Court of Love - Ovidius...

P. Ovidius Naso, Art of Love, Remedy of Love,
Art of Beauty, Court of Love, History of Love,
Amours various, Ed.

Once as I lay, by heavy sleep oppress'd,
With this strange whim my fancy was possess'd:
I dreamt that Cupid call'd me to his court
On Mount Cithera, where his slaves resort;
Where Venus, queen and goddess, fills the throne,
Her kingdom sharing with her darling son;
There was I straight commanded to appear,
By Mercury, the winged messenger.
Away I went, through strange and distant lands,
The coast enquiring where love's palace stands
At last a crowd of travellers I found,
And ask'd them whither they so fast were bound.
One, looking like a maid, cried, "Gentle friend,
To Cupid's court our willing steps we bend."
"Oh, where's his court?" said I. The nymph replied,
"High on Cithera stands, with tow'ring pride,
A stately castle, his imperial seat,
In which he lives magnificently great."
Her steps I follow'd, till my eager sight,
Reaching the hill, found her description right;
Amaz'd I saw the building large and strong,
Vast were the domes, the marble turrets long;
But gold and jewels hid the massy stone
And stretching to the skies, with lustre shone:
Sapphires and rubies mingled various lights,
More sparkling than the stars in winter nights:
And Phoebus darted on tnis happy place
His lustre, to regain the queen's good grace;
For chancing once unluckily to find
Mars in her arms, he had enrag'd her mind;
But now to please th' offended queen he strove,
Which shew'd his longing for the sweets of love:
For all the gods that on Olympus dwell,
E'en Jove and Pluto, kings of heaven and hell,
All things that live on earth, or breathe above,
The mighty joys of this best realm approve.

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text.


Arriv'd at court, I found the palace rooms
Adorn'd with hangings made in costly looms;
Fair maids I met, that mov'd with heavenly grace,
And young men, walking with a lusty pace;
Old men I saw, too, but I could not dream
What service Venus could receive from them.
Pensive I stood, and fearful to be seen,
Till one I spied belonging to the queen,
Call'd Philomel; I knew her once a maid,
But all her life she lov'd. "My friend (she said)
Welcome to Cupid's court; but you, I fear,
Receiv'd from Mercury a summons here."
I answered, "Yes." She said, " Your negligence
Will then be thought a wilful dire offence;
For all that live in luxury and ease,
By nature form'd the charming sex to please,
To this fam'd palace early should repair,
And hasten to the service of the fair;
But you that absent durst so long remain,
Without a boat had better cross the main,
Than hear the curse that disobedience draws
On bold contemners of love's sacred laws;
For no unhappy men such torments bear,
As wretches doom'd to feel affliction here.
Soon they perceive their appetite's decay'd,
Love makes their health decrease, their color fade.
Long since, I tempted you to Cupid's court;
Now he'll receive you with a sullen port.
Perhaps repentance may the god assuage;
But why should you so long provoke his rage?"
I answer'd thus: "With sorrow I repent,
Wretch that I am, a life so vainly spent."
And having spoke, by her I straight was led
To a vast hall, with various carpets spread,
And cloth of gold; on which I wondering found
A throne of state, erected from the ground,
Where Venus sat, with her imperial son;
Each had a sceptre and a radiant crown.
To see their pomp, I could till now have stood
Thoughtless of drink, and destitute of food;
The pleasures of the fam'd Elysian field
Can no such rapture to a stranger yield.
No wonder Venus, bless'd with such a mien,
And such a person, reigns of beauty queen;
Her golden hair dishevell'd, crisp and long,
In easy curls around her shoulders hung;
And ev'ry beam that's darted from her eyes,
Piercing and sharp, like pointed arrow flies.
The king of love had danger by his side,
The queen, despair; and looking further wide,
Attendance, fear, and flattery I view'd,
And hope, with strength above the rest endu'd;
And wrinkled jealousy; with young delight,
Open and free, and cheerful to the sight;
And envy, lurking in a secret place;
Lean was her body, leering was her face;
Repining at the fortunate she sat,
And at that distance one night see her fret.
Below the throne, a humble sighing crowd
With pressing suits and warm petitions bow'd.

