Ovid: Amores 1

I was about to prepare to carry out a violent war with a great number of weapons,
In a measure to set the matter.
Equal to a verse of a lesser – Cupid laughed
They say and yet one foot creeps together.
Who are you, boy, to have command against this song?
You are a master of devotion, we are not in your mob.
What, if the Venus flamed Mercury’s golden weapons,
While Minerva fanned the flames?
Who decided to have Ceceres to rule in the mountainous woods,
The virgins cultivate and quiver to collect?
Whose quivered point pierces and adorns her long hair,
Have you provided arousal with your lyre?
You are great, boy, your kingdom holds power;
Wherefore your work is done, to your extent, new?
Or, whereas now, you are right? Are yours Heliconias measures?
Is Phoebus’ lyre now barely even his at all?
When the first new good verse arises,
It has weakened my strength;
And no material fitting for the matter,
Either the boy or the girl with long hair.
You were lamenting, while he immediately got that from his quiver
He inserted an arrow of proper destruction in me,
He strongly bent the crescent shaped bow,
‘That’ who ‘The channel, accept this for his work’!
I am Miserable! The boy holds these shafts.
I am, and in the kingdom I am devoid of love.
Six of my works have risen up, in five;
Farewell to this war with measures!
Ashes from the flame are temporary,
Muse, by whence the foot is taken away!




Arma gravi numero violentaque bella parabam
edere, materia conveniente modis.
par erat inferior versus—risisse Cupido
dicitur atque unum surripuisse pedem.
'Quis tibi, saeve puer, dedit hoc in carmina iuris? 5
Pieridum vates, non tua turba sumus.
quid, si praeripiat flavae Venus arma Minervae,
ventilet accensas flava Minerva faces?
quis probet in silvis Cererem regnare iugosis,
lege pharetratae Virginis arva coli? 10
crinibus insignem quis acuta cuspide Phoebum
instruat, Aoniam Marte movente lyram?
sunt tibi magna, puer, nimiumque potentia regna;
cur opus adfectas, ambitiose, novum?
an, quod ubique, tuum est? tua sunt Heliconia tempe? 15
vix etiam Phoebo iam lyra tuta sua est?
cum bene surrexit versu nova pagina primo,
attenuat nervos proximus ille meos;
nec mihi materia est numeris levioribus apta,
aut puer aut longas compta puella comas.' 20
Questus eram, pharetra cum protinus ille soluta
legit in exitium spicula facta meum,
lunavitque genu sinuosum fortiter arcum,
'quod' que 'canas, vates, accipe' dixit 'opus!'
Me miserum! certas habuit puer ille sagittas. 25
uror, et in vacuo pectore regnat Amor.
Sex mihi surgat opus numeris, in quinque residat:
ferrea cum vestris bella valete modis!
cingere litorea flaventia tempora myrto,
Musa, per undenos emodulanda pedes! 30