Ovid, Amores (Book 1)

Although influenced by poets such as Catullus, Ovid demonstrates a much greater awareness of the funny side of love than any of his predecessors. The Amores is a collection of romantic poems centered on the poet’s own complicated love life. This edition of the first book of the collection contains the complete Latin text of Book 1, along with commentary, notes, full vocabulary and embedded audio files of the original text read aloud by Aleksandra Szypowska.


The life of Ovid
Publius Ovidius Naso was born in 43 BC, in Sulmo (modern Sulmona), in the rugged mountains of the Abruzzi about a hundred miles from Rome. His family, which must have been locally prominent and relatively wealthy, were Roman citizens of equestrian rank and seem to have intended Ovid for a political career in Rome. Ovid was a conspicuous success as a student of rhetoric at Rome, went on a tour of Greece, and held at least one minor magistracy in Rome before turning to poetry as a full-time occupation. He married at least three times, and had a daughter and two grandchildren.
In AD 8 he was banished by Augustus to the remote Greek city of Tomis (modern Constanta), on the Black Sea coast in what is now Romania. According to Ovid there were two reasons for his exile: his Ars Amatoria had given offense, and he had committed a mysterious error, perhaps connected with the imperial house (Augustus' granddaughter Julia was exiled for adultery in the same year). Despite much pleading Ovid was never allowed to return from Tomis, and died there in (probably) AD 17.
Ovid apparently began writing his Amores in 26 or 25 BC; he tells us that he wrote poems about the lover he calls Corinna as a young man of 17 or 18. These poems were originally published in five books, but were subsequently republished in the edition we now have, in three books, sometime after 16 BC. His other early works, all largely concerned with love affairs and/or women, are difficult to date precisely, and no doubt overlapped with the writing of the Amores: the Heroides is a collection of letters written by fictional heroines; the fragmentary Medicamina Faciei Femineae concerns female cosmetics; the Ars Amatoria is a didactic poem about how to conduct love affairs, and the Remedia Amoris is about how to end them.
Ovid's greatest work is the Metamorphoses, an epic poem on mythological transformations. He also wrote the Fasti, concerned with the religious calendar, and the Ibis, an invective against an unnamed enemy. During his years of exile he wrote the Tristia and Epistulae ex Ponto. Two lost works are a drama, the Medea, and a translation of Aratus' astronomical poem, the Phaenomena. All his surviving works except the Metamorphoses are in elegiac couplets.

The Amores
In writing poems in elegiac couplets about a love affair (or affairs) Ovid was firmly within an established tradition. The elegiac couplet (on which see the next section) was originally used, first by the Greeks and then by the Romans, for short epigrams, often on erotic subjects. Catullus (c. 84 to 54 BC), wrote not only epigrams, but longer poems in elegiac couplets; he also gave to many of his poems a unifying story, about a difficult love affair with the woman he called Lesbia.
He was followed by C. Cornelius Gallus (c. 70 to 27 or 26 BC), who seems to have written four books of love poetry exclusively in elegiac couplets, probably called Amores. Almost none of Gallus' verses survive, but they depicted his affair with a famous actress of the day named Cytheris, whom he calls Lycoris. Gallus seems to have done much to establish the conventional figure of the poet as the broken-hearted lover; the allusions in Vergil's Eclogue 10 suggest that in one poem he portrayed himself wandering in the woods and carving his and Lycoris' names onto tree-trunks.
Perhaps the most important of Ovid's immediate predecessors was Sextus Propertius (born between 54 and 47 BC; died before 2 AD). Propertius published four books of elegies, the first appearing around 28 BC, a few years before Ovid's first poems in the genre. Like his older contemporaries Vergil (born 70 BC) and Horace (born 65 BC), Propertius came to be a member of the circle of Maecenas, the political advisor of Augustus, but at least in his first three books he rebelled against Augustan values more than Vergil and Horace ever did. Most of Propertius' poems concern a romantic affair with a woman he calls Cynthia, and in many of them the poet is portrayed as desperately, even morbidly, uncertain of her affections. Propertius wrote with self-conscious artifice (he claimed to be a Roman Callimachus), deploying mythological examples that are often obscure.
A near contemporary of Propertius was Albius Tibullus (born between 55 and 48 BC; died in 19 BC), who wrote two books of elegies, the first at about the time of Ovid's first Amores. Tibullus wrote poems concerning three different love affairs, with women he calls Delia and Nemesis and with a young man he calls Marathus. Tibullus' poems are much less mythological than those of Propertius, and the emotions he depicts are much less tortured. A second poet associated with Tibullus was Sulpicia, the niece of Messalla Corvinus. Six of her elegies are preserved in the third book of the Tibullan corpus, and describe (without many details) an affair with a man she calls Cerinthus.
Ultimately, perhaps, evaluating Ovid's Amores requires a first-hand knowledge of the tradition in which he was working; it is a truism of Latin scholarship that Ovid plays with, even mocks, the conventions of his predecessors. But for practical reasons the Amores make a good introduction to the genre; Ovid's Latin is relatively straightforward, at least compared to that of Propertius, and he offers a livelier account of the traditional Latin elegist's difficult love-life than either Tibullus or Sulpicia. The figure of the poet-lover that Ovid presents in the Amores is also a new departure in the western literary tradition, worth attention in its own right: we get our first hapless, light-hearted, insensitive, and selfish womanizer.
The reader approaching the Amores for the first time should be alert to at least three features of the poetry. Most important, though most elusive, is the question of tone, though it is not easy to develop a sense for the essential flavor of the Latin poetic idiom. We are so accustomed to highflown language and ponderous allusions in our Latin that it is not easy to see when a poet is playing with the traditional language and mythology, but Ovid is (in my view) the best place to start: when he writes of abandoning the epic tradition (1.1), of the lover as a warrior (1.9), or the myth of Aurora and Tithonus (1.13), we get a clear sense of the playfulness possible in Latin poetry.
The second thing to be aware of in each poem is the structure of the "argument." Ovid has traditionally been regarded as someone who wrote verse with such facility that he simply kept on going, making the same point over and over again with a kind of effusiveness that belies close analysis. But while it is certainly true that he does not write with the fanatical self-control of Vergil or Horace, it is also a mistake to ignore his careful attention to the construction of his poems. It is important to be aware of the way each poem develops: some thoughts lead naturally to others, and at some places the poet jumps to a new idea, but there is always a reasonable representation of coherent thinking. Moreover it is usually worth asking oneself how (or whether) the final couplet works as a satisfactory conclusion to each poem; there is often (perhaps always) a kind of punch-line at the end, and getting the point there is often the key to getting the poem as a whole.
Finally, it is worth remembering that poetry books in Ovid's day were published with careful attention to their overall shape. Each poem was meant to be read, at least in part, as an element in the broader narrative of the poetry book, so it can be illuminating to ask how each poem relates to the ones preceding it, and serves as an introduction to the ones that follow. The manuscript witnesses to the Amores fall into two groups: the four earlier manuscripts (vetustiores) listed above, and an abundance of later manuscripts, referred to collectively as recentiores and dating to the 12th century and after. Franco Munari (1951) and E. J. Kenney (1961), who produced the first modern critical editions of the Amores, regarded these two groups of manuscripts (older and more recent) as representative of two independent lines of transmission. The dates of the manuscripts seemed to correspond closely with two separate pedigrees: the vetustiores were traced back to a now ρost hyparchκtypκ, caρρκι , anι thκ recentiores to a second ρost hyparchκtypκ, caρρκι . Thκ inικpκnικncκ of thκ ςanuscripts is guaranteed by the presence of verses [1.13.11-14; 2.2.18-22, 25-27] that are absκnt froς ςanuscripts.
This view of the data, current at the time of the first edition of Kenney's Oxford Classical Text (1961), kept the textual transmission of the Amores rκρativκρy siςpρκ. Thκ branch was particuρarρy straightforwarι sincκ it consisted of only a few extant manuscripts. Making matters simpler still, within thκ branch Ο was thought to bκ a copy of R. Thκ pκrcκption that Ο descended directly from R could have eliminated its relevance in the eyes of textual critics, except for the fact that the portion of R (designated (R´)) containing the Amores is almost entirely lost. Consequently, P, which was bκρiκvκι to rκfρκct through thκ intκrςκιiary of R, nκκικι to bκ usκι. S was, and still is, considered an inferior manuscript. It contains readings thought to bκ iςportκι froς thκ branch, anι, κxcκpt for onκ passagκ Am.
2.8.7), it does not offer good readings that cannot be found elsewhere. S, in the words of Kenney (1962:8), is "in an intermediate state of depravation"textual critics frequently impute moral characteristics to manuscripts: the naturκ of its tκxt shows that it bκρongs to thκ faςiρy, but thκ ρatκr ιatκ of S (11th cent.) means that its text has "degenerated" and resembles in some particuρars thκ tκxt of ςanuscripts.
A discovery and further research were soon to complicate this rather simple reconstruction of the tradition. It was not long after the appearance of the first edition of Kenney's OCT that Munari (1965) first called attention to the Hamiltonensis (Y), which hitherto had been ignored. (Credit for the rediscovery belongs to Helmut Boese.) Because of a cataloguing error, which dated Y to the 14th century, neither Munari nor Kenney had taken Y into account in their editions. The accession of Y to our knowledge about the tradition has had two important results. First, Y is a valuable independent textual witnessbetter than S and just as valuable as P. Second, and equally important, Y made obvious the "fog of unknowns" that still envelops a large mass of the tradition. With Y in the picture, there were now two manuscripts of the 11th century-but their texts were quite different from each other. Y was not a ικpravκι rκprκsκntativκ of thκ branch, as S was bκρiκvκι to bκ. Y haι its own authority, offκring rκaιings now in agrκκςκnt with , now with .
