No More Learning

Besides; when, of late, [734] Caesar, on the representation of a rival
fight, introduced [735] the Persian and Athenian ships; in truth, from
both seas came youths, from both came the fair; and in the City was the
whole of the great world. Who, in that throng, did not find an object
for him to love? How many, alas! did a foreign flame torment? See! Caesar
prepares [736] to add what was wanting to the world subdued; now, remote
East, our own shalt thou be! Parthian, thou shalt give satisfaction;
entombed Crassi, rejoice; [737] ye standards, too, that disgracefully
submitted to barbarian hands. Your avenger is at hand, and proves
himself a general in his earliest years; and, while a boy, is conducting
a war not fitted to be waged by a boy. Cease, in your fears, to count
the birth-days of the Gods: [738] valour is the lot of the Caesars, in
advance of their years. The divine genius rises more rapidly than its
years, and brooks not the evils of slow delay. The Tirynthian hero was
a baby, and he crushed two serpents in his hands; even in his cradle he
was already worthy of Jove. Bacchus, who even now art a boy, how mighty
wast thou then, when conquered India dreaded thy thyrsi! With the
auspices and the courage of thy sire, thou, Youth, shalt wield arms; and
with the courage and the auspices of thy sire shalt thou conquer. Such
first lessons are thy due, under a name so great; now the first of the
youths, [739] at a future day to be the first of the men. Since thou
hast brothers, [740] avenge thy brethren slain; and since thou hast
a sire, [741] vindicate the rights of thy sire. He, the father of thy
country and thine own, hath put thee in arms; the enemy is tearing
realms away from thy reluctant sire. Thou wilt wield the weapons of
duty, the foe arrows accursed; before thy standard, Justice and Duty
will take their post. By the badness of their cause, the Parthians are
conquered; in arms, too, may they be overcome; may my hero add to Latium
the wealth of the East. Both thou, father Mars, and thou, father Caesar,
grant your divine favour as he sets out; for the one of you is now a
Deity, thou, the other, wilt so be.


What, Parthian, dost thou leave to the conquered, who dost fly that thou
mayst overcome? Parthian, even now has thy mode of warfare an unhappy
omen. And will that day then come, on which thou, the most graceful
of all objects, glittering with gold, shalt go, drawn by the four
snow-white steeds? Before thee shall walk the chiefs, their necks laden
with chains; that they may no longer, as formerly, be secure in flight.
The joyous youths, and the mingled fair, shall be looking on; and that
day shall gladden the minds of all. And when some one of the fair shall
enquire the names of the Monarchs, what places, what mountains, or what
rivers are borne in the procession; answer to it all; and not only
if she shall make any inquiry; even what you know not, relate, as though
known perfectly well. *

This is the Euphrates, [742] with his forehead encircled with reeds; the
one whose [743] azure hair is streaming down, will be the Tigris. Make
these to be the Armenians; this is Persia, sprung from Danae; [744]
that was a city in the vales of Achae-menes. This one or that will be the
leaders; and there will be names for you to call them by; correctly, if
you can; if not, still by such as suggest themselves.

Banquets, too, with the tables arranged, afford an introduction; there
is something there besides wine for you to look for. Full oft does
blushing Cupid, with his delicate arms, press the soothed horns of
Bacchus there present. And when the wine has besprinkled the soaking
wings of Cupid, there he remains and stands overpowered on the spot of
his capture. He, indeed, quickly flaps his moistened wings; but still it
is fatal [745] for the breast to be sprinkled by Love. Wine composes to
choose an object for you to love, where to lay your nets. Now, I attempt
to teach you, by what arts she must be captured who has pleased you, a
work of especial skill. Ye men, whoever you are, and in every spot, give
attention eager to be informed; and give, all people, a favourable ear
to the realization of my promises. First of all, let a confidence enter
your mind, that all women may be won; you will win them; do you only lay
your toils. Sooner would the birds be silent in spring, the grasshoppers
in summer, sooner would the Maenalian dog turn its back upon the hare,
than the fair, attentively courted, would resist the youth. She,
however, will wish you to believe, so far as you can, that she is
reluctant.

Lo! I utter a prophecy; thou wilt conquer, and I shall offer the
lines which I have vowed; and with a loud voice wilt thou have to be
celebrated by me. Thou wilt there he taking thy stand, and in my
words thou wilt be animating thy troops. O that my words may not prove
unworthy of thy spirit! I will celebrate both the backs of the Parthians
as they fly, and the valour of the Romans, and the darts and the
feelings, and makes them ready to be inflamed; care flies, and is
drenched with plenteous wine. Then come smiles; then the poor man
resumes his confidence then grief and cares and the wrinkles of the
forehead depart. Then candour, most uncommon in our age, reveals the
feelings, the God expelling _all_ guile. On such occasions, full oft
have the fair captivated the hearts of the youths; and Venus amid
wine, has proved flames in flame. Here do not you trust too much to the
deceiving lamp; [746] both night and wine are unsuited to a judgment
upon beauty. In daylight, and under a clear sky, did Paris view the
Goddesses, when he said to Venus: "Thou, Venus, dost excel them both. "
By night, blemishes are concealed, and pardon is granted to every
imperfection; and that hour renders every woman beauteous. Consult
the daylight about jewels, about wool steeped in purple; consult the
daylight about the figure and the proportion.

