Ovids remedy of love directing lovers how they may by reason suppresse the passion of love.

Liber 1.

WHen Love the Title of this booke had read, Wars against me (saith he) are threatened. Cupid doe not condemn him of that crime Who is thy Poet, and hath many a time Borne up those colours thou deliverd'st me, And for my guide and Captaine followed thee. I am not fierce Tydides who did wound Thy Mother Venus, so that in a swound In Mars his Chariot she was found to fly, And returne to Heaven through the moistned skie. Some young men are in love but for a time, But I to love doe alwaies still incline: And if you would know now what I doe doe, I must confesse, I am in love now too. Though I did once such Rules of love impart, As did reduce that passion to an Art.

I will not now betray thee gentle Boy, Nor yet my Art of Love will I destroy. That which I in my former worke have done, By my new Muse shall not now be unspun. If any one doe love, and love aright, Placing his love where it doth yeeld delight, Affording sweet contentment to his mind, Let him proceed still with a prosperous wind. But if any one love a disdainfull Maid, Then by this Art his griefe shall be allay'd: Whose Rules if he peruse, he shall not dye For her disdaine, or scornefull cruelty. For why should Lovers whom love doth entangle, Themselves so often with a halter strangle? Why with their daggers should they stab their brest Love, thou art blam'd who lovest peace and rest. Let him cease to love, who needs for love will dye, Be not thou Author of his Tragedy. Thou art a Boy, and unto sport shouldst runne, And a soft government doth thy yeeres become. Thou mayst use naked arrows in the Warres, But thy gult Darts doe leave no mortall skarres. Let others in Swords and in shaipe speares delight, And get the victory by a bloody fight. Reverence thou thy mothers Arts more mild, By which no mother hath lost her deare childe. By thy powers let the doores at night resound With knocking, and with flowry wreaths be crown'd.

Let fearefull Mayds and young men by stealth meet, Let wives their wary husbands finely cheat, Make the Lover flatter at the doore, and chide, While he shut out doth singing there abide. To see their teares, not death should make thee smile Thy Torch is unfit to light a funerall pile. When I had spoken thus, golden Love display'd His Pearle-embroidred wings, and to me said, Finish thy worke which thou hast now begun, And you deceiv'd young men unto me come, You that love hath deceiv'd in every kind. Here by my precepts you some helpe shall finde, And learne from him that did the Rules impart Of love, how you may cure your selves by Art: That the same hand which wounded you, againe May heale you, and may mitigate your paine. The earth both wholesome hearbs & weeds doth che∣rish, And by the Rose the Nettle oft doth flourish. And Pelias Speare such virtue did conceale, That it would make a wound, and it would heale. To men and maydens I declare my Art, Striving to arme them both in every part: Wherein if some things not so usefull be, Yet by example you the way may see: My purpose is good, to quench Loves cruell flame, That no vice in thy servile brest may reigne. Phyllis had liv'd, if shee had ruled beene By those precepts which may here be read, and seene.

Nor dying Dido had not seene that houre, When she beheld from the top of her Towre The Trojan ships, that would no longer stay, Hoist up their sayles, and forthwith steale away, And Progne with her sorrow growing wilde, To vexe her husband had not kild her childe. Though Philomela Tereus did please, My Art had helpt him, and cur'd his disease: So that he had not merited to be Transform'd to a bird for his impiety. Pasiphae had not a Bull affected, And Phaedra had her filthy love neglected, Menelaus had his Helena enjoy'd, Nor by the Grecians had Troy beene destroy'd. If wicked Scylla this booke had but read, Nisus purple haire had still growne on his head. Let losing lovers learne how to asswage, By my instruction their loves furious rage, That their ship with the rest saile fairely on, While I their faithfull guide and Pilot am. You should have Ovid read when you begun To love, and now you may read him againe: For I will helpe him whom love doth oppresse, Then favour him that helpes you in distresse. And I intreate thee now when I begin, Even thee Apollo, whose brow is hem'd in With the greene Laurell, thou that didst invent Both Verse and Physick, further my intent.

