Again,One need not wonder how it comes aboutThat through those places (through which eyes cannotView objects manifest) sounds yet may passAnd assail the ears. For often we observePeople conversing, though the doors be closed;No marvel either, since all voice unharmedCan wind through bended apertures of things,While idol-films decline to- for they're rent,Unless along straight apertures they swim,Like those in glass, through which all imagesDo fly across. And yet this voice itself,In passing through shut chambers of a house,Is dulled, and in a jumble enters ears,And sound we seem to hear far more than words.Moreover, a voice is into all directionsDivided up, since off from one anotherNew voices are engendered, when one voiceHath once leapt forth, outstarting into many-As oft a spark of fire is wont to sprinkleItself into its several fires. And so,Voices do fill those places hid behind,Which all are in a hubbub round about,Astir with sound. But idol-films do tend,As once sent forth, in straight directions all;Wherefore one can inside a wall see naught,Yet catch the voices from beyond the same.

Nor tongue and palate, whereby we flavour feel,Present more problems for more work of thought.Firstly, we feel a flavour in the mouth,When forth we squeeze it, in chewing up our food,-As any one perchance begins to squeezeWith hand and dry a sponge with water soaked.Next, all which forth we squeeze is spread aboutAlong the pores and intertwined pathsOf the loose-textured tongue. And so, when smoothThe bodies of the oozy flavour, thenDelightfully they touch, delightfullyThey treat all spots, around the wet and tricklingEnclosures of the tongue. And contrariwise,They sting and pain the sense with their assault,According as with roughness they're supplied.Next, only up to palate is the pleasureComing from flavour; for in truth when down'Thas plunged along the throat, no pleasure is,Whilst into all the frame it spreads around;Nor aught it matters with what food is fedThe body, if only what thou take thou canstDistribute well digested to the frameAnd keep the stomach in a moist career. Now, how it is we see some food for some,Others for others.... . . . . . .I will unfold, or wherefore what to someIs foul and bitter, yet the same to othersCan seem delectable to eat,- why hereSo great the distance and the difference isThat what is food to one to some becomesFierce poison, as a certain snake there isWhich, touched by spittle of a man, will wasteAnd end itself by gnawing up its coil.Again, fierce poison is the helleboreTo us, but puts the fat on goats and quails.That thou mayst know by what devices thisIs brought about, in chief thou must recallWhat we have said before, that seeds are keptCommixed in things in divers modes. Again,As all the breathing creatures which take foodAre outwardly unlike, and outer cutAnd contour of their members bounds them round,Each differing kind by kind, they thus consistOf seeds of varying shape. And furthermore,Since seeds do differ, divers too must beThe interstices and paths (which we do callThe apertures) in all the members, evenIn mouth and palate too. Thus some must beMore small or yet more large, three-cornered someAnd others squared, and many others round,And certain of them many-angled tooIn many modes. For, as the combinationAnd motion of their divers shapes demand,The shapes of apertures must be diverseAnd paths must vary according to their wallsThat bound them. Hence when what is sweet to some,Becomes to others bitter, for him to whom'Tis sweet, the smoothest particles must needsHave entered caressingly the palate's pores.And, contrariwise, with those to whom that sweetIs sour within the mouth, beyond a doubtThe rough and barbed particles have gotInto the narrows of the apertures.Now easy it is from these affairs to knowWhatever... . . . . . .Indeed, where one from o'er-abundant bileIs stricken with fever, or in other wiseFeels the roused violence of some malady,There the whole frame is now upset, and thereAll the positions of the seeds are changed,-So that the bodies which before were fitTo cause the savour, now are fit no more,And now more apt are others which be ableTo get within the pores and gender sour.Both sorts, in sooth, are intermixed in honey-What oft we've proved above to thee before.