Why enumerate the resorts of fair ones suited for your search? The sands
would yield to my number. Why mention Baiae, [747] and the shores covered
with sails, and the waters which send forth the smoke from the
warm sulphur? Many a one carrying thence a wound in his breast, has
exclaimed; "This water was not so wholesome as it was said to be. " See,
too, the temple in the grove of suburban Diana, and the realms acquired
with the sword by hostile hand. [748] Because she is a virgin, because
she hates the darts of Cupid, she has given many a wound to the public,
_and_ will give many _still. _

Thus far, Thalia borne upon unequal wheels, [749] teaches where the
foeman hurls from his flying steed.

As stealthy courtship is pleasing to the man, so, too, is it to the
fair. The man but unsuccessfully conceals his passion; with more
concealment does she desire. Were it agreed among the males not to be
the first to entreat any female, the conquered fair would soon act the
part of the suppliant. In the balmy meads, the female lows after the
bull; the female is always neighing after the horny-hoofed horse.
Passion in us is more enduring, and not so violent; among men the flame
has reasonable bounds. Why mention Byblis, who burned with a forbidden
passion for her brother, and who resolutely atoned with the halter for
her crimes? Myrrha loved her father, but not as a daughter ought; and
she now lies hid, overwhelmed by the bark [750] that grew over her.
With her tears too, which she distils from the odoriferous tree, are we
perfumed; and the drops still retain the name of their mistress.

By chance, in the shady vales of the woody Ida, there was a white hull,
the glory of the herd, marked with a little black in the middle between
his horns; there was but one spot; the rest was of the complexion of
milk. The heifers of Gnossus and of Cydon [751] sighed to mate with him.
Pasiphae delighted to become the paramour of the bull; in her jealousy
she hated the beauteous cows. I sing of facts well known: Crete, which
contains its hundred cities, untruthful as it is, [752] cannot gainsay
them. She herself is said to have cut down fresh leaves and the
tenderest grass with hand unused to such employment.

She goes as the companion of the herds; so going, no regard for her
husband restrains her; and by a bull [753] is Minos conquered. "Of what
use, Pasiphae, is it to put on those costly garments? This love of thine
understands nothing about wealth. What hast thou to do with a mirror,
when accompanying the herds of the mountain? Why, foolish one, art
thou so often arranging thy smoothed locks? Still, do thou believe that
mirror, that denies that thou art a heifer. How much couldst thou wish
for horns to spring up upon thy forehead! If Minos still pleases thee,
let no paramour be sought; but if thou wouldst rather deceive thy
husband, deceive him through a being that is human. "

Her chamber abandoned, the queen is borne over the groves and the
forests, just as a Bacchanal impelled by the Aonian God. Alas! how oft
with jealous look does she eye a cow, and say, "Why is she thus pleasing
to my love? See how she skips before him on the tender grass! I make no
doubt that the fool thinks that it is becoming to her. " Thus she spoke,
and at once ordered her to be withdrawn from the vast herd, and, in her
innocence, to be dragged beneath the bending yoke; or else she forced
her to fall before the altars, and rites feigned for the purpose; and,
with joyous hand, she held the entrails of her rival. How often did she
propitiate the Deities with her slain rivals, and say, as she held the
entrails, "Now go and charm my love! " And sometimes she begged that she
might become Europa, sometimes Io; because the one was a cow, the other
borne upon a bull. Still, deceived by a cow made of maple-wood, the
leader of the herd impregnated her; and by the offspring was the sire
[754] betrayed.

If the Cretan dame [755] had withheld from love for Thyestes (alas! how
hard it is for a woman possibly to be pleasing to one man only! ) Phoebus
would not have interrupted his career in the midst, and, his chariot
turned back, retreated, with his returning steeds, to the morn. The
daughter, who spoiled [756] Nisus of his purple locks, presses beneath
her thigh and groin the raving dogs. The son of Atreus, who escaped from
Mars by land, and Neptune on the waves, was the mournful victim of his
wife. By whom have not been lamented the flames [757] of the Ephyrean
Creusa? Medea, the parent, too, stained with the blood of her children?
Phoenix, the son of Amyntor, [758] wept with his blinded eyes; you,
startled steeds, tore Hippolytus in pieces. Why, Phineus, dost thou tear
out the eyes of thy guiltless sons? [759] That punishment will revert to
thy own head.