It even had authoritative readings not found anywhere else (most notably, Am. 1.10.30, licenda).
The arrival of Y served as reminder of something else: the tradition is not bifid, though it has been represented as such. The division into two major branches of transmission (= a bifid stemma), corresponding to earlier and later groups of medieval manuscripts, is a convenient means to organize the tradition, but the reality is quite different. Y had shown that the dates of the manuscripts did not closely correspond with the nature of the texts that they offered. A good reading-a good reading attested nowhere elsecould appear in a later manuscript. It had happened in the case of Y, and thκrκ was nothing to say it couρι not happκn with a ςanuscript. Thκ manuscripts vary widely in date and their relationships to each other have not been traced out, and for good reason: they are not a closely connected group. They are not one family, but amount to an intertanglement of ςany inιiviιuaρ faςiρiκs. Kκnnκy apprκciatκι thκ coςpρκxity on thκ siικ whκn hκ charactκrizκι as a convκniκnt fiction . Latκr, hκ shrewdly observed (1974:134) that it would be more accurate to refer to thκ branch as non-. Thκ iικa is that, whκrκas thκ ςanuscripts arκ ςanifκstρy rκρatκι, thκ ςanuscripts ιo not ικrivκ froς a singρκ ancκstor their membership to the same group is solely by virtue of the fact that they ιo not ικrivκ froς .
Reconsideration of P's relationship to R has added a further wrinkle to the tradition's history. D. S. McKie (1986) forcefully argued that, contrary to what had been thought, P does not derive from R. Belief that P was copied from R came about through a tentative suggestion made by Tafel (1910) that eventually was taken over as fact; decades later Goold (1965) corroborated the idea. Because P's text of the Amores begins precisely where R's text goes missing it was assumed that the scribes of P must have taken this portion of R to serve as their exemplar (model). Furthermore, the date of P, which had been set as "late 9th or 10th" century, is earlier than often supposed. As was demonstrated by B. Bischoff (1961), P belongs to a group of manuscripts copied at the French monastery of Corbie in the period 850-880 (see Huelsenbeck 2013). R, P, S, and Y are all independent witnκssκs to .
Therefore, recent developments in the study of the textual transmission of Ovid's Amores yield a more intricate, dynamic, and open-ended stemma. This stemma attempts to reflect the current state of our knowledge, showing what we know and do not know.

Scansion
Since the Amores may well be among the first Latin poems a student encounters, it may be helpful to provide a brief introduction to the rules of Latin prosody (the quantity of individual syllables) and to the reading aloud of elegiac couplets. For fuller discussion see D. S. Raven, Latin Metre: an Introduction (London: Faber and Faber, 1965).

Prosody
Whereas English meters are based on a word's accent ("Múch have I trávelled in the reálms of góld"), Latin meters are based on quantity; what matters most is whether syllables are long or short.
For most of us the obstacle to reading Latin verse aloud is that we have not learned the quantities of Latin very well. All diphthongs are normally long by nature, but individual vowels can be either long or short, though a vowel followed by another vowel not in a diphthong is normally short. Ideally we would all know, say, that the first syllable of miles was long and the second one short, but in practice we are often uncertain, or even wrong, and it sometimes necessary to consult a dictionary solely to ascertain the quantities of a word.
An additional problem is that it is often necessary to know the meaning of a Latin word before one can know its prosody. Latin has a number of virtual homonyms, distinguished only by their quantity, such as lĕvis ("light") and lēvis ("smooth"). Much more common are the words whose form is identified only by their quantity: puella can be nominative singular or ablative singular, cīvis can be nominative or genitive singular or accusative plural, and manus can be nominative singular or nominative or accusative plural, etc. In such cases it is almost impossible to scan the line without also establishing its sense.
On the other hand the endings of Latin words provide us with a large collection of easily learned quantities: with a review of the basic declensions and conjugations it is not difficult to learn that the o of amō is long, and that the i of trādit is short, or that the ō and īs of puerō and puerīs are long.
Other syllables with easily identifiable quantities are those which, though short by nature, become long by position because of the consonants that follow them. The most obvious instances are when vowels are followed by double consonants (ll, mm, nn, pp, ss etc.), and such words are also the easiest for a reader to speak correctly; in Latin there was a clear difference between the L-sounds in malus and bellum, and it is easy to make this distinction aloud once alerted to it (MAL-us vs. BEHL-Lum). More generally, a short syllable can be long by position when followed by any two (or more) consonants together (except h), or by x and z, which were each the equivalent of two consonants.
However, a syllable cannot remain short when the two consonants following it belong to different parts of a compound abrumpo), or to different words (et refer).

Elision
A further complication in reading aloud is the fact that a vowel or a vowel + m at the end of a word is usually suppressed ("elided") when the next word begins with a vowel, or h + a vowel. This occurs even if the elided vowel would have been long.

The elegiac couplet
The Amores are all written in elegiac couplets. This meter consists of a line of ιactyρic hκxaςκtκr, thκ ςκtκr of κpic poκtry, i.κ. six ιactyρs ⌣ ⌣) or sponικκs , foρρowκι by a ρinκ of ιactyρic pκntaςκtκr, i.κ. fivκ ιactyρs or spondees (with one of the spondees divided into two). The basic scheme is as follows: In the hexameter line the fifth and sixth feet are almost always a dactyl and a spondee (the last syllable of each line is technically anceps, i.e. it can be either long or short, but for practical purposes the lines can all be read as if thκ ρast syρρabρκ is ρong thus κach ρinκ can bκ κxpκctκι to κnι ⌣ ⌣ / . The first four feet can be any combination of dactyls and spondees, and it is here that a knowledge of prosody becomes important. In addition, the hexameter line almost always has a break between words in the third foot, most commonly after the first beat (whether of dactyl or spondee). This is called a strong caesura, e.g.
Iaς supκr ocκanuς ‖ vĕnit a sκniorκ ςarito Am. 1.13.1) Sometimes the break occurs after the second beat of the third foot (which must be a dactyl), giving a kind of syncopated feel to the line. This is the so-called "weak" caesura, e.g. quo propκrās, "urōră? ‖ ςănē sic Mκςnŏnis uςbris Am. 1.13.3) The first half of the pentameter line can be thought of as the first part of a hexameter line extending to a strong caesura. As in the hexameter line spondees can be substituted for dactyls in the first two feet. The second half of the pentameter essentially repeats the first, but here there are no spondees. As with the hexameter line, the last syllable of the pentameter is anceps, i.e. it can be either long or short, but for practical purposes each pentameter line can all be read as if the last syllable is long. (I cannot find this explicitly stated in the reference books).

Reading aloud
Despite the apparent complexities, elegiac couplets are reasonably easy to read aloud. The key, in my view, is to become thoroughly at home with thκ basic unit of ⌣ ⌣ | ⌣ ⌣ | , which in its purκ forς proviικs thκ second half of the pentameter line, and which with spondaic variation provides the first half of the pentameter line and begins the vast majority of the hexameter lines. This, combined with the near certainty that the last two fκκt of thκ hκxaςκtκr ρinκs wiρρ bκ ⌣ ⌣ | , ςakκs it possibρκ to guess how most of Ovid's couplets should be scanned, even if one's grasp of basic Latin prosody is weak. It is important, of course, to be alert to those quantities which can be known in advance, such as diphthongs, certain word endings, vowels followed by double consonants, and vowels followed by more than one consonant, while remaining alert to the exceptions mentioned above. I suggest practicing by beginning with the easiest section to scan, reading the second halves of all the pentameter lines in a poem; here there arκ no variations froς ⌣ ⌣ | ⌣ ⌣ | anι it is usuaρρy κasy κnough to see where the second halves of the lines begin. Follow this by reading the pentameter lines complete; the first two feet will offer some variation, but there are only four possible combinations for the first half of a pentameter: Practicing the pentameter lines should make the hexameter lines much easier. Most lines will have a strong caesura, and will thus offer exactly the same four possibilities as the first half of the pentameter line. Following the strong caesura there will be either one long beat or two short ones to complete the third foot. The fourth foot will be either a dactyl or a spondee, and is thus usually the hardest foot to scan, but the fifth and sixth feet will almost certainly be a dactyl and a spondee. Lines with a weak caesura of course work slightly differently: the third foot will be a dactyl, with the caesura coming between the two short beats.
To introduce this approach to reading aloud, I print here a modified text of Amores 1.1. I have introduced gaps in the text to identify caesurae, all of which are strong caesurae. I have also put elided syllables in parentheses. In theory this should make it possible to follow the procedure suggested above with relative ease, so that unknown quantities can be deduced rather than looked up.

Epigram: preface from the author
The three books of the Amores speak on behalf of their author, named as Naso (in full, Publius Ovidius Naso), explaining that they used to be five. They make a joke at their own expense, in a bit of captatio benevolentiae (bid for good will).