Helpe thou thy Poet playing the Physitian, Both which Arts belong unto thy jurisdiction. When Sun-light motions doe affection stirre, Stay them before that they doe goe too farre. Quench those new flames before they gather force, And stop in the beginning of thy course. Time and delay doe bring the imperfect shapes Of desire to ripenesse, as time ripens Grapes: And which was a tender blade in show, In time unto an eare of corne doth grow. The tree that doth afford a spreading shade To those that walke or underneath are laid. Like to a small twig at first it did appeare, At what time it was set or planted there, Then it might have beene pluckt up with our hands, Now bigger growne it firmely rooted stands. Consider first what she is thou dost love, And from the galling yoake thy necke remove. "Prevent beginnings, Physicks are too late at longth, "When thy sicknesse by delay hath gatherd strength. Make haste, in good things alwayes shun delay. "He'le be unfit to morrow, that's unfit to day. Love flatrers us, and is nourisht by delay, If you would shake it off, shake it off to day. You shall see few rivers that from great springs flow, But as they run they still more larger grow. O Myrrha! hadst thou soone perceivd thy sinne, To a Myrrh-tree thou hadst not transformed beene.

I have seene a wound that curable did seeme At first, yet by delay hath worser beene. Yet because we doe take delight to gather Faire Venus flowers, we doe deferre it rather, And flattering of our selves, we still doe say, We'le doe to morrow as we did to day. While secret flames into our hearts doe creepe, And ill affections there are rooted deepe. But if thou letst the first time slippe and perish, And that thy breast an ancient flame doth cherish; The work's the greater, yet in helplesse state I'le not leave him, though I'me cald somewhat too late. The Paeancian Heroe should have with al speed Cut off that part whence his wound did proceed. Yet many yeares afterward, as it then seem'd, Being cur'd, he brought those warres unto an end. I that can cure Love, when it first doth grow, When Love doth older waxe the cure is slow. Strive at the first to quench thy wanton flame, Or when the strength of it is spent againe. At first yeeld to it, let it take its course, It's hard to resist a violent force. He is a foole that against the streame will row, Or swimme, when as he round about may goe. "The impatient minde will no impression take, "All admonitions it doth scorne and hate. "I'le goe to him, when I his wounds may open, "When he'le endure to heare truth when'tis spoken.

While that a mother doth the funerals keepe Of her sonne, who will forbid her then to weepe, Unlesse it be one that is voyd of reason? For then to admonish her is out of season. But when she with teares hath eased her sick minde, Then her griefe may by words some comfort finde. "Physicke in season given doth availe; "But given unseasonably, hurts without faile. "You strengthen vice, while you seeke to redresse it, "If you strive out of season to suppresse it. Therefore when thou art curable by Art, This Rule I first of all to thee impart. I admonish thee most carefully to shun Idlenesse, whence all wicked thoughts doe come. This makes thee love, and doth that love maintaine; This causes, and doth feed that prety paine. Take away idlenesse, and Cupids dart Hath then no power at all to wound the heart. His Torch hath then no flame or light, but lies Contemn'd, and every one doth it despise. As the Popler, and Osier love the Rivers banke, And the marsh reed loves a muddy soile that's rank, So Venus in soft ease doth take much pleasure. Then let some businesse give thy thoughts no leasure, If to expell Loves passion thou desire, For businesse maketh Loves flame soone expire; Soft ease, and spending as thou list the time In sleeping, and immoderate drinking Wine,

Weakens the mind, and maketh it decay: For treacherous Love the unwary doth betray. "Love haunts the slothfull, hates those he doth finde Bufie, then give imployment to thy minde. Goe to the Courts, and heare how they doe plead, Study Law, or else for thy friend intercede: Sometimes goe forth, and walke into the Towne, Or behold the trainings of the City-gowne: Or practise bloody Mars his youthfull Art, And those conceits of Love will soone depart. Goe to the Warres, where Caesars troopes doe lie, 'Gainst the Parthians to obtaine a victory: Both Cupids and the Parthian shafts orecome, And bring two Trophies to thy Country home. Why Aegisthus was a murderer wouldst thou know? The cause was, because he did idle grow. Others were fighting at the siege of Troy, Which Greece with all her force sought to destroy. Would he follow Warres, at Argos none then were, The Courts of Law at Argos empty were: So that he lov'd when nought else could be done: For love from idlenesse doth alwayes come. The Country and Husbandry also yeeld delight: These cares all other cares doe banish quite. Somtimes thou maist yoke thy Oxen, and so wound With thy crooked ploughshare the hard clay ground And sometimes with the Harrow cover o're Thy seed, which thy field with interest may restore.

