My lamp has sputtered, see! than they used to do, sharpened by loving feelings. Spare us, impetuous one, and mingle thy battles out upon the open deep! only the abandoning of Ariadne sticks in your mind. May I perish if, to speak truth, you were worthy of it; but I am kinder than is just or your deserve. The rest must be your care; even this, that my letter has not feared to speak with you, is more than a maid should do. I saw three brothers fall, who were born and died together. and the light dust on your distinguished face. and the walls that it possessed are razed to the ground. Live, I beg you! But I shed tears endlessly and tore my hair: I am unhappy finding myself, once more, a prisoner. and, scarce having heard your name aright, gave you a kingdom. Could I have deserved you, through some crime of mine? and overcome those troublesome men aided by Mars! you’ll hardly be able to touch what you seek until you’re old. As the sails grow larger, I am less and less able to stand. Whatever love commands cannot be wholly denied: He told me to pen words, in my first confusion: ‘Write! yet I don’t hate Aeneas, though he might think badly of me. I did not present myself before you with buckler in hand, like Penethesilea on the soil of Ilion; no sword-girdle, chased with Amazonian gold, was offered you for spoil by me, as by some Hippolyte.6 Why exult if your words deceived me, and I, a girl of little wisdom, was taken by your wiles? And then others relate it all, when the madness abates: Perhaps by my fate I’m paying for the passions of my race. Hope you had given; my ardent heart put trust in you. And Meleager was on fire for Arcadian Atalanta: she had the wild boar’s hide as a token of his love. I gaze through tears, and my eyes see further. There was a war: he proudly withdrew, refusing battle. Phyllis, your Thracian friend, complains to you, Demophoon. The issue rests with the gods, but you will be taken none the less. Medea may enjoy the fruits of sacrifice! let that harsh woman be to her husband and her children! who died well, for and with their country.  That too long a letter may not weary your weakened frame, and hat it may close with the accustomed end: fare well!  Alas me! Or Tiphys the Argo’s helmsman, and my country, to you? and shun me, and what might have given wealth to you! I was anxious, and always afraid, lest your father. If it’s your return and your father’s gods that please you now. and Venus may be seeking a tribute from all the tribe. and I was an important person in my country. O you, maddened and confused by Colchian drugs. wicked man, but it has the weight and likeness of justice. Paris, the adulterer, had been whelmed beneath angry seas! The storms’ aid. When he has likewise called them once more to their accustomed rising, my hair is dressed at the bidding of my mother. What god opposes my prayers with his divine will? Their source is hidden, but my ills are clear to see; you two stir up fierce strife and banish peace, and the blows are mine! and the wild boar fall, pierced by your opposing spear: may the nymphs, though you’re said to hate the girls. Can it be that, when thou didst wish to bathe in shady pool, I without witting cast eyes upon thee at thy bath? 1. Live, poplar, I pray, which rooted on the edge of the bank. What you are eager for, Leander – to swim is the sailor’s fear; ‘tis that follows ever on the wreck of ships. nor to be spoken of as one of Priam’s many daughters: however Priam would not refuse to be father-in-law to a nymph. in the shadows, nor the deceiving of a guardian: the house will hold as one, what it held as two. 4. a modest blush tinged your golden cheeks: in Phaedra’s judgment that severity is strength. I am not the one to chide Paris for what he did, nor any one who, to become a husband, has been a man.2 I, too – but I say nothing! and let me be the cause, and end, of your sorrows. Wretch, why rejoice? were a slave: the nymph endured marriage with a slave! then I would still accept being burnt by a worthy fire: a vile adulterer is more harmful than the adultery. I am alike in torment whether you wed, or whether you are ill, nor can I say which I should wish the less; at times I waste with grief at thought that I may be cause of pain to you, and my wiles the cause of your wounds. O I wish the harm done you, in your heart’s core. May your omens be groundless! over the fields, would she spare my children? Either the market-place holds you, or the sports of the supple wrestling-ground, or you turn with bit the neck of the responsive steed; now you take the bird with the snare, now the fish with the hook; and the later hours you while away with the wine before you.
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