Amores II.5

No love is worth so much — away, Cupid with the quiver! — that so often my most earnest prayer should be for death. For death my prayers are, whenever I think you false to me — ah, girl born for my everlasting ill!

No intercepted note it is that lays bare to me your deeds, nor the secret giving of gifts that accuses you. Oh, would that my charge were such that I could not win! Wretched me! why is my cause so strong? Happy he who dares boldly defend his beloved, to whom his mistress can say, " I did not do it! " Iron of heart is he, and too much favours his own pain, who would win a bloodstained triumph by the downfall of the guilty.

I saw your guilty acts my wretched self with sober eye, when the wine had been placed and you thought I slept. I saw you both say many things with quiverings of the brow; in your nods was much of speech. Your eyes, too, girl, were not dumb, and the table was written o'er with wine, nor did any letter fail your fingers. Your speech, too, I recognized was busied with hidden message, and your words charged to stand for certain meanings. And now the throng of guests had already left the board and gone; there were left a youth or two, asleep in wine. 'Twas then indeed I saw you sharing shameful kisses — it is clear to me they were kisses of the tongue — not such as sister bestows on austere brother, but such as yielding sweetheart gives her eager lover; not such as one could think Diana grants to Phoebus, but such as Venus oft bestowed on Mars.

What are you doing? " I cry out. " Where now are you scattering joys that are mine? I will lay my sovereign hands upon my rights. Those kisses are common to you with me, and common to me with you — why does any third attempt to share those goods? "

These were my words, and whatever passion dictated to my tongue; but she — her conscious face mantled with ruddy shame, like the sky grown red with the tint of Tithonus' bride, or maid gazed on by her newly betrothed; like roses gleaming among the lilies where they mingle, or the moon in labour with enchanted steeds, or Assyrian ivory Maeonia's daughter tinctures to keep long years from yellowing it. Like one of these, or very like, was the colour she displayed, and never was she fairer to look upon. She kept her eyes on the ground — to keep them on the ground was becoming; there was grief in her face — grief made her comely. Just as it was, and it was neatly dressed, I was moved to tear her hair and to fly at her tender cheeks — When I looked on her face, my brave arms dropped; my love was protected by armour of her own. But a moment before in a cruel rage, I was humble now, and e'en entreated her to give me kisses not less sweet than those. She smiled, and gave me her best with all her heart — kisses that could make irate Jove let drop from his hand the three-forked bolt; I am in wretched torment for fear my rival has tasted them as sweet, and I would not have his kisses of the same seal. Much better, too, were these than I had taught, and something new she seemed to have learned. Their too much pleasing was an ill sign, for her kiss was voluptuous. Yet this one thing is not all my grief — I complain not merely that her kisses are close, and yet that they are close I do complain; those kisses could have been no wise but lewdly taught. Some master has had a great reward for his teaching.