Looke how the crooked boughs bent downwards are With the weight of Apples that are ripe and faire, So that the labouring tree can hardly beare Those fruits which from her first produced were. Look how soft streames with a sweet murmur passe: Looke how the sheepe graze on the fruitfull grasse. Marke how the Goats the stony rocks doe climbe, Suckling their Kids when it is evening time; While the Shepheard piping on his reed doth lye, And his watchfull dogges doe beare him company. And then a Cow doth make the woods resound With lowing for her Calfe as yet unfound. Sometimes you may with smoake put under, drive The young brood of Bees out of their waxen hive: And having tooke their Honey got with paine, You may then hive the tender brood againe. Autumne yeelds apples, Summer yeeldeth fruits, The Spring yeelds flowers, & fire with Winter suits. The Country-man gathers Grapes at a set time, And with naked feet doth presse out the new wine. And certaine times he cutteth downe his hay, Rakes it, and makes it, and beares it away. Or in the Garden thou maist graft and plant, And water those hearbs which doe watring want. And sometimes thou maist make incision, The graft unto the stock thereby to joyne, That so the stock of any home bred tree With outlandish boughs and fruit may cover'd be.

When these pleasures to thy mind delight do bring, Then Love will fly away on a weake wing. Besides, thou maist sometimes a hunting run, Venus hath oft by Diana beene o'recome. Sometimes with Hounds the Hare before thee chase, Sometimes thy nets on the shady mountaines place. Or pursue the Hart, and put him in a feare, Or wound the Boare with thy sharp-pointed Speare: That at night thou weary, fast asleepe maist fall, And of thy Sweet-heart take no care at all. While fatning rest thy body may refresh, And banish Love which did thy mind oppresse. Or thou maist take the light-wing'd birds sometime, Or goe a fishing with thy hooke and line: Covering the crooked hook with such a baite, That shall make the greedy Fish bite at it straight. By these and the like wayes untill thou leave To love, thou must thy selfe thy selfe deceive. And if Loves fetters thou wouldst faine off shake, Then some long journey thou must undertake: And though thou weepe for being so unkind, When thy Sweet-hearts name doth come into thy mind, Yet still goe farre from her, goe farre I say. And the more thou art unwilling for to goe. Remember to quicken thy pace when 'tis slow. Offer violence to thy selfe, and so goe on, And enforce thy feet away from her to runne.

Let no light showre of raine thy journey stay, Nor the observation of an Holy-day: Nor yet enquire how many miles thou hast gon, But rather enquire how many are to come. Nor poore excuses, nor delayes doe not faine, That somewhat neare to her thou maist remaine. Doe not thou reckon the time that is past, Nor unto Rome a longing looke backe cast. But see that thou doe from her runne and flye, As the Parthian would doe from his enemy. Some will say my Rules are hard, I know't my selfe, But thou wilt suffer much to gaine thy health. In sicknesse I have drunke a bitter juyce, And was deny'd that dyet I would chuse. Thou canst endure to be lanchd and seard, to regaine Thy bodies health, and canst from drinke refraine: And to suffer any thing wilt thou deny, For thy minds health and her recovery? Since that the minde is a part farre compleater Then any body, and of price farre greater. Though the entrance of my Art seeme hard, the first "Beginning of a worke seemes hard and worst. At first the Heyfer's wrung with the hard yoake, At first the saddle galleth the swift Colt. Thou wilt say, it grieves thee to depart from home, Which makes thee to returne when thou art gon. But 'tis thy sweetharts love thee hom hath brought, While thou with faire words coverest thy fault.