7. Amores 1.1: Ovid finds his muse The first poem functions, as we might expect, as an introduction to the whole book: we are introduced to the aspiring poet, to the genre of his poems, and perhaps also to their subject. At one level the wit is easy to appreciate, but for me the poem gives the first example of a problem presented by many of the poems in this book: the question of coherence.
Ovid's poems, in my opinion, are supposed to be satisfying: when we get to the end, we should feel that we have seen the point, and that the poem is a coherent whole. Often, as in this first poem, we do not at first have that sense of coherence, and my suggestion is that, when that happens, we take it as a challenge to read more closely. The poem begins with a metrical and generic joke. The poet was preparing to write epic poetry: his first word is the same as the first word of the Aeneid, and he would have continued writing in dactylic hexameter, except that apparently Cupid "stole a foot" from every second line (lines 3-4), creating elegiac couplets instead, the metrical form particularly associated with love poetry. We thus have a witty variation of a recusatio, a standard poetic theme particularly appropriate for the first poem of a collection: poets typically explain why they have to refuse (recusatio means "refusal" or "excuse") to write the kind of patriotic poetry that their patrons or their public might be demanding.
The poet responds with a complaint, addressed to Cupid. Cupid has no right to interfere in the serious business of writing poetry: other gods stay within their appointed spheres, and Cupid should do so as well. Like the good rhetorician he is, Ovid offers a few exempla to drive home his protest (lines 5-16). He then adds that he doesn't like it when every second line is kind of feeble (lines 17-18), and on top of that adds that he doesn't have anyone (boy or girl) to write love poetry about (lines 19-20).
But Cupid responds to these objections by shooting the poet with one of his famous arrows; the poet is now a stereotypical wretched lover, and love reigns in his "empty heart" (line 26). Some scholars have taken this empty heart (in vacuo pectore) at face value: the poet is in love, but his heart is empty, so he must simply be in love with love itself. Others have argued, I think correctly, that this empty heart is one that had been empty, but is empty no longer; previously the poet had no one to write love poetry about, as we saw, but thanks to Cupid's arrow he has now fallen in love.
On most readings the last four lines are a little disappointing. Having become a lover, of whatever kind, the poet returns to his own poetry: he is now going to write elegiac couplets, with lines of six feet, the hexameters, followed by lines of five feet, the pentameters (lines 27-28). He concludes by invoking the muse of elegy, first in the poetic language we might expect, with talk of her golden hair and myrtle wreath (line 29), but then in language that is ironically pedestrian, emphasizing the mere numerical fact that an elegiac couplet has eleven feet (line 30).
I would argue that in fact the poet never loses sight of his new lover: thanks to Cupid's arrow, as we saw, he is miserably in love, and with someone in particular. It is this new lover who is responsible for his change to elegiac couplets, the meter for lovers (lines 27-28). And it is this new lover who emerges triumphantly at the end: it is she who is the poet's new muse, wearing a myrtle garland on her golden hair, and inspiring the poetry that is to come, written of course in elegiac couplets. Notes on Amores 1.1 1-2: Arma: a weighty and tradition-laden first word, given Vergil's famous Arma virumque canō (Aeneid 1.1). gravī numerō: numerus here means "meter" (of verse). The meter in question was dactylic hexameter, which as the meter for Greek and Latin epic poetry was considered the most serious of the meters. ēdere < ēdō -ere -idī -itum, "to emit, bring forth, produce"; also "publish." Barsby observes that it is unlikely that Ovid was really planning to write an epic, even though he elsewhere talks about his subject, the battle of the gods and giants (Amores 2.1.11-16); his claim about epic owes more to the traditions of the recusatio poem, in which poets of "lighter" verses explain their reasons for avoiding epic. māteriā: scansion reveals that the final a is long, and that the word is therefore ablative; it frequently happens that scansion is essential to establishing the meaning of a line. modīs: modus can mean "rhythm" or "meter"; dative, with conveniente.
3-4: par … versus = inferior versus erat pār. inferior: here the "lower" verse; Ovid had been writing dactylic hexameters, so that his second line was equal (metrically) to his first. dīcitur: "is said" + infin. rīsisse. ūnum … pedem: pes here means "foot" in its metrical sense; in elegiac verse the second line of each couplet is a dactylic pentameter: it is similar to the dactylic hexameter of epic poetry, but shorter by a foot. 5-6: in carmina: "over songs"; for in + the accusative with words expressing power or control, see OLD 11b. hōc: the o of hoc is actually short, but can be treated as long for purposes of scansion, since it was originally spelled hocc. iūris: partitive genitive, with hōc (AG §346.4). Pīeridum … sumus: the emphasis here is on Pīeridum and tua: "we poets are the Muses' entourage, not yours." Pīeridum < Pīeris -idos f. "daughter of Pierus," i.e. a Muse. vātēs < vātēs -is, m. "a prophet"; "a poet" (here plural). A vātēs was a more formal and religious kind of poet than a mere poēta.
13-14: tibi: dative of possession (AG §373). ambitiōse: another example of the necessity for scansion; the e is short, not long, so ambitiōse is vocative, not an adverb.
15-16: an: a particle introducing a direct question, usually indicating some surprise or indignation (AG §335b). quod ubīque, tuum est?: i.e., id, quod ubīque est, tuum est? "Do you own everything everywhere?" Helicōnia < Helicōnius, -a, -um: "of Mount Helicon" (see note on Aoniam 1 See http://pleiades.stoa.org/places/540808. Historical maps for the location marked in blue are available at the Pleiades website. above). tempē is an indeclinable neuter pl.; originally a proper name, for the Vale of Tempe in Thessaly, but used for any pleasant valley. Phoebō: dative of reference AG §376). sua refers to Phoebus, even though the subject of the sentence is lyra; suus -a -um can be used to place emphasis on the fact that a thing belongs to one person rather than another (AG §301c).
17-18: surrexit < surgō -ere surrexī surrectum, "to arise," used also of the beginning or expansion of literary works; there is probably also a sexual double entendre: "is aroused." We would expect the present tense of the indicative in a temporal cum clause, but the perfect emphasizes that the action is a completed one, in contrast to that described in the main clause (AG §473a). Translate, perhaps: "each time a new page has gotten going nicely with a first verse" (i.e. the first line of an elegiac couplet). attenuat: more double entendre; the poet gets going (the hexameter line), but then goes all weak (in the pentameter). nervōs … meōs: nervī can be "strength," "the strings of a lyre," and "penises." proximus ille: refers either to the inferior versus of line 3, or less probably to Cupid.
19-20: mihi: dative of possession (AG §373). numerīs: as in line 1, numerus means "meter." aut … aut = nec … nec, because the nec on line 19 has made the whole sentence a negative one. puer … puella: Ovid can assume that the elegiac meter and love poetry go together, thanks to his predecessors Catullus, Gallus, Propertius, and Tibullus. Of these, Catullus and Tibullus (as well as Horace, though not in elegiac couplets) wrote poems to both male and female lovers. longās … comās: the so-called Greek accusative (also called accusative of part affected, accusative of specification, and accusative of respect), AG §397b. compta < comptus, a, um "adorned, done up" or cōmō, cōmere, compsī, comptum "adorn," (of hair) "arrange, 'do'" Note the chiasmus, here reflecting the meaning: the words for long hair surround those for the well-groomed girl. 29-30: cingere < cingō cingere cinxī cinctum "to encircle, to wreathe"; second person singular passive imperative. lītoreā < lītoreus -a -um "of the seashore." Notice the scansion, which reveals that lītoreā modifies myrtō (on which see below). The chiastic word order reflects the meaning, with the words for the myrtle surrounding those for the Muse's hair. tempora < tempus -oris, n. "the temple" (of the head), "forehead." Greek accusative/accusative of specification, as above in line 20 (AG §397b). myrtō: the myrtle was sacred to Venus, who was born out of sea foam (hence lītoreā). The names of trees in Latin are regularly second declension, but feminine (AG §32 Nonetheless it seems natural at least to try to read the poems as providing a more or less coherent story, and in the discussions that follow I will assume that we are supposed to read each poem in order, with each one adding something to our picture of the poet and his love life. Amores 1.2 certainly picks up and develops one aspect of the poem that precedes it-the idea of the lover as Cupid's victim. We may have ended Amores 1.1 with the introduction of the poet's new love interest as muse, but we learn no more about her now. Instead, the poet offers us a display of the self-absorption that sometimes seems all too typical of young lovers, especially perhaps if they are also poets. Once he realizes the truth, he has to decide whether or not to resist. He concludes, quickly enough, that resistance is generally a mistake (line 9-10), and supports this proposition with another rhetorician's list of exempla (compare Amores 1.1.5-16): fire, cattle, and horses, all have easier lives if they take what comes to them (lines 11-16). And the poet, too, has to submit to the domination of a master, in this case Cupid: it will be easier for him if he accepts his new position as a slave (servitium) to Amor (lines 17-18).
The first eight lines of the poem connect it more or less directly with Amores 1.1. The poet has been unable to sleep, and at first does not know why; it might be love, but, he says, surely he would have noticed (lines 5-6). This suggests to some readers that the poem is not connected directly to Amores 1.1, in which we were told of Cupid's arrow and its consequence; Ovid, we might think, shouldn't be so confused. But we need not be so literal, and indeed it makes little sense to take Cupid's arrow literally. People who can't sleep do not necessarily think all that clearly, and we can forgive our poet a little confusion about what his problem is. At any rate he figures it out, or perhaps remembers (sic erit, line 7): it's the arrow(s), it's Cupid/Amor, and it's the poet's captive heart (lines 7-8).