All these things have been caused by the passion of females. It is more
violent than ours, and has more frenzy _in it_. Come then, and doubt not
that you can conquer all the fair: out of so many, there will be hardly
one to deny you. What they yield, and what they refuse, still are they
glad to be asked for. Even if you are deceived, your repulse is
without danger. But why should you be deceived, since new pleasures are
delightful, and since what is strange attracts the feelings more than
what is one's own? [760] The crop [761] of corn is always more fertile
in the fields of other people; and the herds of our neighbours have
their udders more distended.

But first, be it your care to make acquaintance with the handmaid of the
fair one to be courted; she can render your access easy. [762] Take
care that she is deep in the secrets of her mistress, and not too little
entrusted with her secret frolics. Her do you bribe with promises, her
with entreaties; you will obtain what you ask with little trouble, if
she shall be willing. Let her choose the time (physicians, even, watch
their time) when the feelings of her mistress are pliant, and easy to
be influenced. Then will her feelings be easily influenced, when, in the
best humour in the world, she shall be smiling, just as the corn on the
rich soil. While hearts are joyous, and not closed by sadness, _then_
are they assailable; then with soothing arts does Venus steal on apace.
At the time when Troy was in sorrow, she was defended by arms; when
joyous, she admitted the horse pregnant with its soldiers. Then, too,
must she be assailed, when she shall be fretting on being offended by a
rival; then effect it by your means that she go not unrevenged. Let her
handmaid, as she combs her hair in the morning, urge her on; and to the
sail let her add the resources of the oar. And, sighing to herself, let
her say, in gentle murmurs: "In my idea, you yourself cannot pay him in
return. " [763] Then let her talk about you; then let her add persuasive
expressions; and let her swear that you are perishing with frantic
passion. But speed on, let not the sails fall, and the breezes lull:
like brittle ice, anger disappears in lapse of time.

You inquire if it is of use [764] to win the handmaid herself? In such
attempts there is a great risk. This one becomes _more_ zealous after
an intrigue; that one more tardy; the one procures you as a gift for her
mistress, the other for her own self. The result is doubtful; although
she should favour your advances, still it is my advice, to refrain from
so doing. I shall not go over headlong _tracks_, and over sharp crags;
and, under my guidance, no youth shall be deceived. Even if she pleases
you, while she gives and receives the letters, by her person, and not
only by her zealousness alone; take care and gain her mistress first;
let the other follow as her companion; your courtship must not be
commenced with a servant-maid. This one thing I advise you (if you only
put some trust in my skill, and if the boisterous wind does not bear my
words over the seas): either do not attempt, or else do you persist;
the informer is removed, when once she herself has shared in the
criminality. The bird does not easily escape when its wings are
bird-limed; the boar does not readily get away from the loose nets: the
wounded fish can be held by the hook it has seized. Once tried, press
her hard, and do not retreat, but as the conqueror. Then, guilty of
a fault that is common to you both, she will not betray you; and the
sayings and doings of her mistress will be well known to you. But let
this be well concealed; if your informant shall be well concealed, your
mistress will ever be under your eye.

He is mistaken who supposes that time is the object of those only who
till the fields, and is to be observed by mariners alone. Neither must
the corn be always trusted to the treacherous soil; nor the hollow ships
at all times to the green waves; nor is it safe to be ever angling
for the charming fair. The same thing may often be better done when
an opportunity offers. Whether it is her birthday [765] that comes, or
whether the Calends, [766] which Venus delights to have as the successor
of the month of Mars; or whether the Circus shall be adorned, not with
statues, as it was before, but shall be containing the wealth of kings
[767] exposed to view; delay your project; then the storm is boisterous,
then the Pleiades prevail; [768] then, the tender Kid is sinking in the
ocean wave. Then, 'tis well to desist; then, if one trusts the deep,
with difficulty he grasps the shipwrecked fragments of his dismantled
bark. You may make a beginning on the day on which tearful Allia [769]
was stained with the blood of the Latian wounds; on the day, too,
when the festival recurs, observed each seventh day by the Syrian of
Palestine, a day not suited for [770] the transaction of business.

Great must be [771] your dread of the birthday of your mistress, and
unlucky be that day on which any present must be made. Though you
should cleverly avoid her, still she will spoil you; a woman finds
contrivances, by means of which to plunder the riches of the eager
lover. The loosely-clad pedlar [772] will be coming to your mistress,
so fond of buying, and while you are by, will be exposing his wares. She
wills ask you to examine them, only that you may appear to be knowing;
then she will give you a kiss, and then entreat you to purchase. She
will swear that she will be content with this for many a year; she will
say that now she has need of it, now it may be bought a bargain. If you
shall make the excuse that you have not the money at home to give; a
promissory note [773] will be asked for; it would then profit you not to
have learned [774] to write. Besides, too; when she asks for a present,
as though for the birth-day cake, [775] and is born for her own pleasure
as often as she pleases. And further; when, full of tears, she laments
her pretended loss, and the jewel [776] is feigned to have fallen from
her pierced ear. They ask for many a sum to be lent them; so lent, they
have no inclination to return them. You lose the whole; and no thanks
are there for your loss. Had I ten mouths, with tongues as many, they
would not suffice for me to recount the abominable contrivances of
courtesans.