Depart but from her once, and thou shalt see The Countrey will yeeld comfort unto thee. And the length of the way will helpe to banish Thy cares, and company will make it vanish. Yet thinke it not enough for to depart From her that is thy Love, and thy Sweet-heart. But thou must stay from her, till thy desire Doe lose its strength, and ashes hide thy fire. If thou returne before thou hast quencht thy flame, Rebellious love will assault thee againe. Thou shalt be what thou wa'st, thy love shall burne The more by absence when thou dost returne. Thinke not if thou inchanted hearbs dost use, And Magicks Arts, they can thy helpe produce. The use of charmes is ancient and old, But my harmelesse Verse doth a new way unfold. For I will force no ghost his grave to leave, Nor old wife with her charmes the earth shall cleave. I will not blast the Corne, nor make it faile; Nor Phoebus in his sphere shall not waxe pale. Tyber, (as he was wont) to the Sea shall flow, The Moone be drawne with horses white as snow. I will make thy brest with charmes lay by Thy cares, nor make subdued love to fly. What helpe did enchanted hearbs lend thee or ayd Medea, when thou wouldst at home have staid? And what did Circe by her charming Art, When Ʋlysses ships did from the shore depart?

Thou striv'st to make thy crafty guest still stay, But he hoisted up his sailes and fled away. Thou that to a thousād ships couldst men transform; Thy mindes affection couldst not change nor turne. Thou strivest to expell Loves cruell flame, But Love did still within thy Brest remaine. For'cis said, that when Vlysses would be gon, Thou to deteine him thus to speake begun; I doe not now intreate thee for to bee My hu band, though that hope was once in me; Though I deserv'd to be thy wife hereafter, Being a goddesse, and the bright Suns daughter. Now to stay a while I onely thee desire; What lesse canst thou wish me that I should require? Thou seest the Sea is rough, and thou should feare it: The Winde hereafter will stand for thee more fit. Why wilt thou goe? Troy is not built againe, Thou art not call'd these warres now ••o mainetaine. Here's love and peace, and it is onely I That here am wounded by loves cruelty: While thou in safety maist stay, and command My Kingdome, which I offer to thy hand. When she these words had possionately to him said, Vlysses presently his Anchor waighd So that the North-wind drove his sailes away, And her words, which vainely pleaded for his stay. Then Cerces furious love began to rage; So that she sought by art how to asswage

With her accustom'd charmes her inward flame, But yet they could not mitigate Loves paine. Therefore if thou expectest helpe from hence, In charmes or love-cups put no confidence. If some waighty occasion make thee stay in Rome, Take then my councell, for this is my doome. He hath a great strength that at once can free Himselfe, and set himselfe at liberty. He that can doe thus, I'le admire his compo sition, And say, he needeth not my admonition. But thou that lovest, and wouldst thy love forget, Yet canist not, for thy helpe I here will set These Rules downe: First, be sure to thinke upon These wicked acts which thou and she hast done. Lay all unto the charge of the poore Maide, Let thy cost bestowed on her be before thee laid: Thinke how she hath got from thee this and that, And yet her covetous mind is insatiate. Thinke how by her perswasions at the last Thy house for her joincture thou hast to her past, Howshe falsified her Oath which she had swore, And made thee lye oft-times even at her doore: Thinke that she loves some other, because she Disdaines to love, or be belov'd of thee. And though she will not grant thee loves delight, Her Peramour enjoyes her every night. Let these things deepely through thy senses strike, And from hence take occasion of dislike.