Now come, and I will indicate what wiseImpact of odour on the nostrils touches.And first, 'tis needful there be many thingsFrom whence the streaming flow of varied odoursMay roll along, and we're constrained to thinkThey stream and dart and sprinkle themselves aboutImpartially. But for some breathing creaturesOne odour is more apt, to others another-Because of differing forms of seeds and pores.Thus on and on along the zephyrs beesAre led by odour of honey, vultures tooBy carcasses. Again, the forward powerOf scent in dogs doth lead the hunter onWhithersoever the splay-foot of wild beastHath hastened its career; and the white goose,The saviour of the Roman citadel,Forescents afar the odour of mankind.Thus, diversly to divers ones is givenPeculiar smell that leadeth each alongTo his own food or makes him start abackFrom loathsome poison, and in this wise areThe generations of the wild preserved. Yet is this pungence not alone in odoursOr in the class of flavours; but, likewise,The look of things and hues agree not allSo well with senses unto all, but thatSome unto some will be, to gaze upon,More keen and painful. Lo, the raving lions,They dare not face and gaze upon the cockWho's wont with wings to flap away the nightFrom off the stage, and call the beaming mornWith clarion voice- and lions straightway thusBethink themselves of flight, because, ye see,Within the body of the cocks there beSome certain seeds, which, into lions' eyesInjected, bore into the pupils deepAnd yield such piercing pain they can't hold outAgainst the cocks, however fierce they be-Whilst yet these seeds can't hurt our gaze the least,Either because they do not penetrate,Or since they have free exit from the eyesAs soon as penetrating, so that thusThey cannot hurt our eyes in any partBy there remaining. To speak once more of odour;Whatever assail the nostrils, some can travelA longer way than others. None of them,However, 's borne so far as sound or voice-While I omit all mention of such thingsAs hit the eyesight and assail the vision.For slowly on a wandering course it comesAnd perishes sooner, by degrees absorbedEasily into all the winds of air;-And first, because from deep inside the thingIt is discharged with labour (for the factThat every object, when 'tis shivered, ground,Or crumbled by the fire, will smell the strongerIs sign that odours flow and part awayFrom inner regions of the things). And next,Thou mayest see that odour is createOf larger primal germs than voice, becauseIt enters not through stony walls, wherethroughUnfailingly the voice and sound are borne;Wherefore, besides, thou wilt observe 'tis notSo easy to trace out in whatso placeThe smelling object is. For, dallying onAlong the winds, the particles cool off,And then the scurrying messengers of thingsArrive our senses, when no longer hot.So dogs oft wander astray, and hunt the scent.

Now mark, and hear what objects move the mind,And learn, in few, whence unto intellectDo come what come. And first I tell thee this:That many images of objects roveIn many modes to every region round-So thin that easily the one with other,When once they meet, uniteth in mid-air,Like gossamer or gold-leaf. For, indeed,Far thinner are they in their fabric thanThose images which take a hold on eyesAnd smite the vision, since through body's poresThey penetrate, and inwardly stir upThe subtle nature of mind and smite the sense.Thus, Centaurs and the limbs of Scyllas, thusThe Cerberus-visages of dogs we see,And images of people gone before-Dead men whose bones earth bosomed long ago;Because the images of every kindAre everywhere about us borne- in partThose which are gendered in the very airOf own accord, in part those others whichFrom divers things do part away, and thoseWhich are compounded, made from out their shapes.For soothly from no living Centaur isThat phantom gendered, since no breed of beastLike him was ever; but, when imagesOf horse and man by chance have come together,They easily cohere, as aforesaid,At once, through subtle nature and fabric thin.In the same fashion others of this ilkCreated are. And when they're quickly borneIn their exceeding lightness, easily(As earlier I showed) one subtle image,Compounded, moves by its one blow the mind,Itself so subtle and so strangely quick. That these things come to pass as I record,From this thou easily canst understand:So far as one is unto other like,Seeing with mind as well as with the eyesMust come to pass in fashion not unlike.Well, now, since I have shown that I perceiveHaply a lion through those idol-filmsSuch as assail my eyes, 'tis thine to knowAlso the mind is in like manner moved,And sees, nor more nor less than eyes do see(Except that it perceives more subtle films)The lion and aught else through idol-films.And when the sleep has overset our frame,The mind's intelligence is now awake,Still for no other reason, save that these-The self-same films as when we are awake-Assail our minds, to such degree indeedThat we do seem to see for sure the manWhom, void of life, now death and earth have gainedDominion over. And nature forces thisTo come to pass because the body's sensesAre resting, thwarted through the members all,Unable now to conquer false with true;And memory lies prone and languishesIn slumber, nor protests that he, the manWhom the mind feigns to see alive, long sinceHath been the gain of death and dissolution. And further, 'tis no marvel idols moveAnd toss their arms and other members roundIn rhythmic time- and often in men's sleepsIt haps an image this is seen to do;In sooth, when perishes the former image,And other is gendered of another pose,That former seemeth to have changed its gestures.Of course the change must be conceived as speedy;So great the swiftness and so great the storeOf idol-things, and (in an instant briefAs mind can mark) so great, again, the storeOf separate idol-parts to bring supplies. It happens also that there is suppliedSometimes an image not of kind the same;But what before was woman, now at handIs seen to stand there, altered into male;Or other visage, other age succeeds;But slumber and oblivion take careThat we shall feel no wonder at the thing.