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text

Then Philomel I ask'd whence came the tide
Of all those thronging suppliants? she replied,
"From divers realms they come: those dress'd in blue
Shew by that colour they have still been true;
The men in black lament that those they love
Are sick, or dead, or that they cruel prove."
"What makes the priests (said I) in court appear?
Have they the privilege of serving here?"
The dame replied, "Full many maids can tell,
None are so welcome, and none serve so well."
While thus I view'd, with Philomel, the crowd,
A herald from the king cried out aloud,
"Come, all ye strangers, to the throne draw near
And instantly before the king appear."
In haste I ran, and kneel'd before the throne,
All pale and trembling, as a wretch undone;
The king look'd sternly, and demanded why
I came so late, and what I could reply?
Weeping, I answer'd, "Oh, my sov'reign lord,
One act of mercy to your slave afford;
If yet, a rebel both in word and thought,
I never lov'd so truly as I ought,
I will henceforth endeavour to fulfil
The just decrees of your almighty will."
"Well, all is pardon'd (he replied), if now
To me allegiance and true faith you'll vow."
Then straight he call'd an officer of state,
His name is Rigour; solemn was his gait,
And grim his look; unmov'd with gold or pray'r;
A statute book he brought, and said, "You swear
True to remain, in deed, in thought, and word,
To Venus and her son, your sovereign lord;
To love one fair unchangeably till death,
And own your passion with your latest breath;
To bear the various temper of her mind,
And let her will your just obedience find;
To give the honour to her virtue due,
And think all tales that blast her fame, untrue;
To swear her conduct was exactly right,
And in defence of that opinion fight;
To find what present or device she loves,
And oft to send her what she most approves;
To write, to dress, and practise ev'ry art
Yourself to recommend, and gain her heart;
To take no pleasure, absent from her sight,
But by reflecting on your past delight;
Nor absence long endure, but justly choose,
Rather than live from her, your life to lose."
All this I swore, and as I turn'd the book,
On other statutes of the realm to look,
Rigour cried out, "Hold, traitor to the queen,
Those sacred statutes are not to be seen;
Those are the laws for womankind ordain'd,
That with men's eyes were never yet profan'd;
Not e'en with mine, tho' I on Venus wait,
Long trusted with her deep affairs of state.
Believe me, friend, mankind must still despair
To know the rules and maxims of the fair;
And when you see 'em change with ev'ry wind,
Themselves indulging, to their slaves unkind,
Conclude their duty to these laws they pay,
Which, tho' unwillingly, they must obey.-
Now seek the temple of the queen of love,
And may her son yourjust desires approve;
All you whose choice is made, her grace implore,
To serve and please the ladies you adore;
And each that wants a mistress, pray to find
By her propitious aid, some beauty kind."

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text.


We all obey'd the words that Rigour spoke;
Devoutly, slow and easy steps we took;
Entring the temple, which fam'd artists built,
Soft was the front, the lovely roof was gilt;
The cheerful quire with well carv'd work was lin'd,
And am'rous painting on the pillars shin'd.
There Dido, that unhappy dying queen,
With false Aeneas, in one piece was seen;
And other pictures round the walls were spread,
Of men and minds, for love untimely dead.
Rais'd in the middle aisle, fond souls to awe,
A golden image of the queen we saw;
This all adorn'd; some looking fresh and fair,
Some worn with grief, or blasted by despair;
Some in new mantles dress'd, and some in old,
Like half starv'd beggars, ugly to behold.
Some pale as death appear'd, some glow'd like fire,
Confessing to their inward fierce desire:
These with their loud complaints the queen besought
To cure those ills that cruel love had wrought;
And punish all such authors of their woes,
As mock'd their sufferings, or had broke their vows.
But all the happy there, whose envied lives
Were bless'd with joys which bounteous Venus gives,
Cried, "Goddess, hail! propitious to redress
The cares of mortals, and their hearts to bless,
May no divisions in your realms be found,
Since the whole world in love's soft chains is bound;
This is the life of joy our vot'ries know,
Who feel their bliss of paradise below;
Love cures our vices and refines our hearts;
The source of manners, industry, and parts;
Honour to you, celestial queen, we pay,
Whose minds are lighted with your beauty's ray."
Taught by the pray'r these happy lovers made,
I tried my wit, and thus devoutly said.
"Fairest of all that e'er in nature shin'd,
Light of the world, and comfort of mankind,
To you, 0 goddess, I my heart bequeath,
Freely bestow a thing that's yours till death;
Yours be the choice; I only wish to find
A faithful mistress, beautiful and kind;
No woman yet my settled passion moves,
One I have seen whom most my soul approves;
Of stature low, cast in a lovely mould,
Healthful and young, with hair more bright than gold;
Her looks are fresh, her countenance demure,
Her eyes, tho' killing, look like crystal pure:
Her could I serve; but if your high decree
That fair denies, some other find for me,
With whom in pleasure I may spend my life,
My mistress, empress, anything but wife.
So will I always sacrifice to you,
And with Diana constant war pursue.
A fig for her, and all her chastity;
Let monks and friars her disciples be."