Let the wax that is poured upon the polished tablets first try the ford;
let the wax first go as the messenger of your feelings. Let it carry
your compliments; and whoever you are, add expressions that feign you
to be in love, and entreaties not a few. Achilles, moved with his
entreaties, granted Hector to Priam; an angered Divinity is moved by the
voice of entreaty. Take care to make promises: for what harm is there in
promising? Any person whatever can be rich in promises. Hope, if she
is only once cherished, holds out for a long time; she is, indeed, a
deceitful Goddess, but still a convenient one. Should you give her [777]
anything, you may for that reason be abandoned by her: she will bear off
the gift by-gone, and will have lost nothing in return. But that which
you have not given, you may always seem as though about to give; thus
has the sterile field full oft deceived its owner. So the gambler, in
order that he may not lose, does not cease to lose; and the alluring
dice ever recall the anxious hand. This is the task, this the labour;
to gain her without even the first present. What she has once given, she
will always give, that she may not have granted to no purpose. Let the
letter go then, and let it be couched in tender expressions; and let it
ascertain her feelings, and be the first to feel its way. A letter borne
upon an apple [778] deceived Cydippe; and by her own words the fair was
unconsciously caught.

Youths of Rome, learn, I recommend you, the liberal arts; and not only
that you may defend the trembling accused. Both the public, and the
grave judge, and the silent Senate, as well as the fair, conquered by
your eloquence, shall extend their hands. [779] But let your power lie
concealed: and do not be eloquent at the first. Let your letters avoid
difficult words. Who, but one bereft of sense, would declaim before a
charming mistress? Full oft has a letter proved a powerful cause for
hatred. Let your language be intelligible, and your words the usual
ones; but pleasing, so that you may seem to be speaking in person.
Should she not accept your letter, and send it back unread, hope that
she will read it, and persist in your design. In time the stubborn oxen
come beneath the ploughs: in time the steeds are taught to submit to the
flowing reins: by continued use the ring of iron [780] is consumed: by
being in the ground continually, the crooked plough is worn out. What is
there harder than stone? What more yielding than water? Yet hard stones
are hollowed out by yielding water. Only persist, and in time you will
overcome Penelope herself. You see that Pergamus was taken after a long
time; still, it was taken.

If she reads it, and will not write in answer, do not attempt to compel
her. Do you only make her to be continually reading your flattering
lines. What she has been pleased to read, she will be pleased to answer
when read. _All_ these things will come in their turn, and by degrees.
Perhaps even, at first, a discouraging letter will come to you; and one
that entreats you not to wish to molest her. What she entreats you
_to do_, she dreads; what she does not entreat you _to do, namely_,
to persist, she wishes you _to do_. Press on; and soon you will be the
gainer of your desires. In the meantime, if she shall be carried lying
along upon her couch, do you, as though quite by accident, approach the
litter of your mistress; and that no one may give a mischievous ear to
your words, cunningly conceal, them so far as you can in doubtful signs.
If, with sauntering foot, the spacious Portico is paced by her; here,
too, do you bestow your leisure in her attendance. And sometimes do you
take care to go before; sometimes follow behind; and sometimes be in a
hurry, and sometimes walk leisurely. And be not ashamed to pass from
the throng under some of the columns, [781] or to walk with her, side by
side. And let her not be seated long without you in the curving Theatre;
in her shoulders she will bring something for you to be spectator of.
Her you may gaze upon, her you may admire; much may you say by your
brows, much by your gestures. Clap too, when the actor is dancing [782]
in the part of some damsel; and whatever lover is represented, him
applaud. Rise when she rises; sit as long as she is seated; employ your
time at the caprice of your mistress.

But let it not please you to curl your hair with the irons: [783] and
rub not your legs with the rough pumice. [784] Bid those do this, [785] in
whose Phrygian notes the Cybeleian Mother is celebrated by their yells.
A neglect of beauty becomes men, Theseus bore off the daughter of
Minos, though his temples were bedecked by no crisping-pin. Phaedra loved
Hippolytus, [786] and he was not finely trimmed. Adonis, habituated to
the woods, was the care of a Goddess. But let neatness please you;
let your body be bronzed on the Plain of Mars: [787] let your robe be
well-fitting, and without a spot. Let your tongue, too, not be clammy;
[788] your teeth free from yellowness; and let not your foot wallop
about, losing itself in the shoe down at heel. Let not the cutting
shockingly disfigure your hair bolt upright; let your locks, let your
beard be trimmed by a skilful hand. Let your nails, too, not be jagged,
and let them be without dirt; and let no hairs project from the cavities
of your nostrils. And let not the breath of your ill-smelling mouth be
offensive; and let not the husband and the father of the flock [789]
offend the nostrils. The rest, allow the luxurious fair to do; and any
man that perchance disgracefully seeks to attract another.