And much in these affairs demands inquiry,And much, illumination- if we craveWith plainness to exhibit facts. And first,Why doth the mind of one to whom the whimTo think has come behold forthwith that thing?Or do the idols watch upon our will,And doth an image unto us occur,Directly we desire- if heart preferThe sea, the land, or after all the sky?Assemblies of the citizens, parades,Banquets, and battles, these and all doth she,Nature, create and furnish at our word?-Maugre the fact that in same place and spotAnother's mind is meditating thingsAll far unlike. And what, again, of this:When we in sleep behold the idols step,In measure, forward, moving supple limbs,Whilst forth they put each supple arm in turnWith speedy motion, and with eyeing headsRepeat the movement, as the foot keeps time?Forsooth, the idols they are steeped in art,And wander to and fro well taught indeed,-Thus to be able in the time of nightTo make such games! Or will the truth be this:Because in one least moment that we mark-That is, the uttering of a single sound-There lurk yet many moments, which the reasonDiscovers to exist, therefore it comesThat, in a moment how so brief ye will,The divers idols are hard by, and readyEach in its place diverse? So great the swiftness,So great, again, the store of idol-things,And so, when perishes the former image,And other is gendered of another pose,The former seemeth to have changed its gestures.And since they be so tenuous, mind can markSharply alone the ones it strains to see;And thus the rest do perish one and all,Save those for which the mind prepares itself.Further, it doth prepare itself indeed,And hopes to see what follows after each-Hence this result. For hast thou not observedHow eyes, essaying to perceive the fine,Will strain in preparation, otherwiseUnable sharply to perceive at all?Yet know thou canst that, even in objects plain,If thou attendest not, 'tis just the sameAs if 'twere all the time removed and far.What marvel, then, that mind doth lose the rest,Save those to which 'thas given up itself?So 'tis that we conjecture from small signsThings wide and weighty, and involve ourselvesIn snarls of self-deceit.

SOME VITAL FUNCTIONS In these affairsWe crave that thou wilt passionately fleeThe one offence, and anxiously wilt shunThe error of presuming the clear lightsOf eyes created were that we might see;Or thighs and knees, aprop upon the feet,Thuswise can bended be, that we might stepWith goodly strides ahead; or forearms joinedUnto the sturdy uppers, or serving handsOn either side were given, that we might doLife's own demands. All such interpretationIs aft-for-fore with inverse reasoning,Since naught is born in body so that weMay use the same, but birth engenders use:No seeing ere the lights of eyes were born,No speaking ere the tongue created was;But origin of tongue came long beforeDiscourse of words, and ears created wereMuch earlier than any sound was heard;And all the members, so meseems, were thereBefore they got their use: and therefore, theyCould not be gendered for the sake of use.But contrariwise, contending in the fightWith hand to hand, and rending of the joints,And fouling of the limbs with gore, was there,O long before the gleaming spears ere flew;And nature prompted man to shun a wound,Before the left arm by the aid of artOpposed the shielding targe. And, verily,Yielding the weary body to repose,Far ancienter than cushions of soft beds,And quenching thirst is earlier than cups.These objects, therefore, which for use and lifeHave been devised, can be conceived as foundFor sake of using. But apart from suchAre all which first were born and afterwardsGave knowledge of their own utility-Chief in which sort we note the senses, limbs:Wherefore, again, 'tis quite beyond thy powerTo hold that these could thus have been createFor office of utility.

