BOOK IV, lines 962-1287

And generally to what pursuits soever Each of us is attached and closely tied, Or on whatever tasks we have been used To spend much time, so that therein the mind Has borne unwonted strain, in those same tasks We mostly seem in sleep to be engaged. Lawyers imagine they are pleading causes, Or drafting deeds; generals that they are fighting In some pitched battle; mariners that they still Are waging with the winds their lifelong war; And we that we are toiling at our task, Questioning ever the nature of all things, And setting our discoveries forth in books Written in our native tongue. And thus in general Do all other pursuits and arts appear To fill men’s minds and mock them during sleep. And with those who for many days together Have watched stage shows with unremitting zeal, We generally find that when they have ceased To apprehend them with their senses, yet Passages remain open in the mind Through which the same images of things may enter. Thus the same sights for many days keep passing Before their eyes, so that even when awake They seem to be beholding figures dancing And moving supple limbs; also their ears Seem to be listening clear-toned melodies Of the lyre’s eloquent strings, while they behold In fancy the same audience, the stage too, Glowing with all its varied scenery. So great the influence of zeal and pleasure, And of those tasks whereon not only men Are wont to spend their energies, but even All living animals. Thus you will see Strong horses, when their limbs are lying at rest, Nevertheless in slumber sweat and pant Continually, and as though to win some prize Strain their strength to the utmost, or else struggle To start, as if the barriers were thrown open. And often hunters’ dogs while softly slumbering Will yet suddenly toss their legs about And utter hurried yelps, sniffing the air Again and again, as though following the trail Of wild beasts they have scented: and roused from sleep They often chase the empty images Of stags, as if they saw them in full flight, Till having shaken their delusions off They come back to themselves. But the tame brood Of dogs reared in the house, will shake themselves And start up from the ground, as if they saw Unknown figures and faces: and the more savage Each breed is, the more fierce must be its dreams. And in the night-time birds of various kinds, Suddenly taking flight, trouble with their wings The groves of deities, when in gentle sleep Hawks have appeared threatening them with havoc Of battle, flying after them in pursuit. Again the minds of men, which greatly labouring Achieve great aims, will often during sleep Act and perform the same. Kings take by storm, Are made captive, join battle, cry aloud As though assassinated then and there. Many men struggle and utter groans in pain, And as though mangled by a panther’s fangs Or savage lion’s, fill the whole neighbourhood With vehement clamourings. Many in their sleep Discourse of great affairs, and often so Have revealed their own guilt. Many meet death: Many, as though falling with all their weight From high cliffs to the ground, are scared with terror, And like men reft of reason, hardly from sleep Come to themselves again, being quite distraught By the body’s tumult. Likewise a man will sit Thirsting beside a river or pleasant spring And gulp almost the whole stream down his throat. Innocent children also, slumber-bound, Often believe they are lifting up their dress By a tank or broken vessel, and so pour The liquid, drained from their whole body, forth, Soaking the gorgeous-hued magnificence Of Babylonian coverlets. Then too To those into the currents of whose age For the first time seed is entering, when the ripe Fulness of time has formed it in their limbs, From without there come images emanating From some chance body, announcing a glorious face And beautiful colouring, that excites and stirs Those parts that have grown turgid with much seed, So that, as if all things had been performed, The full tide overflows and stains their vesture.

This seed whereof we spoke is stirred in us When first ripening age confirms our frame. For different causes move and stimulate Different things. From man the influence Of man alone rouses forth human seed. So soon as, thus dislodged, it has retired From its abodes throughout the limbs and frame, It withdraws from the whole body, and assembling At certain places in the system, straightway Rouses at last the body’s genital parts. These places, irritated, swell with seed; And so the wish arises to eject it Towards that whereto the fell desire tends; While the body seeks that by which the mind Is smitten by love. For all men generally Fall towards the wound, and the blood glistens forth In that direction whence the stroke was dealt us. And if he is at close quarters, the red drops Sprinkle the foe. Thus he who has been struck By the missiles of Venus, whether a boy With womanish limbs launches the shaft, or else Some woman darting love from her whole body, Yearns towards that whereby he has been wounded, And longs to unite with it, and shoot the stream Drawn from the one into the other body. For dumb desire gives presage of the pleasure.