Lo! Bacchus calls his own Poet: he, too, aids those who love; and he
encourages the flame with which he burns himself. The Gnossian fair was
wandering distractedly on the unknown sands, where little Dia is beaten
by the ocean waves.
And, just as she was _on awaking_ from her sleep,
[790] clothed in a loose tunic, with bare feet, and having her yellow
hair loose, she was exclaiming to the deaf waves that Theseus was cruel,
while the piteous shower of tears was moistening her tender cheeks. She
exclaimed, and at the same moment she wept; but both became her, nor
was she rendered unsightly by her tears. And now again beating her most
beauteous bosom with her hands, she cried--"That perfidious man has
gone; what will become of me? "

"What will become of me? " she said; when cymbals resounded over all the
shore, and tambourines were beaten with frantic hand. She dropped down
with alarm, and stopped short in her closing words; and no blood was
there in her lifeless body. See! the Mimallonian females, [791] with
their locks flowing on their backs; see! the nimble Satyrs, the throng
preceding the God; sec! Silenus, the drunken old man, [792] on his
bending ass, sits there with difficulty, and holds fast by the mane that
he presses. While he follows the Bacchanals, the Bacchanals both fly
and return: while the unskilful rider is goading on his animal with his
stick, slipping from the long-eared ass, he tumbles upon his head. The
Satyrs cry aloud, "Come, rise up; rise, father! " Now, the God, from
his chariot, the top of which he had wreathed with grapes, loosened
the golden reins for the tigers yoked to it. Both her complexion, and
Theseus, and her voice forsook the fair one; and thrice she attempted
flight, and thrice was she detained by fear. She shuddered, just as the
barren ears of corn, which the wind shakes; just as the slender reed
quivers in the swampy marsh.

To her the Divinity said, "Lo! I come to thee a more constant lover;
damsel of Gnossus, lay aside thy fear, the wife of Bacchus shalt thou
be. Receive heaven as my gift: a conspicuous Constellation in the
heavens, full oft, Cretan Diadem, [793] shalt thou direct the veering
bark. " Thus he said; and he leapt from the chariot, that she might not
be in dread of the tigers; the sand yielded to his foot placed upon it.
And folding her in his bosom he bore her off; for to struggle she was
unable: how easy 'tis for a God to be able to do anything. Some sing
"Hymenaeus," some cry "Evie, Evoe! " [794] Thus are the God and his bride
united in holy wedlock.

Therefore, when the gifts of Bacchus placed before you fall to your lot,
and the fair one shall be a sharer in the convivial couch; pray both to
father Nyctelius, and his nocturnal rites, that they will bid the wine
not to take effect on your head. Here, in secret discourse, you may say
to her many a free word, which she may understand is addressed to her;
and you may trace out short compliments with a little wine, so that she
may read on the table [795] that she is your favorite; and look on her
eyes with eyes that confess your flame; the silent features often have
both words and expression. Take care to be the next to seize the cup
that has been touched by her lips; and drink from the side [796] that
the fair drinks from. And whatever food she shall have touched with her
fingers, [797] do you reach for it; and while you are reaching, her hand
may be touched by you. Let it also be your object to please the husband
of the fair; _once_ made a friend, he will be more serviceable for your
designs. If you are drinking by lot, [798] grant him the first turn: let
the chaplet, taken from your own head, be presented to him. Whether he
is below you, or whether your neighbour, let him help Himself to every
thing first; and do not hesitate to speak only after he has spoken.
Secure and much frequented is the path, for deceiving through the name
of friendship. Secure and much frequented though that path be; _still_
it is to be condemned. For this cause 'tis that the agent attends even
too much [799] to his agency, and thinks that more things ought to be
looked after by him than those entrusted to him.

A sure rule for drinking shall be given you by me: let both your mind and
your feet ever observe their duty. Especially avoid quarrels stimulated
by wine, and hands too ready for savage warfare. Eurytion [801] met his
death from foolishly quaffing the wine set before him. Banquets and
wine are rather suited for pleasant mirth. If you have a voice, sing; if
pliant arms, dance; and by whatever talent you can amuse, amuse. As real
drunkenness offends, so feigned _inebriety_ will prove of service. Let
your deceiving tongue stutter with lisping accents; so that whatever you
shall do or say with more freedom than usual, it may be supposed that
excess of wine is the cause. And express all good wishes for your
mistress; all good wishes for him who shares her couch; but in your
silent thoughts pray for curses on her husband. But when, the tables
removed, the guests shall be going, (the very crowd will afford you
access and room) mix in the throng: and quietly stealing up [802] to her
as she walks, twitch her side with your fingers; and touch her foot with
your foot.