Likewise,'Tis nothing strange that all the breathing creaturesSeek, even by nature of their frame, their food.Yes, since I've taught thee that from off the thingsStream and depart innumerable bodiesIn modes innumerable too; but mostMust be the bodies streaming from the living-Which bodies, vexed by motion evermore,Are through the mouth exhaled innumerable,When weary creatures pant, or through the sweatSqueezed forth innumerable from deep within.Thus body rarefies, so underminedIn all its nature, and pain attends its state.And so the food is taken to underpropThe tottering joints, and by its interfusionTo re-create their powers, and there stop upThe longing, open-mouthed through limbs and veins,For eating. And the moist no less departsInto all regions that demand the moist;And many heaped-up particles of hot,Which cause such burnings in these bellies of ours,The liquid on arriving dissipatesAnd quenches like a fire, that parching heatNo longer now can scorch the frame. And so,Thou seest how panting thirst is washed awayFrom off our body, how the hunger-pangIt, too, appeased.

Now, how it comes that we,Whene'er we wish, can step with strides ahead,And how 'tis given to move our limbs about,And what device is wont to push aheadThis the big load of our corporeal frame,I'll say to thee- do thou attend what's said.I say that first some idol-films of walkingInto our mind do fall and smite the mind,As said before. Thereafter will arises;For no one starts to do a thing, beforeThe intellect previsions what it wills;And what it there pre-visioneth dependsOn what that image is. When, therefore, mindDoth so bestir itself that it doth willTo go and step along, it strikes at onceThat energy of soul that's sown aboutIn all the body through the limbs and frame-And this is easy of performance, sinceThe soul is close conjoined with the mind.Next, soul in turn strikes body, and by degreesThus the whole mass is pushed along and moved.Then too the body rarefies, and air,Forsooth as ever of such nimbleness,Comes on and penetrates aboundinglyThrough opened pores, and thus is sprinkled roundUnto all smallest places in our frame.Thus then by these twain factors, severally,Body is borne like ship with oars and wind.Nor yet in these affairs is aught for wonderThat particles so fine can whirl aroundSo great a body and turn this weight of ours;For wind, so tenuous with its subtle body,Yet pushes, driving on the mighty shipOf mighty bulk; one hand directs the same,Whatever its momentum, and one helmWhirls it around, whither ye please; and loads,Many and huge, are moved and hoisted highBy enginery of pulley-blocks and wheels,With but light strain.

Now, by what modes this sleepPours through our members waters of reposeAnd frees the breast from cares of mind, I'll tellIn verses sweeter than they many are;Even as the swan's slight note is better farThan that dispersed clamour of the cranesAmong the southwind's aery clouds. Do thouGive me sharp ears and a sagacious mind,-That thou mayst not deny the things to beWhereof I'm speaking, nor depart awayWith bosom scorning these the spoken truths,Thyself at fault unable to perceive.Sleep chiefly comes when energy of soulHath now been scattered through the frame, and partExpelled abroad and gone away, and partCrammed back and settling deep within the frame-Whereafter then our loosened members droop.For doubt is none that by the work of soulExist in us this sense, and when by slumberThat sense is thwarted, we are bound to thinkThe soul confounded and expelled abroad-Yet not entirely, else the frame would lieDrenched in the everlasting cold of death.In sooth, where no one part of soul remainedLurking among the members, even as fireLurks buried under many ashes, whenceCould sense amain rekindled be in members,As flame can rise anew from unseen fire?

By what devices this strange state and newMay be occasioned, and by what the soulCan be confounded and the frame grow faint,I will untangle: see to it, thou, that IPour forth my words not unto empty winds.In first place, body on its outer parts-Since these are touched by neighbouring aery gusts-Must there be thumped and strook by blows of airRepeatedly. And therefore almost allAre covered either with hides, or else with shells,Or with the horny callus, or with bark.Yet this same air lashes their inner parts,When creatures draw a breath or blow it out.Wherefore, since body thus is flogged alikeUpon the inside and the out, and blowsCome in upon us through the little poresEven inward to our body's primal partsAnd primal elements, there comes to passBy slow degrees, along our members then,A kind of overthrow; for then confoundedAre those arrangements of the primal germsOf body and of mind. It comes to passThat next a part of soul's expelled abroad,A part retreateth in recesses hid,A part, too, scattered all about the frame,Cannot become united nor engageIn interchange of motion. Nature nowSo hedges off approaches and the paths;And thus the sense, its motions all deranged,Retires down deep within; and since there's naught,As 'twere, to prop the frame, the body weakens,And all the members languish, and the armsAnd eyelids fall, and, as ye lie abed,Even there the houghs will sag and loose their powers.Again, sleep follows after food, becauseThe food produces same result as air,Whilst being scattered round through all the veins;And much the heaviest is that slumber which,Full or fatigued, thou takest; since 'tis thenThat the most bodies disarrange themselves,Bruised by labours hard. And in same wise,This three-fold change: a forcing of the soulDown deeper, more a casting-forth of it,A moving more divided in its partsAnd scattered more.

