Remedia amoris

Ovid

Ovid. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Tate, Nahum, translator. New York: Calvin Blanchard, 1855.

  1. Oh, could you once arrive but to the pow'r
  2. As unconcern'd, to pass your mistress' door!
  3. Strongly resolve, though ne'er so loath to stir,
  4. For now's the time to stretch with whip and spur.
  5. Think there's the Syren's den, the deadly bay,[*](In the original Lotophages, that is, eaters of the fruit of a certain tree called Lotos. The Lotophages were a people of Africa, who inhabited an island called Menynge: Ulysses's party having tasted of this country's fruit thought no more of their return, so delicious did they think it. Pliny says the Lotos came from the country of the Nazomonians near the Syrtes, rocks, or rather shelves, upon the coast of Africa. The tree was as big as a pear-tree, and the fruit about the size of a bean, of a saffron color and extremely sweet, but it changed its nature if transplanted into Italy. The Sirens are reported to sing of this shore.)
  6. Make all the sail you can and scud away.
  7. Your fond resentment quit, and condescend
  8. To take your very rival for your friend.
  9. Salute him kindly, though with deep regret;
  10. Embrace him, I'll pronounce your cure complete.
  11. Now to perform a true physician's part,
  12. And show I'm perfect master of my art;
  13. I will prescribe what diet you should use,
  14. What food you ought to take, and what refuse.
  15. Mushrooms of ev'ry sort provoke desire,
  16. Salacious rockets set your veins on fire;
  17. The plant I recommend is wholesome rue,
  18. It clears the sight and does the blood subdue:
  19. But, in a word, of all the herbs that grow,
  20. Take only such as keep the body low.
  21. If my opinion you would have of wine,
  22. It quenches love, and does to love incline.
  23. A little breath of wind but fans the fire,
  24. Whose flame will in a greater blast expire.
  25. In wine you must no moderation keep;
  26. You must not drink at all; or drink so deep,
  27. So large a dose, as puts your cares to sleep.
  28. Now to our port we are arriv'd; bring down
  29. The jolly wreath, our weary barque to crown.[*](The poet, having finished his work, demands a time of rest, and to enjoy the glory he has deserved by his labor, as the seamen when they enter the port after a long voyage. It was the custom to adorn the ship with garlands on such occasions.)
  30. Your grief redrest, and now a happy throng,
  31. Ye nymphs and youths applaud my healing song.