Free The Art of Love by Ovid

head,
    Prophet and poet made manifest. “You,” he said,
    “Professor of Love’s Affairs,
    Lead your pupils to my temple—there’s
    A world-famous inscription on it which goes,
    Know yourself
. Only the man who knows
    Himself can be intelligent in love
    And use his gifts to best effect to further every move.
    If you’re good-looking, then dazzle all beholders;
    If your skin’s fine, then lounge back with bare shoulders.
    Let the man with a good voice sing, the clever talker break
    Awkward silences, the connoisseur take
    Pleasure in wine. But one caveat’s vital:
    No ‘inspired’ poet should give a recital,
    No ‘brilliant’ speaker deliver an oration
    In the middle of dinner-table conversation.”
    That was Apollo’s advice. I’d heed it if I were you:
    What comes from a god’s mouth
must
be true.
    [L ATIN :
Ad propiora vocor…
]
        Back to my theme:
    The wise lover who follows my scheme
    Will win through, achieve his goal. The sown
    Furrow doesn’t invariably repay the loan
    Of seed with interest,
    Or the wind always spring to the help of the distressed
    Vessel. Love offers less pleasure than pain;
    Lovers must make up their minds to suffer again and again.
    Like hares on Athos, shells on the seashore, bees
    On Hybla, olives on the grey-green trees
    Of Pallas, their pains are innumerable—and all
    The shafts that wound us are steeped in gall.
    She’s “not at home,” though you’ve glimpsed her indoors? Don’t doubt
    The maid’s word but your own eyes: she’s out.
    The night’s promised, but the door locked when you come round?
    Take it like a man, doss on the filthy ground.
    And if one of the cocky, barefaced liars
    Among the maidservants enquires,
    “What’s this fellow doing besieging the door?”
    Use your charm, implore
    The hard door to open, the hard heart to unlatch,
    Take your wreath off and attach
    The roses to the post. If she wants you to, enter; if not, just go.
    Why force a mistress to say,
    “I can’t escape the pest”? Moods change by the day.
    And don’t think it a disgrace to take curses and blows,
    Or even to kiss, grovellingly, her toes.
    [L ATIN :
Quid moror in…
]
        But why waste time on trifles? I must ascend
    Higher, treat greater themes. Attend
    Closely, reader. Although the task may strain
    My powers, nobody can attain
    Excellence without difficulty: my art
    Demands exacting work on the poet’s part.
    Put up with a rival, be patient, and in time
    You’ll end up, like the generals who climb
    The Capitol, triumphant. This is no secular
    Proverb, it’s Jupiter’s oracular
    Truth. In all my hanging_eng this
    Advice merits the greatest emphasis.
    If she flirts, bear it; if she writes on the sly,
    Don’t touch her letters; and never try
    To check on where she comes from, where she goes.
    Husbands grant wives this freedom—they even doze
    While sleep assists the comedy. It must be confessed
    That as student in this role I’m not the best;
    But what can you do when you fail your own test?
    Should I tamely watch while some would-be lover
    Makes passes at my girl? No, rage takes over.
    I remember, her husband kissed her once and I complained—
    My love is savage and untrained
    (A failing that has done me in the past a
    Great deal of harm). The true Master
    Is affable with rivals. Ignorance is better
    Than knowledge; tolerate lies, for if you get her
    To confess too often, her face may tire
    Of blushing and she’ll become an inveterate liar.
    And so, young lovers, don’t play the detective;
    Let them cheat and think their cover-up’s effective.
    Passion, unmasked, grows; a guilty pair
    Always persist in a ruinous affair.
    The whole world knows the myth:
    Venus and Mars caught by Vulcan, the crafty smith,
    When Father Mars, in the grip
    Of mad passion, resigned his awesome generalship
    To join the ranks of lovers. For her part
    (For no goddess has a softer heart),
    Venus was not averse to being wooed,
    She certainly didn’t play the country prude.
    Oh,