Amores II.4

I would not venture to defend my faulty morals or to take up the armour of lies to shield my failings. I confess — if owning my short-comings aught avails; and now, having owned them, I madly assail my sins. I hate what I am, and yet, for all my desiring, I cannot but be what I hate; ah, how hard to bear the burden you long to lay aside!

For I lack the strength and will to rule myself; I am swept along like a ship tossed on the rushing flood. 'Tis no fixed beauty that calls my passion forth — there are a hundred causes to keep me always in love. Whether 'tis some fair one with modest eyes downcast upon her lap, I am aflame, and that innocence is my ensnaring; whether 'tis some saucy jade, I am smitten because she is not rustic simple, and gives me hope of enjoying her supple embrace on the soft couch. If she seem austere, and affects the rigid Sabine dame, I judge she would yield, but is deep in her deceit. If you are taught in books, you win me by your dower of rare accomplishments; if crude, you win me by your simple ways. Some fair one tells me Callimachus' songs are rustic beside mine — one who likes me I straightway like myself. Another calls me no poet, and chides my verses — and I fain would clasp the fault-finder to my arms. One treads softly — and I fall in love with her step; another is hard — but can be made softer by the touch of love. Because this one sings sweetly, with easiest modulation of the voice, I would snatch kisses as she sings; this other runs with nimble finger over the querulous string — who could but fall in love with such cunning hands? Another takes me by her movement, swaying her arms in rhythm and curving her tender side with supple art — to say naught of myself, who take fire from every cause, put Hippolytus in my place, and he will be Priapus! You, because you are so tall, are not second to the ancient daughters of heroes, and can lie the whole couch's length. Another I find apt because she is short. I am undone by both; tall and short are after the wish of my heart. She is not well dressed — I dream what dress would add; she is well arrayed — she herself shows off her dower of charms. A fair white skin will make prey of me, I am prey to the golden-haired, and even a love of dusky hue will please. Do dark locks hang on a neck of snow — Leda was fair to look upon for her black locks; are they of golden hue — Aurora pleased with saffron locks. To all the old tales my love can fit itself. Fresh youth steals away my heart, I am smitten with later years; the one has more worth, the other wins me with charm of person.

In fine, whatever fair ones anyone could praise in all the city — my love is candidate for the favours of them all.