And to whate'er pursuitA man most clings absorbed, or what the affairsOn which we theretofore have tarried much,And mind hath strained upon the more, we seemIn sleep not rarely to go at the same.The lawyers seem to plead and cite decrees,Commanders they to fight and go at frays,Sailors to live in combat with the winds,And we ourselves indeed to make this book,And still to seek the nature of the worldAnd set it down, when once discovered, hereIn these my country's leaves. Thus all pursuits,All arts in general seem in sleeps to mockAnd master the minds of men. And whosoeverDay after day for long to games have givenAttention undivided, still they keep(As oft we note), even when they've ceased to graspThose games with their own senses, open pathsWithin the mind wherethrough the idol-filmsOf just those games can come. And thus it isFor many a day thereafter those appearFloating before the eyes, that even awakeThey think they view the dancers moving roundTheir supple limbs, and catch with both the earsThe liquid song of harp and speaking chords,And view the same assembly on the seats,And manifold bright glories of the stage-So great the influence of pursuit and zest,And of the affairs wherein 'thas been the wontOf men to be engaged-nor only men,But soothly all the animals. Behold,Thou'lt see the sturdy horses, though outstretched,Yet sweating in their sleep, and panting ever,And straining utmost strength, as if for prize,As if, with barriers opened now...And hounds of huntsmen oft in soft reposeYet toss asudden all their legs about,And growl and bark, and with their nostrils sniffThe winds again, again, as though indeedThey'd caught the scented foot-prints of wild beasts,And, even when wakened, often they pursueThe phantom images of stags, as thoughThey did perceive them fleeing on before,Until the illusion's shaken off and dogsCome to themselves again. And fawning breedOf house-bred whelps do feel the sudden urgeTo shake their bodies and start from off the ground,As if beholding stranger-visages.And ever the fiercer be the stock, the moreIn sleep the same is ever bound to rage.But flee the divers tribes of birds and vexWith sudden wings by night the groves of gods,When in their gentle slumbers they have dreamedOf hawks in chase, aswooping on for fight.Again, the minds of mortals which performWith mighty motions mighty enterprises,Often in sleep will do and dare the sameIn manner like. Kings take the towns by storm,Succumb to capture, battle on the field,Raise a wild cry as if their throats were cutEven then and there. And many wrestle onAnd groan with pains, and fill all regions roundWith mighty cries and wild, as if then gnawedBy fangs of panther or of lion fierce.Many amid their slumbers talk aboutTheir mighty enterprises, and have oftenEnough become the proof of their own crimes.Many meet death; many, as if headlongFrom lofty mountains tumbling down to earthWith all their frame, are frenzied in their fright;And after sleep, as if still mad in mind,They scarce come to, confounded as they areBy ferment of their frame. The thirsty man,Likewise, he sits beside delightful springOr river and gulpeth down with gaping throatNigh the whole stream. And oft the innocent young,By sleep o'ermastered, think they lift their dressBy pail or public jordan and then voidThe water filtered down their frame entireAnd drench the Babylonian coverlets,Magnificently bright. Again, those malesInto the surging channels of whose yearsNow first has passed the seed (engenderedWithin their members by the ripened days)Are in their sleep confronted from withoutBy idol-images of some fair form-Tidings of glorious face and lovely bloom,Which stir and goad the regions turgid nowWith seed abundant; so that, as it wereWith all the matter acted duly out,They pour the billows of a potent streamAnd stain their garment.