Slavery for the Romans was always associated with conquest, and the poet's slavery is quickly recast as military surrender to . This sets up the astonishing image that occupies about half the poem: the triumphal procession of Cupid (lines 23-49), leading as his captives young men and women in love (line 27), not least the poet himself (29)(30).
At the risk of stating the obvious, it is worth noting how wonderfully funny this is. The Romans took their triumphs very seriously; the triumph was the peak of any politician's career, and it enacted the ruthless militarism of Rome for all the city to see; the captives, after all, were led up the Capitoline to be executed. And this most serious of Roman institutions is invoked by the poet to express the potentially happy, and certainly private, thought that Cupid has won the day: the poet has fallen in love. The centerpiece of his image is both charming and silly: the triumphator, in this poem, is no battle-hardened Roman general, but a beautiful, and naked, boy-god of love (lines 38-42). But we should not forget the extraordinary juxtaposition of a potentially difficult love-affair, on the one hand, and, on the other, the abject physical subjugation at the heart of a Roman triumph.
The last four lines contain the poet's plea for mercy: although he could appropriately be part of Cupid's triumph, he's not really worth the effort (49-50); Cupid should emulate his relative Augustus (the Julii were supposedly descended from Venus), and should protect his victim, not punish him.
Is this a satisfying way to end? Augustus did pride himself on his clemency, and even if we ignore the fact that his enemies told stories about his ruthlessness it is surprising, and perhaps even jarring, for reality to intrude so suddenly after the long fantasy of Cupid's triumph.
But the reference to Augustus perhaps makes more sense if we see it as something we've been waiting for since the beginning of Amores 1.1. The poet had started out trying to write patriotic poetry-poetry reminiscent of Vergil's great epic-but was ambushed by Cupid and sidetracked to love and elegy. Amores 1.2 offers a kind of substitute for that patriotic poetry: we get an account of a triumph, but its outrageousness only raises more questions about the poet's patriotism, or loyalty to the regime. Those questions, in turn, prepare us for the final couplet: Augustus, it turns out, matters after all. Notes on Amores 1.2 1-2: Esse quid hoc dīcam: dīcam is deliberative subjunctive (AG §444), governing an indirect statement, the subject of which is hoc: "I should say that this is what?" i.e., "What should I say this is?" "What's going on?" quod: "that"; for quid quod?, "what of the fact that?" nostra = mea.
25-26: triumphum: object of clamante; the people shout that Cupid is a victorious general marching in his triumph. arte: construe with movēbis as an ablative of manner (cum understood), AG §412; best translated adverbially, "skillfully." movēbis: i.e., Cupid will drive the team of birds harnessed to the chariot; moveō is not a normal word for "drive," and seems intentionally awkward, i.e., "you'll get those birds moving." means not only "camp" but also, by metonymy, "army"; ablative of place where, with the preposition omitted, as often in poetry (AG §429.4). The theme of "Love's War" will be taken up more extensively in Amores 1.9.
33-34: omnia: the neuter makes this a more sweeping claim than omnēs would have done: every thing will be afraid of Cupid. iō … triumphe : the ritual cry shouted at a triumphal procession.
35-36: Blanditiae: "flattery, charm" (the plural is regularly translated by the singular); here personified. partēs … tuās: "your side"; partēs is the normal word for a political faction, or for one side in any dispute. turba: "crowd," especially in a procession; in apposition to Blanditiae, Error and Furor of the preceding line. The point is that without Blanditiae, Error, and Furor Cupid would be powerless (nūdus); the joke is that Cupid is usually nūdus anyway.
37-38: hīs … mīlitibus: we would expect a preposition (ablative of agent), but here the soldiers are apparently treated as an instrument (AG §409). tibi: dative of separation (AG §381). dēmās: indefinite subjunctive, with a generalizing second person subject: "if you should remove," i.e., "should anyone remove." commoda: commodum in the plural often means "assets," including military ones; Blanditiae, Error and Furor are thus no longer personifications (attendants in Cupid's triumph), but abstractions (his weapons). eris: the apodosis of a future less vivid condition can be in the present or future indicative; the shift indicates that the speaker becomes more certain that the event will take place (AG §516b).
47-48: domitā … Gangētide terrā: ablative absolute. Gangētide: "of the Ganges, Indian." Bacchus/Dionysus was famous for his triumphant arrival, complete with tigers, from India. tū gravis ālitibus: ambiguous, since gravis can mean either physically heavy or emotionally burdensome, and since ālitibus can be either dative or ablative; either "you are a heavy load for the birds (drawing your chariot)," taking ālitibus as a dative of disadvantage; or "you are a heavy burden (for other people) because of your birds," taking ālitibus as an ablative of cause; or "you oppress (i.e. gravis) with your birds …"(Barsby), taking ālitibus as an ablative of means. tigribus: note the chiasmus and the asyndeton. There is the same ambiguity about Bacchus as for Cupid: either "he was a heavy burden for the tigers (drawing his chariot)," or "he was a heavy burden because of his tigers," i.e. "he oppressed with his tigers." 49-50: ergō: note the logic: the poet has been giving arguments for the plea he makes now. cum possim: concessive cum clause. parce: parcō can be used with the infinitive to mean "refrain from." in mē: in + acc. can be used with a verb of spending (here, perdere, "waste") to mean "on" or "upon." perdere … opēs: "waste your resources"; < ops, opis, f. "might, power" but often, in the plural, "resources." 51-52: cognātī … Caesaris: the Caesar referred to is the emperor Augustus (C. Julius Caesar Augustus), who was the great-nephew and adopted son of Julius Caesar the dictator. The gens Iūlia traced its ancestry to Iulus, the son of Aeneas, and Aeneas was the son of Anchises and Venus. quā: agrees with manū (prolepsis, i.e. a dramatic anticipation of a word that comes later in the sentence). victōs prōtegit: clementia was one of the virtues for which Augustus was celebrated.
9. Amores 1.3: Just give me a chance The first two poems have made it abundantly clear that the poet has fallen head over heels in love, and we also assume that things are not going well: lovers whose affections are reciprocated might speak of their passion (uror, 1. Thus as Amores 1.3 opens we are not surprised to find the poet speaking of himself as the stereotypical unrequited lover, in ways that strongly remind us of Catullus and Propertius in their more abject modes. The poem begins with a cry of unrequited love: the poet prays first that the girl will love him or at least not reject him outright, but then even that second hope seems too presumptuous, and he is reduced to hoping that she will at least allow him to love her (lines 1-4).
This diffidence does not keep him from making his case: he's looking for a long-term relationship (line 5), and his love is the real thing (line 6). He may not be rich and he may not be an aristocrat (lines 7-10), but he has other qualities which should work in his favor: he's a poet (line 11), and, as he's already said, he's in it for the long haul (lines 12-18). He doesn't flit from girl to girl (line 15, non sum desultor amoris) and, looking far down the road, he wants her there when he dies (lines 17-18). Readers may find him sincere and persuasive, but they may also wonder whether he does not protest too much.
And there is a more immediate problem. The speaker's status as a poet is offered as the first argument in his favor (line 11), but then it seems to get dropped, as he turns instead to the long-term relationship argument. And although the two arguments are not obviously related, he writes as if they are, listing his "supporters" without any suggestion that they are in different categories: Apollo, the Muses, and Dionysus (line 11); Amor, fides, mores, simplicitas and pudor (lines 12-14). It is poetry that in fact turns out be the crucial argument. After claims to fidelity, culminating with his dramatic "till death do us part" argument, the poet suddenly returns to poetry. The logic seems to be that the relationship, and especially the girl's part in it, will be the kind of thing that inspires poetry (lines 19-20).
Ovid, ever the rhetorician, drives this point home with three exempla, all heroines made famous by poets (lines 21-24). But the poet's choices are spectacularly inappropriate, given the case he is trying to make. A girl interested in declarations of fidelity and commitment will not want to be coςparκι to thrκκ no ρκss! of Jupitκr's onκ-night stanιs. "nι thκ poκt's language makes it hard to take this mythology seriously: Io is afraid of her new horns (line 21), Leda is deceived by her "riverine adulterer" (line 22), and Europa holds on with her "maiden hand" (line 24). The poet's persuasive skills, which at first seemed so powerful, seem now to have deserted him.
The final couplet offers us useful guidance on how to read this poem. After offering his poetry as an inducement to the girl, as it is she who will be immortalized, the poet ends up focused on himself: "we" (nos) not she, will be sung throughout the world, and it is his name, now, that will always be linked to hers (lines 25-26). A person, of course, can be passionately in love with someone else and completely self-involved at the same time. But if what other people see is the self-absorption they're not going to be very sympathetic.
Moreover, once we see that our poet is more interested in himself than in the girl he offers to write about, his claims to sexual fidelity look even more suspicious. The poet knows what to say to women: they love all that talk about sincerity and commitment, perhaps even more than they want poetic immortality. But, we learn, the arguments are just that: the rhetoric of persuasion rather than the language of love. Amem is subjunctive in an indirect question (AG §574).