And I would have thee use such amplification That may set forth her wrongs with aggravation. For if thou doe begin once to repent, "Thy wrongs will make thee straightway eloquent. My selfe to love a Maid was once inclin'd, But she prov'd not agreeable to my mind: Yet like sicke Podalirius I was cured By my owne medicines which I had procured. For I that am Loves Physitian, will not sticke To confesse that I my selfe for love was fick: But by scanning my Sweet-hearts faults I cur'd my selfe, And by often doing so regain'd my health. My Mistresse hath, thought I, but a bad thigh, And yet, to confesse the truth, I did but lye, My Mistresse armes are not so faire quoth I, And yet, to confesse the truth, I did but lye. Shee is low of stature, and insatiate, And hence I grounded my dislike and hate. And since Vertues unto vices are so neare, Her Vertues vices to me did appeare. Thus all her naturall gifts thou maist deface, And let thy blinded Judgement her disgrace, If that she be full-bodied, call her fat; If she be browne, then thou maist call her black: And if that she be slender in the waste, For leanenesse then find fault with her thou maist: Thou may'st call her wanton, if well behav'd she be: If honest, a piece of cold rusticity.

And often presse her that she would but grant To expresse that skill which thou know'st she doth want. If she have no voyce desire her to sing: If she cannot dance, her unto dancing bring. If that her speech be homely, rude and course, Then give her still occasion of discourse: And if her skill in Musicke be not much, Desire her to give her Lute a gentle touch. If that her steps and gate uncomely be, Be sure that thou doe make her walke with thee: And if her brests hang downe on either side, Pull off the Tiffeny that doth them hide. Then make her laugh if that she have bad teeth, If slender eyes, with sad stories make her weepe. And sometimes to thy Mistresse in a morning come, Before she be drest, or head tyres put on. For what are Maides when that they are undrest? When they are in their cloathes, they are at the best. With Pearles & Gold they dresse thēselves with Art, And the Maid is of her selfe even the least part. And then thou maist imagine thou hast lost In this throng of cloaths the Maid whom thou lov'st most: And like a witty Lover take delight In a resting manner to delude thy sight. Yet to this Rule too much credit doe not give, For a carelesse beauty many doth deceive. When thy Mistresse is painting of her selfe, then rush Into her presence and so make her blush:

Thou shalt finde her Boxes, and her colours there With which she makes her brest seem white & fair. Her window will smell like to Phineus table, So that to turne thy stomacke it will be able. And now I purpose afterward to shew What in the acts of Venus thou must doe, That Love wherein thou takest such delight, May thereby b'abanisht, and quite put to flight. Many Rules for shame I must leave unexprest, But by my words thou maist conceive the rest. For some of late my Bookes doe carpe and blame, Because my Muse hath such a wanton veine. Let him disgrace those Workes which I have done, So my Verse may please, and through the World be sung. Envy detracted from great Homers Wit, And Zoilus, thou didst get a name by it: And sacrilegious tongues have out of spight Disgrac'd his Lines that did of Aeneas wr••te. Envy, winds, thunder, aime at, blow, and strike Those things that are advanc'd to greatest heig••••. But thou that art displeas'd with our loose veine, Conceive each subject must have a fittstreme. Warres must be in Heroicke Verses writ, Not enterlac'd with pleasant strain••s of Wit. Anger becomes a high lin'd Tragedy, Acommon line a merry Comedy: Iambick Verses serve to jeere a foe, Whether they doe runne swiftly, or o'reflow.

The Elegy doth sing of quiver'd Love, Even as thy Mistresse curst or kinde doth prove. It would not become Callimachus to rehearse The praise of Achilles in his verse: Nor would Cydippe be a subject fit For Homers full ••ine, and his strength of wit. Who can endure, that wanton Thais should be Acted in the play of Andromache. My Art is directed to such as Thais be; My wanton time is sportive, and most free: Of Thais onely my Art hath a care, Not those that with a fillet bind their haire; For if my muse hath lively here exprest Her matter fitly in the way of jest: My Muse shall overcome those that abus'd her, And of a false crime, falsly have accus'd her; Let envy burst, my Muse shall haue a name, The more she frownes, the more shall be her fame. For envies hatred will encrease my fame: Then enuy be sure to crosse me, for if I live, I'le give thee more occasion for to grieve. For it will vexe thy heart (I know) to see My Verses famous with posterity. For as my fame encreaseth, my desire Of fame encreaseth, and still mounteth higher, Though my panting horses now begin to climbe The hill, they may reach to the top in time,

For Elegies are indebted unto me, As much as Heroicks unto Virgil be.

Notes

• Vir.