Book II, Elegy 4

Oft first must thou bemoan the transgressions of thy mistress, oft must thou ask a boon, and oft depart denied. Oft must thou bite thy nails for wrath at thine unmerited woe, and in anger stamp the ground with hesitating foot.

In vain was my hair drenched with perfumes, in vain my feet went lingeringly with measured step. For such a case as mine avails no drug, no Colchian sorceress of the night, no, nor the herbs Perimede's hands distilled. For here we see no cause nor whence the blow is dealt; dark is the path whereby so many griefs come none the less. In such a case the sick man needs no physician, no soft pillows; him no inclement season, no wind of heaven racks: he walks abroad, and on a sudden his friends marvel to see him dead. Whate'er love be, 'tis a strange thing, that none may guard against. For what lying seer have I not rewarded? What hag has not three times three pondered my dreams.

Let my enemies love women, my friends have their delight in a boy. For then thou descendest the tranquil stream in unimperilled bark. How can the waves of such a tiny shore do thee hurt? His heart is oft softened by a single word; she will scarce be appeased even by thy blood.