3-4: ā oh ςκ! an intκrjκction inιicating powκrfuρ fκκρing, incρuιing misery. tantum: "only, just." patiātur: jussive subjunctive; understand puella as the subject. amārī: understand sē as the subject of this infinitive. audierit: syncopated form of audīverit, probably future perfect (AG §181b); the clause functions almost as the apodosis of a condition: "if she would just allow herself to be loved, Venus will have heard my many prayers." nostrās: plural for singular. Cytherēa = Venus; the Greek island of Cythera 1 was sacred to Venus. 5-6: per longōs … annōs: for per + accusative as "throughout" a period of time, see OLD 7. quī dēserviat: the antecedent is an implied eum, i.e., accipe eum quī tibi dēserviat. The verb dēservīre, "to devote oneself," can take a dative; it presumably retains some of its original meaning of "be enslaved to." The relative clauses of characteristic here and in the next line put the emphasis on Ovid's character. nōrit = nōverit, "knows how to." 7-8: veterum … parentum: "of a long line of ancestors." sī = etsī. eques: "equestrian," a member of the ordo equester; take as a predicate nominative with est understood. A family founded by a member of the equestrian order was highly respectable, but it had distinctly less prestige than a senatorial family. 13-14: fidēs … mōrēs … simplicitās … pudor: these four Roman virtues parallel the divinities of poetry mentioned above (Phoebus … comitēs novem … vītis repertor … Amor) and are also subjects of hāc faciunt (12). cessūra: "that will yield to," "second to," (+ dat.). sine crīmine: the basic meaning of crīmen, crīminis, n. is "charge, accusation." purpureus pudor: note the repetition of the pusound, perhaps suggestive of an embarrassed stammer; pudor is purple because it is modestly blushing.
15-16: mille: supply puellae. dēsultor: "circus rider" (in the Circus Maximus, who would jump from horse to horse at full gallop). This imagery suggests the opposite of fidelity, jumping from bed to bed. sī qua fidēs: understand est, i.e., "if there exists any loyalty at all"; qua = aliqua.
21-22: carmine: "in poetry" or "because of poetry"; Ovid proceeds to give examples of women whose names live on through poems. habent: plural because there are three subjects: Io; the suppressed antecedent of quam in line 22 (Leda); and the suppressed antecedent of quaeque in line 23 (Europa). Īō: the daughter of Inachus, from Argos. Zeus fell in love with her, raped her, then changed her into a cow in an attempt to conceal his actions from Juno. Ovid elsewhere describes Io's shock at seeing her horns reflected in water (Metamorphoses 1.640-641). quam = ea quam; the reference is to Leda, raped by Zeus after he took the form of a swan (flūmineā … ave).
23-24: quaeque = et ea quae "and she who"; the reference is to Europa, whom Zeus, transformed into a bull, carried off to Crete. 2 cornua vāra: vārus, a, um means "bent outwards"; the detail makes the scene more vivid.
25-26: nōs: apparently = ego et tu, though we might suspect that poet mostly means ego. pariter: "equally," i.e., just as much as Zeus and his mistresses; the word may also suggest that Ovid and Corinna will be remembered together. nostra: here plural for singular.

Amores 1.4: Secret signs
If Ovid's book is telling us the story of a love affair, the fourth poem suggests at first that the poet has made a lot of progress. The previous poem gave us nothing but arguments, which did not in the end seem to be those likely to win a girl's heart; in Amores 1.4, it seems, she is the poet's willing lover. But of course there is a snag: she is not free to be with the poet, much as she might want to, as she has a man. The identity, or rather the legal status, of this man is unclear. The Romans could use vir to mean "boyfriend" as well as "husband," just as "stand by your man" is ambiguous in English, at least in country-western music. We will discuss this problem after we have considered the poem as a whole.
The poem opens with the poet speaking, at least in theory, to the girl. He's heard that the vir is going to be at dinner with her, and he's jealous. In the best traditions of male jealousy he focuses on the physical facts: the vir will be able to touch the girl, and he (the poet) won't (lines 4-6). But it is harder to sympathize with our poet when he goes on to compare their situation to that of the Lapiths and Centaurs. This famous battle was provoked, supposedly, when the centaurs got drunk at the wedding feast in honor of Pirithous and Hippodamia, and tried to abduct the bride; the story (immortalized at Athens on the Parthenon metopes) exemplified primal conflict, between humans (the Lapiths) and the grotesquely semihuman centaurs. For the poet to compare himself to a centaur is a grotesque exaggeration: we can only laugh at the poet's attempt to compare a fairly pedestrian sexual jealousy with a clash between civilization and chaos. Our amusement is only heightened when he explains, with the heavyhanded clarity of the truly self-absorbed, that of course he is not really a centaur (line 9).
Most of the poem consists of the poet's "instructions" to the girl. The poet tells her to arrive as early as possible, not because they can have any real contact but because he just can't wait to see her; all he can hope for is some quick footsie when they take their places at the table (lines 13-16). The poet then gives the girl elaborate instructions for secret communications (lines 17-28). And it is here that we get our first clear sense that he is not being reasonable or realistic. The notion that lovers could get away with writing notes on the table with wine is absurd (line 20), and that detail calls into question the practicality of the whole discussion: surely a husband, and the other guests, would notice if the girl watched our poet with the intensity that he demands.
Once we start wondering about practicalities, we perhaps ask ourselves an even more fundamental question: whether the girl is actually listening. Is she even present at all? Could this simply be an internal monologue? The earlobe signal (lines 23-24) could be a real signal. But some of the poet's other suggestions seem oddly ambiguous: a girl could touch her cheek (lines 21-22), twist the ring on her finger (lines 25-26) or touch the table (lines 27-28) without thinking of these instructions at all. If a modern dinner guest were to decide that a woman who asked for the sugar was making a coded statement about him we might suspect he was fooling himself. Lovers, especially unrequited lovers, are notorious daydreamers.
The poet moves gradually from his fantasies about communication to simple jealousy (lines 33-34), and he becomes increasing preoccupied with the physical contact between the girl and her vir (lines 35-44). He knows about this physical stuff, he says, because he's done it himself (lines 45-48), with his mistress (dominaeque meae). This sudden use of the third person presents a problem, since up to this point, supposedly, he has been talking to the girl herself (note the striking return to the second person in line 49: hoc tu non facies). The solution offered by McKeown is to see these four lines as an aside: the poet, like a character in comedy, comments on his own speech in words not to be heard by the addressee. If this is right it has an important consequence: we learn for the first time that the poet and the girl really have been having an affair.
The alternative is to see this domina as a different girl, with whom the poet had had exactly the kinds of dalliances he's worried about here. This, as McKeown observes, would hardly be tactful: we would not expect an ardent lover to remind his new girl of her predecessors. But, in my view, this is precisely the point. The poet has lots to say, including things that in real life would be tactless: he can say what he wants in his own head.
The "instructions" continue: get the vir as drunk as possible, because that will give them a chance to be together (lines 51-54), and perhaps they can do some touching (whatever body parts happen to be available) when everyone gets up from the table (lines 55-58). Then comes, apparently, a dose of reality: the poet realizes that whatever fun he can have during dinner will be trivial compared to what happens when the girl has to go home with her vir (lines 59-62). The vir is going to be kissing her, and much more. All the poet can do is urge the girl not to show herself willing: the vir should not enjoy himself, much less the girl herself (lines 63-68).
Finally, in the last couplet, the poet asks her to lie to him: whatever happened at home with her vir, she should say categorically that nothing happened. The poet, in other words, wants to be deceived, at least on this crucial point. This works well enough if we really are to see this as a real, if one-sided, conversation: there is a certain charm in a lover asking to be lied to, at least in these particular circumstances. But it works even better if we read the poem as fantasy. The poet's imagination deals with the ultimate affront in two complementary ways: he first imagined the girl giving in to her vir only because she had to, and now he imagines her as so sensitive to his feelings that she will lie about it. She's the perfect lover, at least in the poet's own mind.

Appendix: the vir
Given the prominence of adultery in the western literary tradition, it is difficult for us to read Amores 1.4 without thinking of the vir as the girl's husband. This might seem to be confirmed by the clear suggestion that the girl has to go home with her vir (lines 61-62), who will then exercise his legal rights (lines 63-64).
But in his authoritative commentary James McKeown accepts the suggestion (made by Ian Du Quesnay) that the girl is a freedwoman, and the vir is her patron (i.e. her former owner), who has retained legal rights over her. McKeown observes that in Amores 2.5 Ovid uses similar legal language about his own girl, who is certainly not his wife. More important, McKeown finds it hard to believe that anyone would imagine a married couple furtively having sex at a dinner party (lines 47-50); as he says, on the authority of Ovid himself (Ars Amatoria 3.585f), "husbands do not have to seize fleeting opportunities" (McKeown 2, 77). It is worth remembering, too, that adultery was more than just one of the sexual vices that so offended the puritanical Augustus: in a remarkable intrusion into Roman legal tradition, Augustus made adultery a state crime, prosecuted in the same manner as treason, forgery, and poisoning. An extended fantasy about adultery is about as anti-Augustan as a poet could get.
I would suggest, nonetheless, that "husband" remains the most likely translation of Ovid's vir. As McKeown observes, the Roman dinner party had become a stereotypical venue for adultery (see esp. Horace, Carm. 3.6.25ff). And his argument about husbands and "fleeting opportunities" is not necessarily convincing. In the first place, outrageous sexual activity is not always, or even often, prompted merely by opportunity; it is easy enough to imagine a dissolute married couple flaunting their sexuality purely for the fun of it, especially in Rome.
