Commiserate a Life so like thy own.
Like thine, my Flames to my Destruction turn,
Wasting that Heart, by which supply’d they burn.
Like thine, my Joy and Suffering they display,
So mine, with conscious Shame, and equal Awe, 10
To Shades obscure and Solitude withdraw;
Nor dare their Light before her Eyes disclose,
From whose bright Beams their Being first arose.
ΟVID’S THIRD BOOK OF THE ART OF LOVE.
Translated into ENGLISH VERSE.
WHEREIN
He recommends Rules and Instructions to the Fair Sex, in the Conduct of their Amours: After having already composed two Books for the Use of Men, upon the same Subject.
THE Men are arm’d, and for the Fight prepare;
And now we must instruct and arm the Fair.
Both Sexes, well appointed, take the Field,
And mighty Love determine which shall yield.
Man were ignoble, when, thus arm’d, to show 5
Unequal Force against a naked Foe:
No Glory from such Conquest can be gain’d,
And Odds are always by the Brave disdain’d.
But, some exclaim, what Frensie rules your Mind?
Would you encrease the Craft of Woman-kind! 10
Teach them new Wiles and Arts! As well you may
Instruct a Snake to bite, or Wolf to prey.
But, sure, too hard a Censure they pursue,
Who charge on all, the Failings of a few.
Examine, first, impartially each Fair, 15
Then, as she merits, or condemn, or spare.
If Menelaus, and the King of Men,
With Justice, of their Sister-Wives complain;
If false Eriphyle forsook her Faith,
And for Reward procur’d her Husband’s Death; 20
Penelope was Loyal still, and Chaste,
Tho’ twenty Years her Lord in Absence pass’d.
Reflect how Laodamia’s Truth was try’d,
Who, tho’ in Bloom of Youth, and Beauty’s Pride,
To share her Husband’s Fate, untimely dy’d. 25
Think how Alceste’s Piety was prov’d,
Who lost her Life, to save the Man she lov’d.
Receive me, Capaneus, Evadne cry’d;
Nor Death it self our Nuptials shall divide:
To join thy Ashes, pleas’d I shall expire. 30
She said, and leap’d amid the Fun’ral Fire.
Virtue her self a Goddess we confess,
Both Female in her Name and in her Dress;
No wonder then, if to her Sex inclin’d,
She cultivates with Care a Female Mind. 35
But these exalted Souls exceed the Reach
Of that soft Art, which I pretend to teach.
My tender Barque requires a gentle Gale,
A little Wind will fill a little Sail.
Of sportful Loves I sing, and shew what Ways 40
The willing Nymph must use, her Bliss to raise,
And how to captivate the Man she’d please.
Woman is soft, and of a tender Fleart,
Apt to receive, and to retain Love’s Dart:
Man has a Breast robust, and more secure, 45
It wounds him not so deep, nor hits so sure.
Men oft are false; and, if you search with Care,
You’ll find less Fraud imputed to the Fair.
The faithless Jason from Medea fled,
And made Creusa Partner of his Bed. 50
Bright Ariadne, on an unknown Shore,
Thy Absence, perjur’d Theseus, did deplore.
If then, the wild Inhabitants of Air
Forbore her tender lovely Limbs to tear,
It was not owing, Theseus, to thy Care. 55
Enquire the Cause, and let Demophoon tell,
Why Phillis by a Fate untimely fell.
Nine times, in vain, upon the promis’d Day,
She sought th’appointed Shore, and view’d the Sea:
Her Fall the fading Trees consent to mourn, 60
And shed their Leaves round her lamented Urn.
The Prince so far for Piety renown’d,
To thee, Eliza, was unfaithful found;
To thee forlorn, and languishing with Grief,
His Sword alone he left, thy last Relief. 65
Ye ruin’d Nymphs, shall I the Cause impart
Of all your Woes. ’Twas want of needful Art.
Love, of it self, too quickly will expire;
But pow’rful Art perpetuates Desire.
Women had yet their Ignorance bewail’d, 70
Had not this Art by Venus been reveal’d.
