Ovid Amores 1.1

I was preparing to tell about weapons and violent wars in serious meter, with the subject being suitable for the meter.

Arma gravi numero violentaque bella parabam edere, materia conveniente modis.

The lower line was equal: Cupid is said to have laughed and to have stolen away one foot.

par erat inferior versus; risisse Cupido dicitur atque unum surripuisse pedem.

‘Who gave you, o cruel boy, this of an authority over poetry?

“Quis tibi, saeve puer, dedit hōc in carmina iūris?

We the holy poets are the crowd of the Muses, not yours.

Pīeridum vātēs, nōn tua turba sumus.

What would happen, if Venus should seize the arms of golden Minerva, if golden Minerva should fan the lighted torches?

Quid, sī praeripiat flāvae Venus arma Minervae, ventilet accensas flāva Minerva faces?

Who would approve that Ceres reign in the mountain forests, while the fields were tilled under the rule of the maiden with the quiver?

Quis probet in silvis Cererem regnāre iugōsis, lēge pharetrātae Virginis arva coli?

Who would equip Phoebus distinguished with hair with a sharp spear, while Mars was strumming the Aonian lyre?

crīnibus insignem quis acūta cuspide Phoebum īnstruat, Āoniam Marte movente lyram?

You have great, and extremely powerful kingdoms, boy:

sunt tibi magna, puer, nimiumque potentia regna;

Why do you aspire, ambitious one, to a new duty?

cūr opus adfectas, ambitiōse, novum?

Or, is it yours, which is everywhere? Are the Heliconian valleys yours?

an, quod ubīque, tuum est? tua sunt Helicōnia tempe?

Is scarcely even Apollo’s lyre now safe for him?

vix etiam Phoebō iam lyra tūta sua est?

When a new page has started well with the first line, that next one humbles my strength.

cum bene surrexit versu nova pagina primo, attenuat nervos proximus ille meos;

And I do not have suitable material for lighter rhythms,

nec mihi māteria est numeris leviōribus apta,

either a boy or a girl adorned with long locks.’

aut puer aut longas compta puella comas.”

I had complained, when forthwith he freed his quiver, selected arrows which had been made for my destruction

questus eram, pharetra cum prōtinus ille solūta lēgit in exitium spīcula facta meum,

And strongly bent his curving bow on his knee and he said ‘Take this, bard, as a subject for your work’

lūnāvitque genū sinuōsum fortiter arcum, “quod” que “canās, vātēs, accipe” dixit “opus!”

Miserable me! That boy has sure arrows:

mē miserum! certās habuit puer ille sagittas.

I am on fire, and Love reigns in my once empty chest.

ūror, et in vacuō pectore regnat Amor.

Let my work rise in six feet, and fall again in five.

sex mihi surgat opus numerīs, in quinque resīdat:

Farewell iron wars, with your meter.

ferrea cum vestris bella valēte modis!

Garland your golden brow with myrtle from the sea-shore,

cingere lītoreā flāventia tempora myrto,

Muse, you must be measured through eleven feet.

Mūsa per undēnos ēmodulanda pedes!