More important, McKeown's argument depends on a relatively "literal" reading of the poem as a whole. If it is a "real" set of instructions given to a "real" girl actually expected to pay attention, then the dinnertime behavior is, at least, very surprising. But if the whole speech is purely in the poet's head, then the vir's behavior makes perfect sense: with his beloved and his rival sharing a couch at dinner, our poet's imagination simply gets the better of him. 1-2: Vir: can mean either "husband" or "boyfriend/lover"; the ambiguity is perhaps intentional (see the introductory essay). The oblivious vir as a woman's "significant other" is a standard figure in Roman love elegy. nōbīs: dative of reference with eāsdem (AG §376; OLD īdem 2c); he will be attending the same banquet as you and I will be. sit precor = precor ut sit, "I pray that (that dinner) will be." Verbs of praying, ordering, etc., usually introduce indirect commands with ut + subj., but occasionally ut is omitted (AG §565). Ovid's prayer is rather harsh, considering that the vir is the wronged individual.
3-4: tantum: can be construed either with convīva ("only a dinner guest") or with aspiciam ("Shall I only look upon?"). convīva: in apposition to ego: "Shall I, a mere table companion, look upon?" tangī quem iuvet = is quem iuvet ā tē tangī, "he who enjoys being touched by you." 5-6: sinūs … fovebis: "will you warm the chest." sinus refers to the fold produced by the draping of clothes; the folds of clothing most commonly referred to (for men and women alike) are those at the breast, hence "bosom, breast," and therefore "embrace," in plural as well as singular. subiecta: "snuggling closely against." A dining-couch could accommodate two or three people. iniciet … manum: a double entendre: manum inicere + dative can mean "to put one's hand on" or, in a legal sense, "to seize," as a way of making a formal claim on a person or thing. collō: dative with the compound verb iniciō (AG §370).
7-8: positō quod … vīnō: construe quod first, "that"; verbs of perceiving, such as sciō, crēdō, videō and even mīror often introduce a quod clause acting as the direct object of that verb. positō … vīnō: "after wine was served," ablative absolute (AG §420). Drunkenness was a factor in the centaurs' attack. Ātracis < Ātracis, -idis, f. "the woman from Atrax" 1 (a town in Thessaly). The reference is to Hippodamia, whose wedding to Pirithous, king of the Lapiths, turned violent when the centaurs, who were guests, were so aroused by her beauty that they tried to carry her off. ambiguōs … virōs: the centaurs, half-man/half-horse creatures; hence, humorously, "ambiguous men." 9-10: nec mihi silva domus: understand est; dative of possession. The poet explains that he is not an uncivilized beast prone to uncontrolled acts (as the centaurs are). equō: dative with the compound verb cohaerent (AG §370); again, a reference to the centaurs. ā tē: "from you," with tenēre manūs. tenēre: "to keep (away), to restrain, to hold back." 11-12: quae tibi sint facienda: "(the things) which must be done by you," i.e., what you must do. The gerundive injects a matter-of-fact tone. sint is subjunctive in an indirect question (AG §574). nec Eurīs … nec tepidīs … Notīs: "neither to the east winds nor to the warm south winds." ferenda: the gerundive with a verb meaning "give" expresses purpose (AG §500.4).
15-16: torum: "couch"; at formal dinners the Romans ate lying down. vultū … accumbās: this clause is a second cum clause, with the cum supplied by cum premet ille torum; the asyndeton suggests that the speaker is in a highly emotional state. comes: note that comes, comitis "companion" can be feminine as well as masculine. accumbās: "take your place (reclining) at the table." mihi: dative of advantage (AG §376).
27-28: tangunt: understand mensam, normally "table" but also "altar"; touching an altar was a normal gesture of prayer. quō mōre: "in the manner in which." optābis … cum: "when(ever) you hope for"; cum is postponed. cum takes the indicative when it means "on every occasion which." meritō: "deservedly, as he deserves." 29-30: quod = id quod. miscuerit: future perfect; the subject is the vir. Romans normally drank their wine mixed with water; the implication here is that the vir will add relatively little water, but our poet wants the puella to drink a weaker mixture. sapiās: hortatory subjunctive, used to express a proviso: "may you be wise" means "if you are wise" (AG §528a). But the expression seems to be a colloquial way of saying "be wise," "be sensible." bibat ipse iubētō = iubētō ut bibat ipse. iubētō is second person singular future imperative (AG §449); the future imperative suggests the language of formal legislation. iubeō normally takes accusative + infinitive, but can also take ut + subjunctive. For the omission of ut with verbs of commanding see AG §565a (cf. line 2 above). puerum: i.e. the cupbearer; a male slave, of whatever age, could be called puer. leviter: "quietly" (adverb). posce: "call for, demand," with double accusative (ask x for y, AG §396); the word is often used of asking for wine in particular. quod = id quod, as in line 29: "that (only) which." 31-32: quae: the antecedent is pōcula. reddiderīs … biberīs: future perfect, but translate as imperative, "return." The final syllable of the second person singular in the future perfect is often lengthened in poetry immediately before the caesura. quā: "on whatever part (of the cup)"; construe with parte (line 32); ablative of place where. 33-34: lībātōs < lībō (1) here "nibble, taste." illius: in poetry the second i is sometimes long, sometimes short, as here (see OLD).
35-36: nec premat … sinitō = nec sinitō ut premat, "do not allow him to press"; sinitō (future imperative) is mock formal in tone, like iubētō in line 29. colla: plural for singular. Note the chiastic word order, with words for arms surrounding the words for neck. mīte … caput = nec pōne mīte caput in rigidō pectore. nec pōne = nē pōne; for this archaic and poetic form of a negative command see AG §450a; here it has a religious or legal tone. mīte < mītis, mite "soft, gentle." 37-38: sinus: "the fold of your dress." Refer to the note on sinus in line 5. digitōs = digitōs eius. papillae: understand admittant, from the preceding sinus admittat. nulla dedisse velīs: "may you wish to have given no (kisses)," i.e., don't give any. The tone is mock formal, as with the future imperatives above.
55-56: surgēmus et omnēs = et cum omnēs surgēmus. in medium turbae … agmen: "into the middle part of the crowd's line of march"; agmen, agminis n. can refer to any group of people or things moving in the same direction together, but is often used of a column of soldiers on the march. fac memor … eās = fac ut memor sīs ut eās; eās is present subjunctive of eō.
For the omission of ut with certain verbs of commanding see AG §565a.
57-58: inveniēris: future passive indicative; the future perfect active would be invenieris. in illō = in agmine. Notice that the words for the poet and the puella are placed within the words for the agmen. meī: partitive genitive, with quidquid (AG §346a3).
59-60: mē miserum: accusative of exclamation (AG §397d). Ovid speaks to himself in an aside. paucās quod prōsit in hōrās: "I have given the sort of advice which is useful (only) for a few hours." prosit is subjunctive in a relative clause of characteristic (AG §535). nocte iubente: ablative absolute (AG §420). 61-62: inclūdet: understand tē as direct object; the address to the puella resumes. quā: "where, to what extent"; adverb. prōsequar: "I will accompany (you)." saevās … forēs: the "savage doors" are the front doors of his girlfriend's house; front doors provide the typical setting in Roman poetry for expressions of unrequited love by an excluded lover (exclūsus amātor). See further on Amores 1.6. 63-64: iūre: this may indicate that the woman is bound "by law" to kiss her vir, who would then have to be a husband; but it is also possible that Ovid is speaking more metaphorically of the "rights" of a rival lover.
67-68: illum quoque nē iuvet optō = optō nē iuvet illum quoque. iuvet is impersonal: mē iuvat, for example, means "it helps me," i.e. "it's good for me to" or "I enjoy it." So the poet hopes that the vir (illum) "won't enjoy it." The point of quoque becomes clearer after the next line: the poet claims that his mistress won't enjoy her encounter with her vir, and here he hopes that this will be true for the vir as well (quoque). sī minus = sī mea vōta minus valent; minus here = nōn. at certē: "then at least," an emphatic and colloquial way of introducing the apodosis of a condition. inde: "from there, thence," but used sometimes to express causation; adverb. nihil: internal accusative with the impersonal iuvet (me nihil iuvat means "I enjoy it not at all when").
69-70: quaecumque … noctem fortūna sequētur: "whatever fortune attends the night," i.e., whatever happens tonight. The verb is future in Latin-regular, and more logical than English, which uses the present tense in this type of clause. constantī: agrees most naturally with voce; it could also agree with mihi, which would add a distinct note of irony to the poem. dedisse: picks up das, dabis, and datō in lines 64-65; but dō can also be used absolutely to mean "grant sexual favors."

Amores 1.5: The siesta
This short poem is important as the one in which we "meet" the main object of all the poet's attention; Amores 1.1 raised questions about the girl who prompted his shift to elegiac poetry, and now we learn her name. We also get a detailed description, indeed almost an inventory, though it is a description of her body rather than of her appearance as a whole, much less of her as a person. The poem is unique in Roman poetry in being erotic in the modern sense of the word: it is about the physicality of love rather than love itself. Readers will perhaps differ on the appeal of this poem, depending not least on their reaction to an eroticism that is so unapologetically male. But even if we set aside as purely modern our concerns about the treatment of Corinna, the poem presents a problem, precisely because it does seem so straightforward. It is not easy to see the poem as a satisfactory artistic whole.