Before my Sight the Cyprian Goddess shone,
And thus she said; What have poor Women done?
Why is that weak, defenceless Sex expos’d;
On ev’ry Side, by Men well-arm’d, enclos’d? 75
Twice are the Men instructed by thy Muse,
Nor must she now to teach the Sex refuse.
The Bard who injur’d Hellen in his Song,
Recanted after, and redress’d the Wrong.
And you, if on my Favour you depend, 80
The Cause of Women, while you live, defend.
This said, a Myrtle Sprig, which Berries bore,
She gave me (for a Myrtle Wreath she wore.)
The Gift receiv’d, my Sense enlighten’d grew,
And from her Presence Inspiration drew. 85
Attend, ye Nymphs, by Wedlock unconfin’d,
And hear my Precepts, while she prompts my Mind.
Ev’n now, in Bloom of Youth, and Beauty’s Prime,
Beware of coming Age, nor waste your Time:
Now, while you may, and rip’ning Years invite, 90
Enjoy the seasonable, sweet Delight:
For rolling Years, like stealing Waters, glide;
Nor hope to stop their ever-ebbing Tide:
Think not, hereafter will the Loss repay;
For ev’ry Morrow will the Taste decay, 95
And leave less Relish than the former Day.
I’ve seen the time, when, on that wither’d Thorn,
The blooming Rose vy’d with the blushing Morn.
With fragrant Wreaths I thence have deck’d my Head,
And see, how leaf-less now, and how decay’d! 100
And you, who now the Love-sick Youth reject,
Will prove, in Age, what Pains attend Neglect.
None, then, will press upon your Midnight Hours,
Nor wake, to strew your Street with Morning Flow’rs.
Then nightly Knockings at your Door will cease, 105
Whose noiseless Hammer, then, may rust in Peace.
Alas, how soon a clear Complexion fades!
How soon a wrinkl’d Skin plump Flesh invades!
And what avails it, tho’ the Fair one swears
She from her Infancy had some grey Hairs? 110
She grows all hoary in a few more Years,
And then the venerable Truth appears.
The Snake his Skin, the Deer his Horns may cast,
And both renew their Youth and Vigour pass’d:
But no Receipt can Human-kind relieve, 115
Doom’d to decrepit Age, without Reprieve.
Then crop the Flow’r which yet invites your Eye,
And which, ungather’d, on its Stalk must die.
Besides, the tender Sex is form’d to bear,
And frequent Births, too soon will Youth impair: 120
Continual Harvest wears the fruitful Field,
And Earth it self decays, too often till’d.
Thou didst not, Cynthia, scorn the Latmian Swain;
Nor thou, Aurora, Cephalus disdain;
The Paphian Queen, who, for Adonis’ Fate, 125
So deeply mourn’d, and who laments him yet,
Has not been found inexorable since;
Witness Harmonia, and the Dardan Prince.<
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Then take Example, Mortals, from above,
And like Immortals live, and like ’em love. 130
Refuse not those Delights, which Men require,
Nor let your Lovers languish with Desire.
False tho’ they prove, what Loss can you sustain?
Thence let a thousand take, ‘twill all remain.
Tho’ constant Use, ev’n Flint and Steel impairs, 135
What you employ no Diminution fears.
Who would, to light a Torch, their Torch deny?
Or who can dread drinking an Ocean dry?
Still Women lose, you cry, if Men obtain:
What do they lose, that’s worthy to retain? 140
Think not this said to prostitute the Sex,
But undeceive whom needless Fears perplex.
Thus far a gentle Breeze supplies our Sail,
Now launch’d to Sea, we ask a brisker Gale.
And, first, we treat of Dress. The well-dress’d Vine 145
Produces plumpest Grapes, and richest Wine;
And plenteous Crops of golden Grain are found,
Alone, to grace well-cultivated Ground.
Beauty’s the Gift of Gods, the Sexes Pride!
Yet, to how many, is that Gift deny’d? 150
Art helps a Face; a Face, tho’ heav’nly fair,
May quickly fade for want of needful Care.
