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The broken filly feels a curb that fits.
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So Love will crush that bridling enemy who braves
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Him—crush him harder than surrendering slaves.
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And Cupid, look: I’m one! Your newest prize says yes,
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And puts his hands up. See how I profess
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20
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Your creed? Your word is law; there is no war. I plead
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For peace, so where’s the glory in a deed
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Like conquering an unarmed man? No, braid your hair
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With myrtle, hitch your mother’s pigeon pair
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To Vulcan’s chariot, and in that war car, steer
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25
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Those doves, as crowds cry out their love and cheer.
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And youth that you lead on, those captive girls and boys,
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Will make a mighty triumph of your toys.
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Myself, your latest spoil, will wear a wound that’s fresh,
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Bearing as mind-forged chains what binds the flesh.
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30
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Good Sense and Shame, their hands bound back by cuff and clamp,
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Trudge on with everyone not in Love’s camp.
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The crowd that cries your triumph “Io!” cries from fear,
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Hands high. Their one great throat gives out that cheer.
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Then Frenzy and Delusion follow in your train
|
35
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Forever, and caresses made in vain.
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These are your forces that defeat all human foes;
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Sans them, you’re just a boy without his clothes.
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Oh, how your mother high above will clap, and shower
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Your head with roses in your finest hour!
|
40
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You’ll shine like gold, with jeweled wings, gems in your hair.
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Your golden self will dazzle all the air.
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And we who know you well, know you will leave wound-free
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Few souls you fire with your ardency.
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Boy Archer, all your arrows are their own. Blind seer,
|
45
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|
They scorch and singe whatever they come near,
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As if you were great Bacchus on the Ganges’ shore,
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Whose tigers had been tamed—like doves—for war.
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So spare me as a victim in your triumph’s train,
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And save your breath to blast some other swain.
|
50
|
|
Extend the kindness cousin Caesar’s smiles exude:
|
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His arms reach out to each new land subdued.
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I.3
|
Love, give me justice. Make my heart’s thief love me, or…
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Make her the one I’ll live forever for.
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No, that’s too much to ask. Just let her let me love,
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|
And hear my prayers, O Venus up above.
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Accept me for a man who’ll be your lifelong servant;
|
5
|
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Take one who in your faith will be observant
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Despite the fact my family name’s not old or fine,
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And though it’s just a knight who “wrote” our line.
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Perhaps our family can count its fields and ploughs,
|
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|
And parsed-out pennies are all it allows
|
10
|
|
Me. Phoebus, though, and Bacchus, and the Muses, and
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Amor, deliver me into your hand.
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|
I’ll offer you the greatest trust, love free from stain,
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|
And proper modesty—all clean and plain.
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I am no ladies’ man who jumps from horse to horse,
|
15
|
|
Some circus rider, but will stay the course
|
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Spun out by Clotho through the years—their whole, long thread—
|
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And die with you beside me at my bed.
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You only need to give yourself to be my theme
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To see that what I write’s worth your esteem.
|
20
|
|
Recall those other famous women: she who turned
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Bovine; and one a swan left not quite spurned;
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|
That girl who went to sea with what just seemed a bull
|
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|
(Her virgin hands held horns to push and pull)?
|
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|
Oh, we’ll be sung that way throughout the world forever—
|
25
|
|
Two names that earth and time will never sever.
|
|
I.4
|
Your husband’s coming to our feast? That same repast
|
|
|
I’m praying will turn out to be his last?
|
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So I must see my darling like some common guest;
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