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 Can they pluck anything off from the soft limbs, Aimlessly wandering over the whole body. And when at last with limbs knit they enjoy The flower of their age, when now the body Presages rapture, and Venus is in act To sow the fields of woman, eagerly They clasp bodies and join moist mouth to mouth With panted breath, imprinting lips with teeth; In vain, for naught thence can they pluck away, Nor each with the whole body entering pass Into the other’s body; for at times They seem to wish and struggle so to do. So greedily do they hug the bonds of Venus, While their limbs melt, enfeebled by the might Of pleasure. Finally, when the gathered lust Has burst forth from the frame, awhile there comes A brief pause in their passion’s violent heat. Then returns the same madness: the old frenzy Revisits them, when they would fain discover What verily they desire to attain; Yet never can they find out what device May conquer their disease: in such blind doubt They waste away, pined by a secret wound.

Consider too how they consume their strength And are worn out with toiling; and consider How at another’s beck their life is passed. Meantime their substance vanishes and is changed To Babylonian stuffs; their duties languish; Their reputation totters and grows sick. While at her lover’s cost she anoints herself With precious unguents, and upon her feet Beautiful Sicyonian slippers laugh. Then doubtless she has set for her in gold Big green-lit emeralds; and the sea-purple dress, Worn out by constant use, imbibes the sweat Of love’s encounters. The wealth which their fathers Had nobly gathered, becomes hair-ribbons And head-dresses, or else may be is turned Into a long Greek gown, or stuffs of Alinda And Ceos. Feasts with goodly broideries And viands are prepared, games, numerous cups, Unguents, crowns and festoons; but all in vain; Since from the well-spring of delights some touch Of bitter rises, to give pain amidst The very flowers; either when the mind Perchance grows conscience-stricken, and remorse Gnaws it, thus to be spending a life of sloth, And ruining itself in wanton haunts; Or else because she has launched forth some word And left its sense in doubt, some word that clings To the hungry heart, and quickens there like fire; Or that he fancies she is casting round Her eyes too freely, or looks upon some other, And on her face sees traces of a smile.

When love is permanent and fully prosperous, These evils are experienced; but if love Be crossed and hopeless, there are evils such That you might apprehend them with closed eyes, Beyond numbering; so that it is wiser, As I have taught you, to be vigilant Beforehand, and watch well lest you be snared. For to avoid being tripped up in love’s toils Is not so difficult as, once you are caught, To issue from the nets and to break through The strong meshes of Venus. None the less Even when you are tangled and involved, You may escape the peril, unless you stand In your own way, and always overlook Every defect whether of mind or body In her whom you pursue and long to win. For this is how men generally behave Blinded by lust, and assign to those they love Good qualities which are not truly theirs. So we see women in various ways misformed And ugly, to be fondly loved and held In highest favour. And a man will mock His fellows, urging them to placate Venus, Because they are troubled by a degrading love, Yet often the poor fool will have no eyes For his own far worse plight. The tawny is called A honey brown; the filthy and unclean, Reckless of order; the green-eyed, a Pallas; The sinewy and angular, a gazelle; The tiny and dwarfish is a very Grace, Nothing but sparkle; the monstrous and ungainly, A marvel, and composed of majesty. She stammers, cannot talk, why then she lisps; The mute is bashful; but the fiery-tongued Malicious gossip becomes a brilliant torch. One is a slender darling, when she scarce Can live for lack of flesh; and one half dead With cough, is merely frail and delicate. Then the fat and full-bosomed is Ceres’ self Suckling Iacchus; the snub-nosed, a female Silenus, or a Satyress; the thick-lipped, A kiss incarnate. But more of this sort It were a tedious labour to recite. Yet be she noble of feature as you will, And let the might of Venus emanate From every limb; still there are others too; Still we have lived without her until now; Still she does, and we know she does, the same In all things as the ugly, and, poor wretch, Perfumes herself with evil-smelling scents, While her maids run and hide to giggle in secret. But the excluded lover many a time With flowers and garlands covers tearfully The threshold, and anoints the haughty posts With oil of marjoram, and imprints, poor man, Kisses upon the doors. Yet when at last He has been admitted, if but a single breath Should meet him as he enters, he would seek Specious excuses to be gone, and so The long-studied, deep-drawn complaint would fall To the ground, and he would then convict himself Of folly, now he sees he had attributed More to her than is right to grant a mortal. Nor to our Venuses is this unknown: Wherefore the more are they at pains to hide All that takes place behind the scenes of life From those they would keep fettered in love’s chains But all in vain, since in imagination You yet may draw forth all these things to light, Discovering every cause for ridicule: And if she be of a mind that still can charm, And not malicious, you may in your turn Overlook faults and pardon human frailty.

