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O V I D's A MO. U R S. O I A
OR mighty wars I thought to tune my lute,
my measures to my subject suit. Six feet for ev'ry verse the Muse design’d: But Cupid, laughing, when he saw my mind, From ev'ry second verse a foot purloin'd. Who gaye
thee, boy, this arbitrary saw, On subjects, not thy own, commands to lay, Who Phæbus only and his laws obey ? 'Tis more absurd than if the Queen of Love Should in Minerva's arms to battle move; Or manly Pallas from that
Phæbus quit the trembling string,
As well may
Thus when with soaring wings I seek renown,
breast a mortal wound he made. (Far hence, ye proud hexameters, remove ) My verse is pac'd and trammeld into love. With myrtle wreaths my thoughtful brows inclose, While in unequal verse I sing my woes.
To his mistress, whose husband is invited to a feast
with them. The poet instructs ber how to behave berself in his company.
OUR husband will be with us at the treat;
May that be the last fupper he shall eat. And am poor
I a guest invited there, Only to see, while he may touch the fair ? To see
you kiss and hug your nauseous lord, While his leud hand descends below the board Now wonder not that Hippodamia's charms, At such a sight, the Centaurs urg'd to arms; That in a rage they threw their cups afide, Assaild the bridegroom, and would force the bride. I am not half a horse, (I would I were) Yet hardly can from you my hands forbear. Take then my counsel; which, observ'd, may be Of fome importance both to you Be sure to come before
your man be there; There's nothing can be done; but come howe'er.
Sit next him (that belongs to decency)
looks what silently they speak,
upon our last embrace, With your fore-finger gently touch your face. . If any word of mine offend my dear, Pull, with your hand, the velvet of your ear. If
you are pleas’d with what I do or say,
lord. When he fills for you, never touch the
cup, But bid th' officious cuckold drink it up. The waiter on those services employ: Drink you, and I will snatch it from the boy ; Watching the
your sweet mouth hath been, And thence with eager lips will suck it in. If he, with clownish manners, thinks it fit To taste, and offer you the nasty bit,
Reject his greasy kindness, and restore
your bosom stray,
'tis mine. I shall thrust in betwixt, and void of fear The manifest adult'rer will appear. These things are plain to fight; but more I
doubt What you conceal beneath your petticoat. Take not his leg between your tender thighs, Nor, with your hand, provoke my foe to rise.
love-inventions I deplore, Which I myself have practis'd all before? How oft have I been forc'd the robe to lift In
company; to make a homely shift For a bare bout, ill huddled o'er in haste, While o'er my side the fair her mantle cast. You to your husband shall not be so kind; But, lest you should, your mantle leave behind.