good qualities, too, near akin to bad ones; by reason of confounding one for the other, [1230] a virtue has often borne the blame for a vice. So far as you can, depreciate the endowments of the fair one, and impose upon your own judgment by the narrow line that separates good from bad. If she is embonpoint, let her be called flabby, if she is swarthy, black. Leanness may be charged against her slender form. She, too, who is not coy may be pronounced bold; and if she is discreet, she may be pronounced a prude. Besides, in whatever accomplishment your mistress is deficient, ever be entreating her, in complimentary accents, to turn her attention to the same. If any damsel is without a voice, request her to sing; if any fair one does not know how to move her hands [1231] with gracefulness, make her dance. Is she imeouth in her language, make her talk frequently to you; has she not learnt how to touch the strings, call for the lyre.
Does she walk heavily, make her walk; does a swelling bosom cover all her breast, let no stomacher [1232] conceal it. If her teeth are bad, tell her something for her to laugh at: is she tender-eyed, relate something for her to weep at.