Book III, Elegy 9: To Cerinthus at the Chase (Postgate)

Boar, spare the youth I love, whether thy haunt is the plain's fair pastures or the deep woodland of the hills, nor think it thy part to whet thy hard tusks for the fray. Let Love be his guard and keep him safe for me. But the dame of Delos draws him far away with love of venery. Oh that woods might wither and dogs be extinct! How mad, how senseless is this whim to hurt soft hands, setting the tinchel round the thick-clad hills! What pleasure is it to steal into the lairs of wild beasts and to score thy white legs with the bramble's barbs? Yet still, Cerinthus, so I may share thy roamings, I will myself carry the twisted nets across the fells, myself follow the tracks of the fleet deer and undo the iron collar of the rushing hound. Then, then would forests please me when it can be shown I have been in thy arms, my love, beside the very toils. Then, though the wild boar come up to the nets, he shall depart unharmed lest he break the joys of eager love. But now without me let there be no loving; but, lad, be chaste, and lay chaste hands upon the nets as Diana's rule enjoins, and let any she that creeps by stealth into my place of love fall among savage wild beasts and be torn piecemeal. But do thou leave the love of hunting to thy sire and haste back quickly to my arms.