And as said before,That seed is roused in us when once ripe ageHas made our body strong...As divers causes give to divers thingsImpulse and irritation, so one forceIn human kind rouses the human seedTo spurt from man. As soon as ever it issues,Forced from its first abodes, it passes downIn the whole body through the limbs and frame,Meeting in certain regions of our thews,And stirs amain the genitals of man.The goaded regions swell with seed, and thenComes the delight to dart the same at whatThe mad desire so yearns, and body seeksThat object, whence the mind by love is pierced.For well-nigh each man falleth toward his wound,And our blood spurts even toward the spot from whenceThe stroke wherewith we are strook, and if indeedThe foe be close, the red jet reaches him.Thus, one who gets a stroke from Venus' shafts-Whether a boy with limbs effeminateAssault him, or a woman darting loveFrom all her body- that one strains to getEven to the thing whereby he's hit, and longsTo join with it and cast into its frameThe fluid drawn even from within its own.For the mute craving doth presage delight.

THE PASSION OF LOVE This craving 'tis that's Venus unto us:From this, engender all the lures of love,From this, O first hath into human heartsTrickled that drop of joyance which ere longIs by chill care succeeded. Since, indeed,Though she thou lovest now be far away,Yet idol-images of her are nearAnd the sweet name is floating in thy ear.But it behooves to flee those images;And scare afar whatever feeds thy love;And turn elsewhere thy mind; and vent the sperm,Within thee gathered, into sundry bodies,Nor, with thy thoughts still busied with one love,Keep it for one delight, and so store upCare for thyself and pain inevitable.For, lo, the ulcer just by nourishingGrows to more life with deep inveteracy,And day by day the fury swells aflame,And the woe waxes heavier day by day-Unless thou dost destroy even by new blowsThe former wounds of love, and curest themWhile yet they're fresh, by wandering freely roundAfter the freely-wandering Venus, orCanst lead elsewhere the tumults of thy mind.

Nor doth that man who keeps away from loveYet lack the fruits of Venus; rather takesThose pleasures which are free of penalties.For the delights of Venus, verily,Are more unmixed for mortals sane-of-soulThan for those sick-at-heart with love-pining.Yea, in the very moment of possessing,Surges the heat of lovers to and fro,Restive, uncertain; and they cannot fixOn what to first enjoy with eyes and hands.The parts they sought for, those they squeeze so tight,And pain the creature's body, close their teethOften against her lips, and smite with kissMouth into mouth,- because this same delightIs not unmixed; and underneath are stingsWhich goad a man to hurt the very thing,Whate'er it be, from whence arise for himThose germs of madness. But with gentle touchVenus subdues the pangs in midst of love,And the admixture of a fondling joyDoth curb the bites of passion. For they hopeThat by the very body whence they caughtThe heats of love their flames can be put out.But nature protests 'tis all quite otherwise;For this same love it is the one sole thingOf which, the more we have, the fiercer burnsThe breast with fell desire. For food and drinkAre taken within our members; and, since theyCan stop up certain parts, thus, easilyDesire of water is glutted and of bread.But, lo, from human face and lovely bloomNaught penetrates our frame to be enjoyedSave flimsy idol-images and vain-A sorry hope which oft the winds disperse.As when the thirsty man in slumber seeksTo drink, and water ne'er is granted himWherewith to quench the heat within his members,But after idols of the liquids strivesAnd toils in vain, and thirsts even whilst he gulpsIn middle of the torrent, thus in loveVenus deludes with idol-imagesThe lovers. Nor they cannot sate their lustBy merely gazing on the bodies, norThey cannot with their palms and fingers rubAught from each tender limb, the while they strayUncertain over all the body. Then,At last, with members intertwined, when theyEnjoy the flower of their age, when nowTheir bodies have sweet presage of keen joys,And Venus is about to sow the fieldsOf woman, greedily their frames they lock,And mingle the slaver of their mouths, and breatheInto each other, pressing teeth on mouths-Yet to no purpose, since they're powerlessTo rub off aught, or penetrate and passWith body entire into body- for oftThey seem to strive and struggle thus to do;So eagerly they cling in Venus' bonds,Whilst melt away their members, overcomeBy violence of delight. But when at lastLust, gathered in the thews, hath spent itself,There come a brief pause in the raging heat-But then a madness just the same returnsAnd that old fury visits them again,When once again they seek and crave to reachThey know not what, all powerless to findThe artifice to subjugate the bane.In such uncertain state they waste awayWith unseen wound.