Now is the time come for some conversation: fly afar hence, coy
bashfulness, let Chance and Venus befriend the daring. Let your
eloquence not be subject to any laws of mine; only make a beginning,
of your own accord you will prove fluent. You must act the lover, and
wounds must be feigned in your words. Hence let confidence be sought by
you, by means of any contrivances whatever. And 'tis no hard matter to
be believed; each woman seems to herself worthy to be loved. Though she
be ugly in the extreme, to no one are her own looks displeasing. Yet
often, he that pretends to love, begins in reality: full oft he becomes
that which in the beginning he feigned to be. For this cause, the
rather, O ye fair, be propitious to those who pretend. That passion will
become real, which so lately was feigned.

Now be it your part stealthily to captivate her affection by attentions;
just as the shelving bank is encroached on by the flowing stream. Be not
tired of praising either her face or her hair; her taper fingers too,
and her small foot. The praise of their beauty pleases even the chaste;
their charms are the care and the pleasure of even maidens. For, why,
even now, are Juno and Pallas ashamed at not having gained the decision
in the Phrygian groves? The bird of Juno [803] exposes her feathers,
when praised; if you look at them in silence, she conceals her
treasures. Amid the contests of the rapid course, their trimmed manes,
and their patted necks, delight the steeds.

Promise, too, without hesitation: promises attract the fair: make any
Gods you please to be witnesses of what you promise. Jupiter, from on
high, smiles at the perjuries of lovers, and commands the AEolian South
winds to sweep them away as worthless, Jupiter was accustomed to swear
falsely to Juno by the Styx: now is he himself indulgent to his own
precedent. 'Tis expedient that there should be Gods; [804] and as it is
expedient, let us believe them to exist. Let frankincense and wine be
presented on their ancient altars. No repose, free from care and similar
to sleep, possesses them; live in innocence, for a Divinity is ever
present. Restore the pledge; let piety observe her duties; be there no
fraud; keep your hands free from bloodshed.

Deceive, if you are wise, the fair alone with Impunity; for this one
piece of deceit only is good faith to be disregarded. Deceive the
deceivers; in a great measure they are all a guilty race; let them
fall into the toils which they have spread. Egypt is said to have been
without showers that refresh the fields: and to have been parched during
nine years. When Thrasius went to Busiris, [805] and showed that Jupiter
could be propitiated by shedding the blood of strangers; to him Busiris
said, "Thou shalt become the first sacrifice to Jove, and, a stranger,
thou shalt produce rain for Egypt. " Phalaris, too, burnt in the bull the
limbs of the cruel Perillus; the unhappy inventor was the first to make
proof of his work. Each of them was just; and, indeed, no law is there
more righteous, than that the contrivers of death should perish by their
own contrivances. Therefore, since perjuries with justice impose upon
the perjured, let woman grieve, deceived through a precedent her own.

Tears, too, are of utility: by tears you will move adamant. Make her,
if you can, to see your moistened cheeks. If tears shall fail you, for
indeed they do not always come in time, touch your eyes with your wet
hand. What discreet person would not mingle kisses with tender words?
Though she should not grant them; still take them ungranted. Perhaps she
will struggle at first, and will say, "You naughty man! " still, in her
struggling, she will wish to be overcome. Only, let them not, rudely
snatched, hurt her tender lips, and take care that she may not be able
to complain that they have proved a cause of pain. He who has gained
kisses, if he cannot gain the rest as well, will deserve to lose even
that which has been granted him. How much is there wanting for unlimited
enjoyment after a kiss! Oh shocking! 'twere _downright_ clownishness,
and not modesty. Call it violence, if you like; such violence is
pleasing to the fair; they often wish, through compulsion, to grant what
they are delighted _to grant_. Whatever fair one has been despoiled by
the sudden violence of passion, she is delighted at it; and the chief is
as good as a godsend. But she, who, when she might have been carried
by storm, has escaped untouched, though, in her features, she should
pretend gladness, will _really_ be sorry. Phoebe suffered [806]
violence; to her sister was violence offered; and pleasing was either
ravisher to the ravished. The damsel of Scyros being united to the
Haemonian hero, is a well-known story indeed, but not unworthy to be
related.