The poem begins with an elaborate description of the setting (lines 1-8). It is midday, the poet is having his siesta, and the room is dark and tranquil (Roman shutters were very effective). The light is beautiful for its own sake, even magical, but it is also particularly suitable for girls who are "modest" (lines 7-8). Girls and their modesty suggest that there is more to the siesta than meets the eye; it may be that for the Romans the siesta was the ideal time for adultery.
Then Corinna suddenly appears (line 9). The language of procession (Ecce, Corinna venit, line 9) associates her with divinity, as does her name: the Greek poet Corinna, like the more famous Sappho, was associated with the Muses. Amores 1.1 invited us to expect a girlfriend who inspired the poet to write, and here she is: the poet's new muse, all ready for bed.
She is wearing only a tunic, and an unbelted one at that, and her hair is down (a more dramatic signal of intimacy in days of elaborate hairdos than it is today). The poet, rhetorical training at the ready, cannot resist two literary allusions (lines 11-12): Corinna is like queen Semiramis, an allusion with at least latent sexual allusion, and Lais, with whom the connection with sex is obvious. Lais was a famous name for a courtesan.
So we are prepared, to some extent, for the abrupt transition to sex, though perhaps not for the violence (deripui tunicam, line 13). The poet describes Corinna as resisting, but the resistance was not serious (lines 13-16). The trope is disturbing to modern readers, for whom no means no, but we should remember that, at least in Roman poetry, there was a place (rightly or wrongly) for pretend sexual violence. And Corinna did, after all, come into the room without many clothes to join the poet in bed.
The poet goes on to describe Corinna's naked body in minute detail, starting with shoulders and moving down to the thighs (lines 17-22). Here too modern readers will probably be offended by the egregious objectification. But since Lady Chatterley's Lover we have grown used to descriptions with far more explicit sexual detail. And it is important to remember that the "catalog of body parts," as in Marvell's beloved "To His Coy Mistress," mocks the observer more than the observed.
The poet's obsessive focus makes the most sense, I think, if this is their first time in bed together. Of course this reading works only if we accept that Amores 1.4 is fantasy rather than "reality," with the poet only imagining that the girl cares about him at all. But this reading gives some point to what follows. The poem ends abruptly; unlike D. H. Lawrence and his successors, Ovid can leave the crucial facts to our imaginations (cetera quis nescit, line 25). The happy couple rest, and perhaps even doze off, and the poet says he hopes there will be many more such siestas (line 26).
So what is the point here? One possibility is that we are to focus on the fact that at long last the poet is willing to talk of Corinna, however briefly, as if she mattered too (lassi requievimus ambo, line 25). Another possibility (not excluded by the first) is that our focus is on the hope for the future (line 26); he's finally gotten her into bed, they had a great time (or at least he did), and he wants the affair to continue. But is it possible that we are to be struck by the pure physicality? All our poet wants from the affair, at least so far, is uncomplicated sex in the afternoon. It is not easy, as we have seen, to defend the sexual violence, and the objectification of Corinna. Is it possible that we are not supposed to? We see the poet's "love" for Corinna for exactly what it is: masculine, physical, and shallow. Notes on Amores 1.5 1-2: aestus < aestus, -ūs, m. "tide; heat"; here "a hot spell, hot season." This could simply be describing the weather, or it could have sexual connotations. exēgerat < exigō, -ere, -ēgī, -actum, "to drive out"; here (of a period of time) "to bring to an end." levanda < levō -āre, "to lighten, relieve"; membra levāre means "to rest"; the gerundive is used as a simple participle to express purpose (AG §500.4), "I had laid my limbs to rest." membra, especially in the singular, can also have a sexual connotation. torō: dative of direction with a verb of motion (AG §428h).
3-4: pars adaperta … pars … clausa: adaperta means "open." The window was a double one, with one side open and the other closed; the structure of the line reflects the double nature of the window. quāle … lūmen: "like the light which"; this is in apposition to all of line 3. 5-6: quālia … crepuscula: "like the twilight which"; subject of sublūcent, also in apposition to line 3. Note the languid l, u, and a sounds. fugiente … Phoebō: "as Apollo is fleeing," i.e., "as the sun is setting," ablative absolute. Apollo was the god of the sun, which his steeds and chariot pulled across the sky from east to west. nec … orta: understand est, "has not risen." 7-8: quā … spēret: relative clause of characteristic (AG §535); quā (its antecedent is lux) is an ablative of means (AG §409); "the kind of light in which." 9-10: Corinna: here the poet's lover is finally introduced by name. Corinna was the name of a real-life Greek poet, just as the name Lesbia, which Catullus gave to his lover, was an allusion to the poet Sappho. "Corinna" ςay bκ basκι on thκ Grκκk worι ό η ςaiικn , thκ Grκκk κquivaρκnt of puella. vēlāta < vēlō -āre, "to cover, clothe"; the juxtaposition of vēlāta and tunicā recinctā produces an ironic oxymoron: "clothed in an unfastened tunic." dīviduā < dīviduus, a, um "divided"; we thus infer that Corinna had long hair, and that her hairdo was undone, with her hair hanging over each shoulder. colla: plural for singular (as in 1.4.35). 11-12: quāliter: "in which way, so" (adverb). Semīramis < Semīramis, -idis, f. the legendary queen of Assyria; she was famous for her regal nature, her beauty, and lust. Lāis < Lāis, -idis or -idos, f. the name of two famous Greek courtesans. virīs: dative of agent, as often with perfect participles (AG §375).
17-18: nostrōs = meōs. menda: "fault, blemish." Ovid is the only poet to use this word to mean a physical blemish; in other authors it refers to literary faults.
19-20: quōs umerōs: exclamatory quis, what! quam: exclamatory quam, how! , ςoιifying an aιjκctivκ apta). apta: "suitable, proper," here construed with premī (passive infinitive). 21-22: castīgātō < castīgātus -a -um "tightly drawn, controlled." Notice that this line is entirely spondaic except for the fifth foot, presumably suggestive of the poet's careful admiration. quantum et quāle latus < latus, lateris n., "side"; accusative of exclamation (AG §397d). In referring to the human body latus most often refers to the upper trunk (OLD 1a), but since the poet seems to be working his way down Corinna's body it perhaps here means "hip"; this would explain why he admired its size, since the Romans seem to have preferred big hips on women.

Amores 1.6: On the doorstep
The poet has been at dinner party, and has been drinking. In the approved mode of a Greek or Roman lover, he has gone on to the house of his mistress, where he is confronted with closed doors and a doorkeeper (ianitor) who won't open up. The poem presents us with a long speech, mostly to the doorkeeper, and as with Amores 1.4 there is some doubt as to whether we are to see this as a real speech, or an interior monologue. Perhaps in this case, though, our decision does not matter much: one crucial aspect of the poem is the fact there are no signs that anyone is listening.
To understand the general situation it is helpful to have a mental picture of the huge defensive doors characteristic of a Roman town house, closer to the gates of a castle or a Cambridge college than to anything we know from our own domestic architecture, and accurately recreated in the HBO series "Rome." The important thing for this poem is that a poet could declaim all night on such a doorstep without necessarily being heard by occupants other than the doorkeeper.
Discussion of the poem requires particular attention to the question of genre. Just as Roman readers of Amores 1.1 would have recognized it as a form of recusatio, Amores 1.6 would have been read within its generic context, for which classicists have yet more technical language. A lover kept outside the doors of his mistress is known as an exclusus amator, and a poem on such a theme is known by the ponderous but unavoidable Greek word paraclausithyron ("next to a closed-door"). In the typical paraclausithyron the exclusus amator sings to the door itself; Ovid offers a striking variation, singing to the ianitor instead. (The classic study of this theme is the short monograph by Copley.) The persistence of this genre in Greek and Latin literature, especially in Roman comedy and Latin elegy, raises an important question, on which scholars seem flatly to disagree. For some, the generic elements are purely literary: there are garlands, torches, drunken lovers, and closed doors in Greek literature, and they persist in Latin, but Roman lovers in real life, however heartbroken, normally went home to bed. Others (especially Jasper Griffin) imagine that at least some Roman lovers in real life (perhaps not the poets themselves) would have done exactly what the poets show them doing: not singing poems to doors or doorkeepers, necessarily, but definitely spending part of the night in a kind of amatory vigil. The problem is similar, perhaps, to that of the serenade: presumably in real life men have in fact gone with their guitars to sing to their girlfriends, but few of us have seen it done.
An unusual feature of this poem is its refrain: tempora noctis eunt; excute poste seram occurs at lines 24, 32, 40, 48, and 56, i.e. every 8th line for roughly the middle third of the poem. This has been seen as a reflection of the komos, the kind of song sung by drunken lovers (whether in reality or in literature) outside the doors of girls. But Lindsay Watson has argued that the refrain also reflects the language of hymns, and that part of the joke is that instead of a god the "hymn" is addressed to a humble, but for the poet all-powerful, ianitor.
There is no need to explain the poet's various arguments, though it may be helpful to state the obvious: they are not supposed to be serious ones. He argues, for example, that the door only needs to be opened a very little, because the poet, like all unrequited lovers, has lost weight (lines 3-6). And he argues that he deserves a break, because love has made him brave; the only thing he's defeated by is the ianitor himself (lines 7-18). He also claims that in the past he persuaded the mistress of the house not to give the ianitor a whipping (lines 19-22), though this sounds like a desperate lie; nothing in the first five poems, at least, suggests that he has that kind of relationship with the puella.
