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(From Elegy X; translated by James Grainger)
WHY did you swear by all the powers above, | |
| Yet never meant to crown my longing love? | |
| Wretch, though at first the perjured deed you hide, | |
| Wrath comes with certain, though with tardy stride; | |
| Yet, yet, offended gods, my charmer spare! | 5 |
| Yet pardon the first fault of one so fair! | |
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| For gold the careful farmer ploughs the plain, | |
| And joins his oxen to the cumbrous wain; | |
| For gold, through seas that stormy winds obey, | |
| By stars, the sailor steers his watery way. | 10 |
| Yet, gracious gods, this gold from man remove, | |
| That wicked metal bribed the fair I love. | |
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| Soon shall you suffer greatly for your crime, | |
| A weary wanderer in a foreign clime; | |
| Your hair shall change, and boasted bloom decay, | 15 |
| By wintry tempests and the solar ray. | |
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| “Beware of gold,” how oft did I advise! | |
| “From tempting gold what mighty mischiefs rise! | |
| Love’s generous power,” I said, “with ten-fold pain, | |
| The wretch will rack, who sells her charms for gain. | 20 |
| Let torture all her cruelties exert, | |
| Torture is pastime to a venal heart. | |
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| “Nor idly dream your gallantries to hide, | |
| The gods are ever on the sufferer’s side. | |
| With sleep or wine o’ercome, so fate ordains, | 25 |
| You’ll blab the secret of your impious gains.” | |
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| Thus oft I warn’d you; this augments my shame; | |
| My sighs, tears, homage, henceforth I disclaim. | |
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| “No wealth shall bribe my constancy,” you swore; | |
| “Be mine the bard,” you sighed, “I crave no more: | 30 |
| Not all Campania shall my heart entice, | |
| For thee Campania’s autumns I despise. | |
| Let Bacchus in Falernian vineyards stray, | |
| Not Bacchus’ vineyards shall my faith betray.” | |
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| Such strong professions, in so soft a strain, | 35 |
| Might well deceive a captivated swain; | |
| Such strong professions might aversion charm, | |
| Slow doubt determine, and indifference warm. | |
| Nay more, you wept, unpractised to betray, | |
| I kiss’d your cheeks, and wiped the tears away. | 40 |
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| But if I tempting gold unjustly blame, | |
| And you have left me for another flame, | |
| May he, like you, seem kind, like you, deceive, | |
| And oh may you, like cheated me, believe. | |
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| Oft I by night the torch myself would bear, | 45 |
| That none our tender converse might o’erhear; | |
| When least expected, oft some youth I led, | |
| A youth all beauty, to the genial bed, | |
| And tutor’d him your conquest to complete, | |
| By soft enticements, and a fond deceit | 50 |
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| By these I foolish hoped to gain your love! | |
| Who than Tibullus could more cautious prove? | |
| Fired with uncommon powers, I swept the lyre, | |
| And sent you melting strains of soft desire. | |
| The thought o’erspreads my face with conscious shame, | 55 |
| Doom, doom them victims to the seas or flame. | |
| No verse be theirs, who Love’s soft fires profane, | |
| And sell inestimable joys for gain. | |
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| But you who first the lovely maid decoy’d, | |
| By each adulterer be your wife enjoy’d. | 60 |
| And when each youth has rifled all her charms, | |
| May bed-gowns guard her from your loathed arms! | |
| May she, oh may she like your sister prove, | |
| As famed for drinking, far more famed for love! | |
| ’Tis true, the bottle is her chief delight, | 65 |
| She knows no better way to pass the night; | |
| Your wife more knowing can the night improve, | |
| To joys of Bacchus joins the joys of love. | |
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| Think’st thou for thee the toilette is her care? | |
| For thee, that fillets bind her well-dress’d hair? | 70 |
| For thee, that Tyrian robes her charms enfold? | |
| For thee, her arms are deck’d with burnish’d gold? | |
| By these, some youth the wanton would entice, | |
| For him she dresses, and for him she sighs; | |
| To him she prostitutes, unawed by shame, | 75 |
| Your house, your pocket, and your injured fame: | |
| Nor blame her conduct, say, ye young, what charms | |
| Can beauty taste in gout and age’s arms? | |
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| Less nice my fair one, she for money can | |
| Caress a gouty, impotent old man; | 80 |
| O thou by generous Love too justly blamed! | |
| All, all that Love could give, my passion claim’d. | |
| Yet since thou couldst so mercenary prove, | |
| The more deserving shall engross my love: | |
| Then thou wilt weep when these adored you see; | 85 |
| Weep on, thy tears will transport give to me. | |
| To Venus I’ll suspend a golden shield, | |
| With this inscription graved upon the field: | |
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| “Tibullus, freed at last from amorous woes, | |
| This offering, Queen of Bliss, on thee bestows: | 90 |
| And humbly begs, that henceforth thou wilt guard | |
| From such a passion thy devoted bard.” | |
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