Nor always with feigned love does the woman sigh, When with her own uniting the man’s body She holds him clasped, with moistened kisses sucking His lips into her lips. Nay, from the heart She often does it, and seeking mutual joys Woos him to run to the utmost goal of love. And nowise else could birds, cattle, wild beasts, And sheep and mares submit to males, except That their exuberant nature is in heat, And burning draws towards them joyously The lust of the covering mates. See you not also That those whom mutual pleasure has enchained Are often tormented in their common chains? How often on the highroads dogs desiring To separate, will strain in opposite ways Eagerly with all their might, yet the whole time They are held fast in the strong bonds of Venus! Thus they would never act, unless they had Experience of mutual joys, enough To thrust them into the snare and hold them bound. Therefore I assert, the pleasure must be common.

Often when, mingling her seed with the man’s, The woman with sudden force has overwhelmed And mastered the man’s force, then children are borne Like to the mother from the mother’s seed, As from the father’s seed like to the father. But those whom you see sharing the form of both, Mingling their parents’ features side by side, Grow from the father’s body and mother’s blood, When mutual ardour has conspired to fling The seeds together, roused by the goads of Venus Throughout the frame, and neither of the two Has gained the mastery nor yet been mastered. Moreover sometimes children may be born Like their grandparents, and will often recall The forms of their remoter ancestors, Because the parents often hold concealed Within their bodies many primal atoms Mingled in many ways, which, handed down From the first stock, father transmits to father. And out of these Venus produces forms With ever-varying chances, and recalls The look and voice and hair of ancestors: Since truly these things are no more derived From a determined seed, than are our faces Bodies and limbs. Also the female sex May spring from a father’s seed, and males come forth Formed from a mother’s body: for the birth Is always fashioned out of the two seeds. Whichever of the two that which is born Is most like, of that parent it will have More than an equal share; as you may observe, Whether it be a male or female offspring.

Nor do divine powers thwart in any man A fruitful sowing, so that he may never Receive from sweet children the name of father, But in sterile wedlock must live out his days; As men in general fancy, and so sprinkle The altars sorrowfully with much blood, And heap the shrine-tables with offerings, To make their wives pregnant with copious seed. But vainly they importune the divinity And sortilege of the gods. For they are sterile Sometimes from too great thickness of the seed, Or else it is unduly thin and fluid. Because the thin cannot adhere and cleave To the right spots, it forthwith flows away Defeated, and departs abortively. Others again discharge a seed too thick, More solid than is suitable, which either Does not shoot forth with so far-flung a stroke, Or cannot so well penetrate where it should, Or having penetrated, does not easily Mix with the woman’s seed. For harmonies Seem to be most important in love’s rites. And some men will more readily fertilise Some women, and other women will conceive More readily and grow pregnant from other men. And many women, sterile hitherto In several marriages, have yet at last Found mates from whom they could conceive children, And so become enriched with a sweet offspring. And even for those to whom their household wives, However fruitful, had failed so far to bear, A well-matched nature has been often found That they might fortify their age with children. So important is it, if seeds are to agree And blend with seeds for purposes of birth, Whether the thick encounters with the fluid, And the fluid with the thick. Also herein It is of moment on what diet life Is nourished; for the seed within the limbs By some foods is made solid, and by others Is thinned and dwindled. Also in what modes Love’s bland delight is dealt with, that likewise Is of the highest moment. For in general Women are thought more readily to conceive After the manner of wild beasts and quadrupeds, Since so the seeds can find the proper spots, The breasts being bent downward, the loins raised. Nor have wives the least need of wanton movements. For a woman thwarts conception and frustrates it, If with her loins she joyously lures on The man’s love, and, with her whole bosom relaxed And limp, provokes lust’s tide to overflow. For then she thrusts the furrow from the share’s Direct path, turning the seed’s stroke aside From its right goal. And thus for their own ends Harlots are wont to move, because they wish Not to conceive nor lie in childbed often, Likewise that Venus may give men more pleasure. But of this surely our wives should have no need.

Sometimes, by no divine interposition Nor through the shafts of Venus, a plain woman, Though of inferior beauty, may be loved. For sometimes she herself by her behaviour, Her gentle ways and personal daintiness Will easily accustom you to spend Your whole life with her. And indeed ’tis custom That harmonises love. For what is struck However lightly by repeated blows, Yet after a long lapse of time is conquered And must dissolve. Do you not likewise see That drops of water falling upon stones After long lapse of time will pierce them through?