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text.

Thus in the temple having said my pray'r,
Another image I discover'd there;
"A tender maid (said Philomel) does claim
That sacred shrine, and Pity is her name;
In all the court none knows so well the art
To help a lover, or to save a heart:
Her all-commanding int'rest cannot fail;
Gain but her friendship, and you must prevail
Now you shall see the fairest thing alive;
Come on with me, and by your carriage strive
To please a lady of the nicest taste,
Whose air is prudent as her life is chaste,
Call'd Rosalinda; could you gain her grace,
Well might you bless the goddess of this piace;
Take care your sense and modesty to show,
She hates a pert, insipid, prating beau."
Then straight she led me to a spacious room,
Where Rosalinda sat in beauty's gloom;
At the first sight a shiv'ring pain I found
In all my veins; my heart receiv'd a wound.
I dreaded much to speak, my voice was broke,
Yet when my sighs permitted, thus I spoke;
"Accept my service, thou celestial fair,
And oh! relieve a dying lover's care;
To your commands my painful heart I bind,
And have for ever liberty resign'd."
She made no answer, and I soon retired,
To press not daring, tho' by love inspir'd;
But still herimage dwelt within my breast,
Too excellent to be in verse expressed.
Her head is round, and flaxen is her hair,
Her eye-brows darker, but her forehead fair;
Straight is her nose; her eyes like emeralds bright;
Her well-made cheeks are lovely red and white;
Short is her mouth, her lips are made to kiss,
Rosy and full, and prodigal of bliss;
Her teeth like ivory are, well-sized and even,
And to her breath ethereal sweets are given;
Her hands are snowy white, and small her waist,
And what is yet untold is sure the best.
Had Jove himself beheld this heavenly fair,
Calisto never had been made a star;
He ne'er had borne Europa on his back,
Nor turn'd a mortal for Alcmena's sake;
Nor tried the virtue of a golden shower,
To enter Danae's well defended tower:
For all their beauties had too mean appear'd,
With Rosalinda's matchless charms compar'd.
Soon I return'd her heavenly form to view,
For still my wound's impression deeper grew;
And thus I spoke. "0 nature's boasted pride,
For torments caus'd by you some cure provide;
Prais'd be thy fate, and ever bless'd the hour,
That made me subject to your lawful pow'r;
Not Anthony could greater passion boast,
Tho' for one woman the whole world was lost."

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text.


She answer'd, " Friend, your service I disclaim;
Who are you, pray? whence come you? what's your name?"
"Men call me Celadon, in verse I write,
And songs at home with some applause indite;
Oh, why is every flower and pleasing root
That in the Muses' happy garden shoot,
Denied me now? and why must I despair,
With sweets of verse to charm the brightest fair?
Thou gentle muse, my humble breast inspire
With sacred numbers and celestial fire;
And, Pallas, thy propitious light convey,
To chase the mist of ignorance away!"
"Peace, rhyming fool, and learn henceforth to make
A fitter choice; your woman you mistake."
"0 mercy, Venus! mercy from above!
Why would you curse me with such hopeless love?
Behold the most abandon'd soul on earth;
Ill was I got, and woful was my birth.
Unless some pity on my pains you shed,
The frosty grave will quickly be my bed."
Thus having spoke, my breath began to fail,
My colour sunk, and turned like ashes pale;
I swoon'd, and down I fell. " Thou slave arise
(Cried Rosalinda), now thy love I prize;
I only tried thy heart, and since I find
'Tis soft and tender, know that mine is kind.
Swear but to keep the oath you lately took,
And I'll not be so cruel as I look."
Her eyes then languish'd, and her face grew red,
And squeezing fast my hand, she laughing said,
"I know a way thy passion to appease,
And soon will set thy simple heart at ease."
But ere she brought me to her promis'd bed,
The rapture wak'd me, and the vision fled.

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text.