To which be added too,They squander powers and with the travail wane;Be added too, they spend their futile yearsUnder another's beck and call; their dutiesNeglected languish and their honest nameReeleth sick, sick; and meantime their estatesAre lost in Babylonian tapestries;And unguents and dainty Sicyonian shoesLaugh on her feet; and (as ye may be sure)Big emeralds of green light are set in gold;And rich sea-purple dress by constant wearGrows shabby and all soaked with Venus' sweat;And the well-earned ancestral propertyBecometh head-bands, coifs, and many a timeThe cloaks, or garments AlidensianOr of the Cean isle. And banquets, setWith rarest cloth and viands, are prepared-And games of chance, and many a drinking cup,And unguents, crowns and garlands. All in vain,Since from amid the well-spring of delightsBubbles some drop of bitter to tormentAmong the very flowers- when haply mindGnaws into self, now stricken with remorseFor slothful years and ruin in baudels,Or else because she's left him all in doubtBy launching some sly word, which still like fireLives wildly, cleaving to his eager heart;Or else because he thinks she darts her eyesToo much about and gazes at another,-And in her face sees traces of a laugh.

These ills are found in prospering love and true;But in crossed love and helpless there be suchAs through shut eyelids thou canst still take in-Uncounted ills; so that 'tis better farTo watch beforehand, in the way I've shown,And guard against enticements. For to shunA fall into the hunting-snares of loveIs not so hard, as to get out again,When tangled in the very nets, and burstThe stoutly-knotted cords of Aphrodite.Yet even when there enmeshed with tangled feet,Still canst thou scape the danger-lest indeedThou standest in the way of thine own good,And overlookest first all blemishesOf mind and body of thy much preferred,Desirable dame. For so men do,Eyeless with passion, and assign to themGraces not theirs in fact. And thus we seeCreatures in many a wise crooked and uglyThe prosperous sweethearts in a high esteem;And lovers gird each other and adviseTo placate Venus, since their friends are smitWith a base passion- miserable dupesWho seldom mark their own worst bane of all.The black-skinned girl is "tawny like the honey";The filthy and the fetid's "negligee";The cat-eyed she's "a little Pallas," she;The sinewy and wizened's "a gazelle";The pudgy and the pigmy is "piquant,One of the Graces sure"; the big and bulkyO she's "an Admiration, imposante";The stuttering and tongue-tied "sweetly lisps";The mute girl's "modest"; and the garrulous,The spiteful spit-fire, is "a sparkling wit";And she who scarcely lives for scrawninessBecomes "a slender darling"; "delicate"Is she who's nearly dead of coughing-fit;The pursy female with protuberant breastsShe is "like Ceres when the goddess gaveYoung Bacchus suck"; the pug-nosed lady-love"A Satyress, a feminine Silenus";The blubber-lipped is "all one luscious kiss"-A weary while it were to tell the whole.But let her face possess what charm ye will,Let Venus' glory rise from all her limbs,-Forsooth there still are others; and forsoothWe lived before without her; and forsoothShe does the same things- and we know she does-All, as the ugly creature, and she scents,Yes she, her wretched self with vile perfumes;Whom even her handmaids flee and giggle atBehind her back. But he, the lover, in tearsBecause shut out, covers her threshold o'erOften with flowers and garlands, and anointsHer haughty door-posts with the marjoram,And prints, poor fellow, kisses on the doors-Admitted at last, if haply but one whiffGot to him on approaching, he would seekDecent excuses to go out forthwith;And his lament, long pondered, then would fallDown at his heels; and there he'd damn himselfFor his fatuity, observing howHe had assigned to that same lady more-Than it is proper to concede to mortals.And these our Venuses are 'ware of this.Wherefore the more are they at pains to hideAll the-behind-the-scenes of life from thoseWhom they desire to keep in bonds of love-In vain, since ne'ertheless thou canst by thoughtDrag all the matter forth into the lightAnd well search out the cause of all these smiles;And if of graceful mind she be and kind,Do thou, in thy turn, overlook the same,And thus allow for poor mortality.

Nor sighs the woman always with feigned love,Who links her body round man's body lockedAnd holds him fast, making his kisses wetWith lips sucked into lips; for oft she actsEven from desire, and, seeking mutual joys,Incites him there to run love's race-course through.Nor otherwise can cattle, birds, wild beasts,And sheep and mares submit unto the males,Except that their own nature is in heat,And burns abounding and with gladness takesOnce more the Venus of the mounting males.And seest thou not how those whom mutual pleasureHath bound are tortured in their common bonds?How often in the cross-roads dogs that pantTo get apart strain eagerly asunderWith utmost might?- When all the while they're fastIn the stout links of Venus. But they'd ne'erSo pull, except they knew those mutual joys-So powerful to cast them unto snaresAnd hold them bound. Wherefore again, again,Even as I say, there is a joint delight.