In ancient Days, if Women slighted Dress,
Then Men were ruder too, and lik’d it less.
If Hector’s Spouse was clad in stubborn Stuff, 155
A Soldier’s Wife became it well enough.
Ajax, to shield his ample Breast, provides
Seven lusty Bulls, and tanns their sturdy Hides;
And might not he, d’ye think, be well caress’d,
And yet his Wife not elegantly dress’d? 160
With rude Simplicity Rome first was built,
Which now we see adorn’d, and carv’d, and gilt.
This Capitol with that of Old compare;
Some other Jove, you’d think, was worshipp’d there.
That lofty Pile, where Senates dictate Law, 165
When Tatius reign’d, was poorly thatch’d with Straw:
And where Apollo’s Fane refulgent stands,
Was heretofore a Tract of Pasture-Lands.
Let ancient Manners other Men delight;
But me the Modern please, as more Polite. 170
Not, that Materials now in Gold are wrought,
And distant Shores for Orient Pearls are sought;
Nor for, that Hills exhaust their Marble Veins,
And Structures rise whose Bulk the Sea restrains:
But, that the World is civiliz’d of late, 175
And polish’d from the Rust of former Date.
Let not the Nymph with Pendants load her Ear,
Nor in Embroid’ry, or Brocard, appear;
Too rich a Dress may sometimes check Desire;
And Cleanliness more animate Love’s Fire. 180
The Hair dispos’d, may gain or lose a Grace,
And much become, or mis-become the Face.
What sutes your Features, of your Glass enquire,
For no one Rule is fix’d for Head-Attire.
A Face too long shou’d part, and flat the Hair, 185
Lest, upward comb’d, the Length too much appear:
So Laodamia dress’d. A Face too round,
Shou’d show the Ears, and with a Tour be crown’d.
On either Shoulder, one, her Locks displays;
Adorn’d like Phoebus, when he sings his Lays: 190
Another, all her Tresses ties behind;
So dress’d, Diana hunts the fearful Hind.
Dishevell’d Locks most graceful are to some;
Others, the binding Fillets more become:
Some plat, like Spiral Shells, their braded Hair, 195
Others, the loose and waving Curl prefer.
But, to recount the several Dresses worn,
Which artfully each sev’ral Face adorn,
Were endless, as to tell the Leaves on Trees,
The Beasts on Alpine Hills, or Hybla’s Bees. 200
Many there are, who seem to slight all Care,
And with a pleasing Negligence ensnare;
Whole Mornings oft, in such a Dress are spent,
And all is Art, that looks like Accident.
With such Disorder Iole was grac’d, 205
When great Alcides first the Nymph embrac’d.
So Ariadne came to Bacchus Bed,
When with the Conqueror from Crete she fled.
Nature, indulgent to the Sex, repays
The Losses they sustain, by various ways. 210
Men ill supply those Hairs they shed in Age,
Lost, like Autumnal Leaves, when North-winds rage.
Women, with Juice of Herbs, grey Locks disguise,
And Art gives Colour which with Nature vyes.
The well-wove Tours they wear, their own are thought: 215
But only are their own, as what they’ve bought.
Nor need they blush to buy Heads ready dress’d,
And chuse, at publick Shops, what sûtes ’em best.
Costly Apparel let the Fair one fly,
Enrich’d with Gold, or with the Tyrian Dye. 220
What Folly must in such Expence appear,
When more becoming Colours are less dear?
One, with a Dye is ting’d of lovely Blue;
Such as, thro’ Air serene, the Sky we view.
With yellow Lustre see another spread, 225
As if the Golden Fleece compos’d the Thread.
Some, of the Sea-green Wave the Cast display;
With this, the Nymphs, their beauteous Forms array:
And some, the Saffron Flue will well adorn;
Such is the Mantle of the blushing Morn. 230
Of Myrtle berries, one, the Tincture shows;
In this, of Amethysts, the Purple glows,
And, that, more imitates the paler Rose.
