| ODES - II.8 | IF FOR ALL THE PROMISES ... | ||||||||||||
| Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus) | trans. Phil Poole | ||||||||||||
Vlla si iuris tibi peierati poena, Barine, nocuisset umquam, dente si nigro fieres vel uno
crederem. sed tu, simul obligasti perfidum votis caput, enitescis pulchrior multo iuvenumque prodis
expedit matris cineres opertos fallere et toto taciturna noctis signa cum caelo gelidaque divos
ridet hoc, inquam, Venus ipsa, rident simplices Nymphae, ferus et Cupido, semper ardentis acuens sagittas
adde quod pubes tibi crescit omnis, servitus crescit nova, nec priores impiae tectum dominae relinquunt,
te suis matres metuunt iuvencis, te senes parci, miseraeque nuper virgines nuptae, tua ne retardet
| If, for your lies, Barine, you’d caught any comeback, a blackened tooth, a chipped fingernail, some small hurt, then I might trust. But a promise made ties you down. Straightway you wriggle out, more radiant than ever. Public matter young men note. You’ll swear on mother’s hidden ashes, on a whole night sky of unheard stars, on the gods who don’t know death, that cold thought. Venus, I tell you, snickers at all this, and the silly Nymphs - and nasty Cupid, who sharpens, on bloodstained stone, infectious arrowheads. What’s more, for you young men mature:- more slaves! Sad old men can’t quit your fake despotic rule, despite all their threats. You’re a nightmare to mothers of randy sons, to thrifty fathers. Miserably, young brides fret that husbands might have caught a whiff of you. Come home late. |
Click here 1 for another translation of this poem.
Trans. Copyright © Phil Poole 2008