And when perchance, in mingling seed with his,The female hath o'erpowered the force of maleAnd by a sudden fling hath seized it fast,Then are the offspring, more from mothers' seed,More like their mothers; as, from fathers' seed,They're like to fathers. But whom seest to bePartakers of each shape, one equal blendOf parents' features, these are generateFrom fathers' body and from mothers' blood,When mutual and harmonious heat hath dashedTogether seeds, aroused along their framesBy Venus' goads, and neither of the twainMastereth or is mastered. Happens tooThat sometimes offspring can to being comeIn likeness of their grandsires, and bring backOften the shapes of grandsires' sires, becauseTheir parents in their bodies oft retainConcealed many primal germs, commixedIn many modes, which, starting with the stock,Sire handeth down to son, himself a sire;Whence Venus by a variable chanceEngenders shapes, and diversely brings backAncestral features, voices too, and hair.A female generation rises forthFrom seed paternal, and from mother's bodyExist created males: since sex proceedsNo more from singleness of seed than facesOr bodies or limbs of ours: for every birthIs from a twofold seed; and what's createdHath, of that parent which it is more like,More than its equal share; as thou canst mark,-Whether the breed be male or female stock.

Nor do the powers divine grudge any manThe fruits of his seed-sowing, so that neverHe be called "father" by sweet children his,And end his days in sterile love forever.What many men suppose; and gloomilyThey sprinkle the altars with abundant blood,And make the high platforms odorous with burnt gifts,To render big by plenteous seed their wives-And plague in vain godheads and sacred lots.For sterile are these men by seed too thick,Or else by far too watery and thin.Because the thin is powerless to cleaveFast to the proper places, straightawayIt trickles from them, and, returned again,Retires abortively. And then since seedMore gross and solid than will suit is spentBy some men, either it flies not forth amainWith spurt prolonged enough, or else it failsTo enter suitably the proper places,Or, having entered, the seed is weakly mixedWith seed of the woman: harmonies of Venus Are seen to matter vastly here; and someImpregnate some more readily, and from someSome women conceive more readily and becomePregnant. And many women, sterile beforeIn several marriage-beds, have yet thereafterObtained the mates from whom they could conceiveThe baby-boys, and with sweet progenyGrow rich. And even for husbands (whose own wives,Although of fertile wombs, have borne for themNo babies in the house) are also foundConcordant natures so that they at lastCan bulwark their old age with goodly sons.A matter of great moment 'tis in truth,That seeds may mingle readily with seedsSuited for procreation, and that thickShould mix with fluid seeds, with thick the fluid.And in this business 'tis of some importUpon what diet life is nourished:For some foods thicken seeds within our members,And others thin them out and waste away.And in what modes the fond delight itselfIs carried on- this too importeth vastly.For commonly 'tis thought that wives conceiveMore readily in manner of wild-beasts,After the custom of the four-foot breeds,Because so postured, with the breasts beneathAnd buttocks then upreared, the seeds can takeTheir proper places. Nor is need the leastFor wives to use the motions of blandishment;For thus the woman hinders and resistsHer own conception, if too joyouslyHerself she treats the Venus of the manWith haunches heaving, and with all her bosomNow yielding like the billows of the sea-Aye, from the ploughshare's even course and trackShe throws the furrow, and from proper placesDeflects the spurt of seed. And courtesansAre thuswise wont to move for their own ends,To keep from pregnancy and lying in,And all the while to render Venus moreA pleasure for the men- the which meseemsOur wives have never need of.

Sometimes tooIt happens- and through no divinityNor arrows of Venus- that a sorry chitOf scanty grace will be beloved by man;For sometimes she herself by very deeds,By her complying ways, and tidy habits,Will easily accustom thee to passWith her thy life-time- and, moreover, lo,Long habitude can gender human love,Even as an object smitten o'er and o'erBy blows, however lightly, yet at lastIs overcome and wavers. Seest thou not,Besides, how drops of water falling downAgainst the stones at last bore through the stones?