Now, the Goddess, worthy to conquer the other two at the foot of mount
Ida, had given her reward of the approval of her beauty. Now, from a
distant region, had a daughter-in-law come to Priam: and within Ilian
walls there was a Grecian wife. All swore in the words of the affronted
husband; for the grief of one was the common cause. A disgraceful thing,
had he not yielded in this to the entreaties of his mother, Achilles
had concealed his manhood by the long garments. What art thou doing,
descendant of AEacus? The wool is no task of thine. Do thou seek glory by
other arts of Pallas. What hast thou to do with work-baskets? [807] Thy
hand is fitted for holding the shield. Why hold the allotted flax in thy
right hand, by which Hector shall fall? Spurn those spindles enwrapped
in the laborious warp; the lance from Pelion is to be brandished by that
hand. By chance in the same chamber there was a royal maiden; in her
own undoing she found that he was a male. By force, indeed, was she
overcome, so we must believe: but still, by force was she willing to
be overcome. Many a time did she say, "Stay," when now Achilles was
hastening _to depart_; for, the distaff laid aside, he had assumed
valiant arms. Where now is this violence? Why, with gentle voice,
Deidamia, dost thou detain the perpetrator of thy disgrace? As,
forsooth, there is shame in first beginning at any time, so 'tis
pleasing _to the fair_ to submit, when the other takes the initiative.

Alas! too great is the confidence of any youth in his own good looks, if
he awaits for her to be the first to ask him. Let the man make the first
approaches; let the man use words of entreaty; she will kindly receive
his soft entreaties. To gain _your wish_, ask; _she only wishes to be
asked_. Tell her the cause and the origin of your desires. Jupiter came
as a suppliant to the Heroines of olden times; [808] no fair one found
fault with great Jove. But if you perceive puffed-up vanity to be the
result of your prayers, desist from your design, and withhold your
advances. Many desire that which flies from them, and hate that which
is close at hand. By pressing on less eagerly, remove all weariness of
yourself. Nor must your hope of enjoyment be always confessed by you as
you entreat; let Love make his entrance concealed beneath the name of
friendship. By this introduction, I have seen the prudish fair deceived;
he who was the friend, became the lover. A fair complexion is unbecoming
in a sailor; he ought to be swarthy, from the spray of the sea and the
rays of the sun. It is unbecoming, too, to the husbandman, who, with his
crooked plough and his heavy harrows, is always turning up the ground
in the open air. And if your body is fair, you, by whom the glory of the
chaplet of Pallas [809] is sought, you will be unsightly.

Let every one that is in love be pale; that is the proper complexion for
one in love. That is becoming; from your features, let the fair think
that you are not in good health. Pale with love for Lyrice, [810] did
Orion wander in the woods; pale for the Naiad, in her indifference,
was Daphnis. [811] Thinness, too, shows the feelings; and think it no
disgrace to put a hood over your shining looks. Let sleepless nights
attenuate the bodies of the youths; care, too, and the grief that
proceeds from violent love. That you may gain your desires, be wretched,
that he who sees you may be able to say, "You are in love. "

Shall I complain, or _only_ remind you how all right and wrong is
confused? Friendship is but a name, constancy an empty title. Alas!
alas! it is not safe to praise the object that you love to your friend.
When he has credited your praises, he supplants you. But the descendant
of Actor did not defile the couch of Achilles; so far as Pirithous was
concerned, Phaedra was chaste. Pylades [812] loved Hermione, with the
affection with which Phoebus loved Pallas; and he was such, daughter
of Tyndarus, as thy twin brother Castor was towards thee. If any one
expects the same, let him expect that the tamarisks will bear apples,
and let him look for honey in the middle of the stream. Nothing pleases
but what is base; his own gratification is the object of each. This,
too, becomes pleasant from the sorrow of another. Oh disgraceful
conduct! no enemy is to be dreaded by the lover. Shun those whom you
think trustworthy; then you will be safe. Shun your kinsman, and your
brother, and your dear friend; this class will cause you real alarm.

I was _here_ about to conclude; but there are various dispositions in
the fair; treat these thousand dispositions in a thousand _different_
ways. The same soil does not produce everything; one suits the vine,
another the olive; in this, corn springs up vigorously. There are as
many characters in these various dispositions, as there are forms in
the world; the man that is wise, will adapt himself to these innumerable
characters. And as at one moment Proteus will make himself flow in
running water; and now will be a lion, now a tree, now a shaggy goat.
These fish are taken with a dart, [813] those with hooks; these the
encircling nets draw up, the rope being extended. And let no one method
be adopted by you for all years. The aged hind will espy from a greater
distance your contrivances. Should you seem learned to the ignorant,
or forward to the bashful, she will at once distrust herself, now
apprehensive. Thence it happens, that she who has dreaded to trust
herself to the well-bred man, _often_ falls into the embrace of some
worthless inferior.

A part remains of the task which I have undertaken, a part is completed;
here let the anchor, thrown out, hold fast my bark.




