This desire we call Venus: from it came The Latin name for love[E]; and from this source There trickled first into the heart that drop Of Venus’ honeyed sweetness, followed soon By chilling care. For though that which you love Be absent, yet are images of it present, And its sweet name still haunts within your ears. But it is wise to shun such images, And scare off from you all that feeds your love, Turning your mind elsewhere, and vent instead Your gathering humours on some other body, Rather than hold them back, set once for all Upon the love of one, and so lay up Care and unfailing anguish for yourself. For the wound gathers strength and grows inveterate By feeding, while the madness day by day Increases, and the misery becomes heavier, Unless you heal the first wounds by new blows, And roving in the steps of vagrant Venus So cure them while yet fresh, or can divert To something else the movements of your mind. Nor does the man who shuns love go without The fruits of Venus; rather he makes choice Of joys that bring no after-pain: for surely The pleasure of intercourse must be more pure For those that are heart-whole than for the love-sick. For in the very moment of possession The passion of lovers fluctuates to and fro, Wandering undecidedly, nor know they What first they would enjoy with eyes and hands. What they have sought, they tightly press, and cause Pain to the body, and often print their teeth Upon the lips, and kiss with bruising mouths, Because the pleasure is not unalloyed, And there are secret stings which stimulate To hurt that very thing, whate’er it be, From which those germs of madness emanate. But easily, while love lasts, Venus allays Such pains; and soft delight, mingled therein, Bridles their bites. For in this there is hope That from that very body whence proceeds Their burning lust, the flame may in turn be quenched, Although Nature protests the opposite Must happen, since this is the one sole thing Whereof the more we have, so much the more Must the heart be consumed by fell desire. For food and drink are taken within the body; And since they are wont to settle in fixed parts, In this way the desire for water and bread Is easily satisfied: but from the face And beautiful colouring of a man there enters Nothing into the body to enjoy Save tenuous images, a love-sick hope Often snatched off by the wind. As when in sleep A thirsty man seeks to drink, and no liquid Is given to quench the burning in his limbs, Yet he pursues the images of water, Toiling in vain, and still thirsts, though he drink In a rushing river’s midst; even so in love Venus deludes lovers with images: For neither, gaze intently as they may, Can bodies satiate them, nor with their hands