Nor Thracian Cranes forget, whose silv’ry Plumes
Give Patterns, which employ the mimick Looms. 235
Nor Almond, nor the Chesnut Dye disclaim;
Nor others, which from Wax derive their Name.
As Fields you find, with various Flow’rs o’erspread,
When Vineyards bud, and Winter’s Frost is fled;
So various are the Colours you may try, 240
Of which, the thirsty Wooll imbibes the Dye.
Try ev’ry one, what best becomes you, wear;
For no Complexion all alike can bear.
If fair the Skin, black may become it best,
In black the lovely Fair Briseis dress’d: 245
If brown the Nymph, let her be cloath’d in white,
Andromeda so charm’d the wond’ring Sight.
I need not warn you of too pow’rful Smells,
Which, sometimes Health, or kindly Heat expels.
Nor, from your tender Legs to pluck with Care 250
The casual Growth of all unseemly Hair.
Tho’ not to Nymphs of Caucasus I sing,
Nor such who taste remote the Mysian Spring;
Yet, let me warn you, that, thro’ no Neglect,
You let your Teeth disclose the least Defect. 255
You know the Use of white to make you fair,
And how, with red, lost Colour to repair;
Imperfect Eye-brows you by Art can mend,
And Skin, when wanting, o’er a Scar extend.
Nor need the Fair One be asham’d, who tries, 260
By Art, to add new Lustre to her Eyes.
A little Book I’ve made, but with great Care,
How to preserve the Face, and how repair.
In that, the Nymphs, by Time or Chance annoy’d,
May see, what Pains to please ’em I’ve employ’d. 265
But, still beware, that from your Lover’s Eye
You ke
ep conceal’d the Med’cines you apply:
Tho’ Art assists, yet must that Art be hid,
Lest, whom it would invite, it should forbid.
Who would not take Offence, to see a Face 270
All daub’d, and dripping with the melted Grease?
And tho’ your Unguents bear th’Athenian Name,
The Wood’s unsav’ry Scent is still the same.
Marrow of Stags, nor your Pomatums try,
Nor clean your furry Teeth, when Men are by; 275
For many things, when done, afford Delight,
Which yet, while doing, may offend the Sight.
Even Myro’s Statues, which for Art surpass
All others, once were but a shapeless Mass;
Rude was that Gold which now in Rings is worn, 280
As once the Robe you wear was Wooll unshorn.
Think, how that Stone rough in the Quarry grew,
Which, now, a perfect Venus shews to View.
While we suppose you sleep, repair your Face,
Lock’d from Observers, in some secret Place. 285
Add the last Hand, before your selves you show;
Your need of Art, why should your Lover know?
For many things, when most conceal’d, are best;
And few, of strict Enquiry, bear the Test.
Those Figures which in Theatres are seen, 290
Gilded without, are common Wood within.
But no Spectators are allow’d to pry,
‘Till ad is finish’d, which allures the Eye.
Yet, I must own, it oft affords Delight,
To have the Fair one comb her Hair in sight; 295
To view the flowing Honours of her Head
Fad on her Neck, and o’er her Shoulders spread.
But let her look, that she with Care avoid
All fretful Humours, while she’s so employ’d;
Let her not still undo, with peevish Haste, 300
All that her Woman does; who does her best.
I hate a Vixon, that her Maid assails,
And scratches with her Bodkin, or her Nails;
While the poor Girl in Blood and Tears must mourn,
And her Heart curses, what her Hands adorn. 305
Let her who has no Hair, or has but some,
Plant Centinels before her Dressing-Room:
Or in the Fane of the good Goddess dress,
Where all the Male-kind are debarr’d Access.
’Tis said, that I (but ’tis a Tale devis’d) 310
A Lady at her Toilet once surpriz’d;
Who starting, snatch’d in haste the Tour she wore,
And in her hurry, plac’d the hinder Part before.
But on our Foes fall ev’ry such Disgrace,
Or barb’rous Beauties of the Parthian Race. 315
Ungraceful ’tis to see without a Horn,
Complete Works of William Congreve Page 10