BOOK THE SECOND.

|Sing, "Io Paean" [901] and "Io Paean" twice sing; the prey that was sought
has fallen into our toils. Let the joyous lover present my lines with
the verdant palm; to _Hesiod_ the Ascraean and to _Homer_ the Maeonian
old man shall I be preferred. Such did the stranger son of Priam set his
whitening sails from the armed Amyclae, [902] together with the ravished
wife. Such was he who bore thee, Hippodamia, in his victorious chariot,
carried by the wheels of the stranger. Why hasten then, young man?
Thy ship is sailing in the midst of the waves; and far distant is the
harbour for which I make. It is not enough, me your Poet, for the fair
to be gained by you. Through my skill has she been acquired; through my
skill must she be retained. 'Tis no less merit to keep what is acquired,
than to gain it. In the former there is some chance; in the latter will
be a work of art.

Now, if ever, Boy _Cupid_ and Cytherea, be propitious _to me_: now,
Erato; [903] for thou hast a name from Love. Great attempts do I
contemplate; to tell by what means Love can be arrested, the Boy that
wanders over the world so wide. He is both inconstant, and he has two
wings with which to fly. 'Tis an arduous task to impose laws on these.

Minos had obstructed all means of escape to the stranger. He discovered
a bold path [904] with his wings. When Daedalus had enclosed the man
half-bull, and the bull half-man, that was conceived in the criminality
of his mother; he said, "Most just Minos, let there be a termination of
my exile; and let my paternal land receive my ashes. And since, harassed
by the cruel Destinies, I cannot live in my country, let me be enabled
to die. If the merits of an old man are but small, grant a return to
this boy; if thou art unwilling to favour the boy, then favour the old
man. " This he said: but both this and many more things he might have
said; the other did not permit a return to the hero. Soon as he saw
this, he said, "Now, O now, Daedalus, thou hast a subject, upon which
thou mayst prove ingenious. Lo! Minos possesses the land, and he
possesses the ocean; neither earth nor water is open for our escape;
there remains a path through the heavens; through the heavens will we
attempt to go. Jupiter on high, grant pardon to my design. I do not aim
to reach the starry abodes; there is no way but this one, by which I may
escape the tyrant. Should a road through Styx be granted; then we will
swim through the Stygian waves; let the laws of nature be changed
by me. " _Misfortunes often sharpen the genius_; who could have ever
believed, that a mortal could attempt the paths of the air?

He arranges swift feathers in order, like oars, [905] and connects the
light work with fastenings of thread; the lower part, too, is bound
together with wax, melted by the fire; and now the work of the new
contrivance is finished. The smiling boy handles both the wax and the
feathers, not knowing that these instruments are prepared for his own
shoulders. To him his father says: "With these ships must we reach our
native land; by these means must we escape from Minos. The air Minos
could not, all else he has, shut against us. Cleave the air, which still
thou mayst, with these my inventions. But neither the virgin of Tegeaea,
nor the sword-bearing Orion, [906] the companion of Bootes, will have
to be beheld by thee. Follow me with the wings given to thee: I will go
before on the way. Be it thy care to follow; me thy leader, thou wilt he
safe. But if we shall go through the air of the heavens, the sun close
to us, the wax will not be able to endure the heat. If we shall wave
our wings below, the sea near to us, the fluttering feathers will be wet
with the ocean spray. Fly between them both; dread, too, the winds,
my son; and whichever way the breezes shall blow, set thy prospering
sails. "

While he thus advises; he fits his work on to the boy, and shows how it
is to be moved; just as their mother teaches the helpless birds. Then he
places upon his shoulders the wings made for himself; and with timidity
he poises his body along this new track. And now about to fly, he gives
kisses to his little son; and the cheeks of the father do not withhold
their tears. There is a hill, less than a mountain, more lofty than
the level plain; hence are their two bodies entrusted to their mournful
flight. Daedalus both moves his own wings himself, and looks back on
those of his son; and he ever keeps on his own course. And now this
unusual path delights him, and, fear laid aside, Icarus flies more
courageously with emboldened skill. A person sees them, while he is
angling [907] for fish with his quivering rod, and his right hand
desists from the work he has commenced. Now Samos and Naxos had been
left behind, on the left hand, and Paros, and Delos beloved by the
Clarian God. [908] Lebynthos was to the right, and Calymne [909] shaded
with its woods, and Astypalaea, [910] surrounded with its fishy shallows;
when the boy, too venturesome in his inconsiderate daring, took a higher
flight, and forsook his guide.

The fastenings give way; and the wax melts, the Divinity being so near;
and his arms, when moved, no longer catch the light breeze. Alarmed, he
looks down upon the sea from the lofty heavens; darkness, arising from
trembling apprehension, comes over his eyes. The wax has now melted;
he waves his bare arms, and he trembles, and has no means whereby to
be supported. Downward he falls; and as he falls, he cries, "Father! O
father!