Remedia Amoris; or, The Remedy of Love: Literally Translated into English Prose, with Copious NotesOvid
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Remedia Amoris; or, The Remedy of Love: Literally Translated into English Prose, with Copious Notes
Ovid
Latin poetry -- Adaptations; Latin poetry -- Translations into English
Come, then, whoever you are, that require aid from my skill, away with
all belief in spells and charms. If some weighty reason shall detain you
in the City mistress of the world, hear what is my advice in the City.
He is the best assertor of his liberties who bursts the chains that gall
his breast, and once for all ceases to grieve. If any one has so much
courage, even I myself will admire him, and I shall say, "This man
stands in no need of my admonitions." You who with difficulty are
learning how not to love the object which you love; who are not able,
and still would wish to be able, will require to be instructed by me.
Full oft recall to your remembrance the deeds of the perfidious fair
one, and place all your losses before your eyes.' Say, "This thing and
that of mine does she keep; and not content with that spoliation, she
has put up for sale [1227] my paternal home. Thus did she swear to me;
thus having sworn, did she deceive me. How oft has she suffered me to
be before her doors! She herself loves other men; by me she loathes to
be loved. Some hawker, [1228] alas! enjoys those nights which she grants
not to myself."
Let all these points ferment throughout your entire feelings; repeat
them over and over hence seek the first germs of your hate. And would
that you could be even eloquent upon them! Do' you only grieve; of
your own accord you will be fluent. My attentions were lately paid to a
certain fair one; to my passion she was not favourably disposed. Sick,
like Podalirius, [1229] I cured myself with the proper herbs, and (I
confess it) though a physician, to my shame, I was sick. It did me good
to be ever dwelling upon the failings of my mistress; and that, when
done, often proved wholesome for me. "How ill formed," I used to say,
"are the legs of my mistress!" and yet, to confess the truth, they were
not. "How far from beautiful are the arms of my mistress!" and yet, to
confess the truth, they were. "How short she is!" and yet she was not;
"How much does she beg of her lover?" From that arose the greatest cause
of my hatred.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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