The mournful altars, and with incense load, To bless the showery seed with future life, And to impregnate the well-laboured wife. In vain they weary heaven with prayer, or fly To oracles, or magic numbers try; For barrenness of sexes will proceed Either from too condensed, or watery, seed: The watery juice too soon dissolves away, And in the parts projected will not stay; The too condensed, unsouled, unwieldy mass, Drops short, nor carries to the destined place; Nor pierces to the parts, nor, though injected home, Will mingle with the kindly moisture of the womb. For nuptials are unlike in their success; Some men with fruitful seed some women bless, And from some men some women fruitful are, Just as their constitutions join or jar: And many seeming barren wives have been, Who after, matched with more prolific men, Have filled a family with prattling boys; And many, not supplied at home with joys, Have found a friend abroad to ease their smart, And to perform the sapless husband's part. So much it does import, that seed with seed Should of the kindly mixture make the breed; And thick with thin, and thin with thick should join, So to produce and propagate the line. Of such concernment too is drink and food, To incrassate, or attenuate the blood. Of like importance is the posture too, In which the genial feat of love we do; For, as the females of the four-foot kind Receive the leapings of their males behind, So the good wives, with loins uplifted high, And leaning on their hands, the fruitful stroke may try: For in that posture will they best conceive; Not when, supinely laid, they frisk and heave; For active motions only break the blow, } And more of strumpets than the wives they show, } When, answering stroke with stroke, the mingled liquors flow. } Endearments eager, and too brisk a bound, Throw off the plow-share from the furrowed ground; But common harlots in conjunction heave, Because 'tis less their business to conceive, Than to delight, and to provoke the deed; A trick which honest wives but little need. Nor is it from the gods, or Cupid's dart, That many a homely woman takes the heart, But wives well-humoured, dutiful, and chaste, } And clean, will hold their wandering husbands fast; } Such are the links of love, and such a love will last. } For what remains, long habitude, and use, Will kindness in domestic bands produce; For custom will a strong impression leave. Hard bodies, which the lightest stroke receive, In length of time will moulder and decay, And stones with drops of rain are washed away. FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF LUCRETIUS. _Tum porrò puer, &c._