§1.2.1Esse quid hoc dicam, quod tam mihi dura videntur §1.2.2Strata, neque in lecto pallia nostra sedent, §1.2.3Et vacuus somno noctem, quam longa, peregi, §1.2.4Lassaque versati corporis ossa dolent?
What should I say this is, that my bedding seems so hard to me, and our blankets do not stay in place on the bed, and, empty of sleep, I have passed the night, as long as it was, and the weary bones of my tossed body ache?
§1.2.5Nam, puto, sentirem, siquo temptarer amore.
For, I think, I would feel it if I were being assailed by any love.
§1.2.6An subit et tecta callidus arte nocet?
Or does it steal in, and craftily do harm with hidden art?
So it must be; the slender arrows have clung in my heart, and fierce Love torments the breast he has possessed.
§1.2.9Cedimus, an subitum luctando accendimus ignem?
Do we yield, or do we kindle the sudden fire by struggling?
§1.2.10Cedamus! leve fit, quod bene fertur, onus.
Let us yield! The burden becomes light which is borne well.
I have seen tossed flames grow when the torch is shaken, and die down again when no one shakes them.
§1.2.13Verbera plura ferunt, quam quos iuvat usus aratri, §1.2.14Detractant prensi dum iuga prima boves.
Oxen that refuse their first yokes when caught bear more blows than those who are pleased by the use of the plow.
§1.2.15Asper equus duris contunditur ora lupatis, §1.2.16Frena minus sentit, quisquis ad arma facit.
The wild horse has its mouth bruised by the hard jagged bits; whichever one adapts to harness feels the reins less.
Love urges those who are unwilling more sharply and far more fiercely than those who confess they bear their servitude.
Lo, I confess! I am your new prey, O Cupid; I stretch out my conquered hands to your laws.
There is no need for war — I ask for pardon and peace; nor will I, conquered and unarmed, be a praise to your arms.
§1.2.23Necte comam myrto, maternas iunge columbas; §1.2.24Qui deceat, currum vitricus ipse dabit, §1.2.25Inque dato curru, populo clamante triumphum, §1.2.26Stabis et adiunctas arte movebis aves.
Bind your hair with myrtle, yoke your mother's doves; your stepfather himself will give you a chariot which is fitting, and in the given chariot, with the people shouting "triumph!", you will stand and skillfully guide the yoked birds.
Captured youths and captured girls will be led; this procession will be a magnificent triumph for you.
§1.2.29Ipse ego, praeda recens, factum modo vulnus habebo §1.2.30Et nova captiva vincula mente feram.
I myself, a fresh prey, will bear my recently made wound and carry new chains with a captive mind.
§1.2.31Mens Bona ducetur manibus post terga retortis, §1.2.32Et Pudor, et castris quidquid Amoris obest.
Good Sense will be led with her hands twisted behind her back, and Shame, and whatever stands in the way of Love's camp.
§1.2.33Omnia te metuent; ad te sua bracchia tendens §1.2.34Vulgus 'io' magna voce 'triumphe!' canet.
All things will fear you; stretching out their arms to you, the crowd will sing "Io triumphe!" with a loud voice.
Flatteries will be your companions, and Error, and Madness, a crowd that has constantly followed your party.
With these soldiers you overcome both men and gods; if you should strip yourself of these advantages, you will be naked.
Your glad mother from the highest Olympus will applaud you as you triumph, and scatter roses provided onto your face.
You, with gems decorating your wings and gems varifying your hair, will go, golden yourself, on golden wheels.
§1.2.43Tunc quoque non paucos, si te bene novimus, ures; §1.2.44Tunc quoque praeteriens vulnera multa dabis.
Then too, if we know you well, you will burn not a few; then too, in passing, you will deal many wounds.
Your arrows cannot rest, even though you yourself should wish it; your scorching flame does harm with its nearby heat.
Such was Bacchus when the land of the Ganges was tamed; you are formidable to birds, he was to tigers.
Therefore, since I can be a part of your sacred triumph, spare, O victor, to waste your powers against me!