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| <poem>
Weep for my misfortunes: the unhappy tablets have returned;
Weep for my falls: the sad tablets have returned
The unlucky message says that she cannot today.
The unlucky letter denies that she is able to today
There is something in omens: Just now when she wanted to leave,
Omens are something; when she was wanting to depart just now
Nape was stopped when she struck her toe on the threshold.
Nape stood back at the threshold having been struck as to her toes
(Having been sent again outdoors, remember to cross the threshold more cautiously
Remember next time you’re sent out, crossing over the doorstep
Lift your foot up high, carefully and soberly.
And to carry your foot high, sober)
Go from this place, obstinate tablets, funeral firewood,
Go away from here, difficult tablets, funereal wood,
And you, wax stuffed with words that will say no,
And you, wax having been brought back with notes about to deny
[Wax] I am sure was gathered from the the long
Which (the wax), I think, having been gathered, from the flower of the long hemlock
Hemlock blossom brought by the Corsican bees beneath infamous honey.
Under infamous honey, a Corsican bee sent
Yet you became red, as if deep dyed with cinnabar:
Yet you were red just as deeply dyed with cinnabar
That colour was truly of blood.
That color was truly blood red
Lie down having been thrown forth in the crossroads, useless wood
Useless timber, lie flung down at the place where three roads meet,
And let the weight of a passing wheel crush you.
And let the weight of the passing by wheel break you
And he, who carved you for use from a tree,
And he, who turned you around from a tree into (something) useful
I shall demonstrate that he did not have chaste hands;
I will prove that he did not have pure hands
That tree provided a hanging for a wretched neck,
That tree offered a hanging for the miserable neck
It offered itself as fearful crosses for the torturer;
It offered frightful crosses to the executioner
It granted shameful shade to raucous horned owls,
It gave ugly shadows to the noisy horned owl
And carried in its branches the eggs of vulture and owl.
And carried in its branches the eggs of a vulture and a screech owl
Did I madly entrust our love to these [tablets]
Did I, mad, entrust our love to these
And give them tender words that had to be carried to my mistress?
And give soft words to be carried to my mistress
These waxes might be better fitted to bear garrulous legal suits,
These waxes would more suitably hold wordy summons
Which some attorney should read with a harsh voice;
That some attorney would read with a harsh voice
These tablets would be better lie near tablets and account books,
They would be better lying among the account books and ledgers
In which a miser weeps for lost wealth.
In which a greedy guy would weep over his exhaustive resources
Therefore I felt that you are two faced
So I have declared you twofold in affairs in favour of your name:
Your very number was not one of good omen.
The number itself was not of good omen
What am I enraged to pray for, except that perishing old age
What am I angry to pray (for), except that rotten old age
May gnaw at you, and your white wax be in an unclean place.
Gnaw away at you, and that your wax becomes white from foul neglect
</poem>
</poem>
| <poem>
| <poem>

Revision as of 19:59, 23 February 2011

←
Amores 1.11
Her Reply
by Ovid, translated by Wikisource
Amores 1.14
→
75465Her ReplyWikisourceOvid
Literal English Translation Original Latin Line

Weep for my falls: the sad tablets have returned
    The unlucky letter denies that she is able to today
Omens are something; when she was wanting to depart just now
    Nape stood back at the threshold having been struck as to her toes
(Having been sent again outdoors, remember to cross the threshold more cautiously
    And to carry your foot high, sober)
Go away from here, difficult tablets, funereal wood,
    And you, wax having been brought back with notes about to deny
Which (the wax), I think, having been gathered, from the flower of the long hemlock
    Under infamous honey, a Corsican bee sent
Yet you were red just as deeply dyed with cinnabar
    That color was truly blood red
Lie down having been thrown forth in the crossroads, useless wood
    And let the weight of the passing by wheel break you
And he, who turned you around from a tree into (something) useful
    I will prove that he did not have pure hands
That tree offered a hanging for the miserable neck
    It offered frightful crosses to the executioner
It gave ugly shadows to the noisy horned owl
    And carried in its branches the eggs of a vulture and a screech owl
Did I, mad, entrust our love to these
    And give soft words to be carried to my mistress
These waxes would more suitably hold wordy summons
    That some attorney would read with a harsh voice
They would be better lying among the account books and ledgers
    In which a greedy guy would weep over his exhaustive resources
Therefore I felt that you are two faced
    The number itself was not of good omen
What am I angry to pray (for), except that rotten old age
    Gnaw away at you, and that your wax becomes white from foul neglect

flete meos casūs: tristes rediere tabellae;
    infelix hodie littera posse negat.
omina sunt aliquid; modo cum discedere vellet,
    ad limen digitos restitit icta Nape.
missa foras iterum limen transire memento
    cautius atque alte sobria ferre pedem.
ite hinc, difficiles, funebria ligna, tabellae,
    tuque, negaturis cera referta notis,
quam, puto, de longae collectam flore cicutae
    melle sub infami, Corsica misit apis.
at tamquam minio penitus medicata rubebas:
    ille color vere sanguinulentus erat.
proiectae triviis iaceatis, inutile lignum,
    vosque rotae frangat praetereuntis onus.
illum etiam, qui vos ex arbore vertit in usum,
    convincam puras non habuisse manus.
praebuit illa arbor misero suspendia collo,
    carnifici diras praebuit illa cruces;
illa dedit turpes raucis bubonibus umbras,
    vulturis in ramis et strigis ova tulit.
hīs ego commisi nostros insanus amores
    molliaque ad dominam verba ferenda dedi?
aptius hae capiant vadimonia garrula cerae,
    quas aliquis duro cognitor ore legat;
inter ephemeridas melius tabulasque iacerent,
    in quibus absumptas fleret avarus opes.
ergo ego vos rebus duplices pro nomine sensi:
    auspicii numerus non erat ipse boni.
quid precer iratus, nisi vos cariosa senectus
    rodat, et inmundo cera sit alba situ?

1.12.1
1.12.2
1.12.3
1.12.4
1.12.5
1.12.6
1.12.7
1.12.8
1.12.9
1.12.10
1.12.11
1.12.12
1.12.13
1.12.14
1.12.15
1.12.16
1.12.17
1.12.18
1.12.19
1.12.20
1.12.21
1.12.22
1.12.23
1.12.24
1.12.25
1.12.26
1.12.27
1.12.28
1.12.29
1.12.30

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