Perhaps surprisingly, the refrains do not provide much of an organizing principle; one might have expected five "verses" of seven lines, each marked off by the refrain, but instead the speaker seems to have a short attention span, moving from argument to argument as one thought suggests another. Thus after the first use of the refrain (line 24), the poet moves from pleading to a kind of argument: the ianitor is defending his door as though there were was a war on (lines 25-31). After the second refrain (line 32) the poet develops that thought: a lover's siege is like warfare in some ways (a theme that will be explored in Amores 1.9), except that the lover is harmless (lines 33-39). After third refrain (line 40) the poet suggests two reasons why the ianitor might not be listening: he might be asleep, or he might have a girl himself (lines 41-47). The fourth refrain (line 48) is followed by a moment of wild optimism (the poet hears something: maybe the door is moving), but he's wrong (it's only the wind), which is followed by other thoughts about other winds (lines 49-55).
After the final refrain (line 56) the poet moves from persuasion to threats of violence (lines 57-60), but that doesn't work either. Nothing, neither pleading nor threatening, has had any effect (lines 61-64). In defeat the poet, as dawn breaks, shifts his focus, and addresses his garland (lines 65-70), but he then returns briefly to the ianitor, and bids him farewell.
The last couplet is a puzzle. The poet changes addressee one more time, and says goodbye to the doors themselves, in all their physicality: doorposts, threshold, and bars. But the doors have also been given an epithet far more appropriate for the ianitor: the doors are now "fellow slaves" (conservae … fores, line 75). What is going on? The "fellow slave" joke has been hovering in the background throughout the poem: the ianitor is a real slave, and the poet is a slave of love (as we saw in Amores 1.2, esp. line 18, and lines 17-30). But what does it mean to say that doors are fellow slaves?
Part of the solution, perhaps, resides in the reader's awareness of genre, and the expectations that come with it. For more than 70 lines Ovid has been amusing us by exploring his own unique version of the paraclausithyron: instead of addressing the doors, his exclusus amator has been talking to the ianitor. Part of the point in this last couplet, therefore, is that we have a sense of relief: we're finally back to what we are more comfortable with.
But what is the point, then, of putting the "fellow slave" joke here, of all places? I can only suggest that it makes us think harder about what has been going on in the poem. The poet has been talking, endlessly, to the ianitor. But has anyone, even a ianitor, been paying any attention? Has the poet not, in fact, been doing what other poets do in this situation (other exclusi amatores), namely talking only to big wooden doors-to doorposts, threshold, and bars. Calling those doors conservae, reminding us of the ianitor, reminds us that they are absolutely not listening. Notes on Amores 1.6 1-2: Iānitor … religāte: vocative. The doorkeeper is a slave, chained (religāte) to his door, a custom that was apparently common but not universal (Suetonius would later call the practice "old fashioned," On Rhetors 3). Ovid, as the excluded lover (exclūsus amātor), begins a paraclausithyron, a song sung in front of the locked door of a mistress, a genre with a long tradition among both Greek and Roman writers. The author will plead his case to the stern doorkeeper to win admittance to his mistress's home. indignum : a parenthetical accusative of exclamation (AG §397d , for shaςκ! difficilem: the door is almost personified. forem: one half of a double door; the word is more often found in the plural. 3-4: exiguum: "a tiny thing" (predicate nominative). aditū fac iānua parvō…capiat = fac ut iānua parvō aditū … capiat; ut is omitted from the indirect command, as we have seen before (AG §565a). The word order is intentionally difficult (hyperbaton, see on 1.5.24), to emphasize the difficulty of the act in question. iānua, in contrast to foris or forēs, refers to the doorway as a whole. capiat: "receive." sēmiadaperta < sēmiadapertus, -a,um "half-open" (rare); the i is treated here as a consonant (i.e. sēmjadaperta). latus = latus meum.
13-14: nec mora: "nor (was there) a delay," i.e., without delay, a common idiom. nōn umbrās: understand timeō from the following line. nōn timeō: note the asyndeton (the lack of conjunction) and anaphora (repetition of nōn), which emphasize the speaker's new-found bravery. strictās … manūs < stringō, stringere, strinxī, strictum often means "to unsheathe" (a sword, etc.); here that meaning is transferred to very different weapons, the hands. in mea fāta: in + acc. here means "in order to cause, produce, obtain" (OLD 21a); fātum, -ī, n. here means "death," here plural for singular. With his newly acquired bravery the narrator is not afraid of being assaulted and possibly killed at night.
23-24: redde vicem meritīs: "give me back a return for my services," i.e. return the favor. grātō … optās: either "you have the chance you want to show your gratitude" (Barsby); or "it is possible for you, (if you are) grateful, to get what you want," namely freedom (McKeown). The premise here is that the doorkeeper is ungrateful, so the second option seems preferable; and the carrot of freedom is dangled at 25-26. Either way, tibi is assumed with grātō. quod: the relative pronoun, = id quod. tempora noctis eunt; excute poste seram: this line is repeated four more times, at eight-line intervals; the use of a refrain suggests the singing of the kōmos ῶμο , thκ song of thκ party-going ρovκr. seram: the sera was a removable bar that could be fitted into the doorposts from the inside.
37-38: Ovid lists the lover's "equipment" and companions-not weapons and fellow hooligans, as would be the case if he were a robber, but Cupid, some wine, and a garland of flowers askew on his hair, which has been anointed with perfume-indications that he has come from a party. circa mea tempora: tempora are the temples of the head, i.e. the wine has "gone to his head." madidīs … comīs: ablative of place (or cause).
39-40: timeat … eat: potential subjunctives (AG §447.3). obvius: obvius īre (+ dat.) = "go out to meet (in battle)." 41-42: lentus: "unyielding" (see 1.6.15). an: introduces an alternative question. quī tē male perdat: parenthetical; perdat is optative subjunctive (AG §441): "who I hope will…" amantis goes with verba in the next line. verba dat in ventōs: "to give" a thing "to the winds" is to render them useless or meaningless. aure … tuā: ablative of separation (AG §400). . The word has four long syllables, with yi as a dipthong (= Greek υ thκ hκxaςκtκr ρinκ with a sponιaic fifth foot is unusuaρ in thκ Amores. satis … memor: "sufficiently mindful of." The poet hopes that Boreas, a former lover himself, will swoop in and help a fellow sufferer. ades: second person singular imperative of adsum, adesse. 55-56: silent: the subject is tempora noctis. The connection to the previous line is not stated. The absence of a connective (asyndeton) can indicate "but" or "however" (adversative asyndeton); Boreas might have come to blow down the doors, (but) all is quiet. 1.6: On the doorstep 57-58: "Or else I myself, now quite ready, will attack the arrogant house with sword and fire, which I carry in my torch." Humorously empty bluster, given that he has earlier admitted to being unarmed. "Sword and fire" are the traditional weapons of a rampaging army. aut picks up on the refrain, i.e. "excute poste seram or else…." parātior ipse: either we have to understand quam Boreās, or the comparative means simply "quite prepared" (for the use of the comparative as a kind of positive without an object of comparison, see AG §291). quem: the antecedent is ignīque. petam: petō often means "to attack." 59-60: nihil moderābile suādent: "suggest/urge no restraint" < moderābilis "controllable" (rare); suādeō can take a direct object, i.e., "suggest" a particular course of action. illa: refers back to nox; remember that ille, illa, illud are often used to mean "the former," while hic, haec, hoc can mean "the latter" (AG §297a-b). vacat: "is devoid of," "lacks" + abl. of separation.

Amores 1.7: Violence and love
This poem, like Amores 1.5, plays with a topic about which it is hard for modern readers to be playful: physical abuse. The poet has used violence on his girlfriend, and now expresses his deep remorse. But scholars are divided on the extent to which that remorse is supposed to be sincere. No one doubts that there is some element of playfulness here, and for many readers that playfulness remains problematic. But some scholars have read the poem as expressing an underlying anxiety: the poet has committed assault, and tries to cover up his shame and embarrassment with a pathetic attempt at humor.
The question of what we do with our modern sensibilities about subjects like sexual violence is complicated, and one that readers will have to answer for themselves. Here I will focus on a more preliminary question: what exactly has the poet done? What, in other words, is he apologizing so abjectly for? It is one thing if he has caused real physical harm, and then apologizes and tries to minimize the offense. It is quite another if the pain was trivial and accidental. The poem itself is unclear, and it may be that Ovid is inviting us to make up our own minds about it. At the risk of reading the poem too literally, I believe we should focus on the fact that the poet apologizes not for a serious physical assault on his girlfriend, but for messing up her hair (lines 11 and 49), even if he also scratched her face in the process (lines 40 and 50).
The first eleven lines provide an obvious exploration of Latin sarcasm: the poet describes his offense in dramatic terms: he was insane (lines 2-4), and he committed an offense on a par with assaulting his parents or the gods (lines 5-6). This put him on a par with Ajax in his murderous insanity, and with Orestes pursued by the Furies (lines 7-10). And what did he do that was so terrible? He tore, or tore at, or messed up, her hair: ergō ego dīgestōs potuī laniāre capillōs? (11). If we take laniāre ("tear") literally, then he has been violent (and oddly unmanly). But his own focus is on the fact that he messed up her elegant hairdo (dīgestōs … capillōs). So either he is downplaying a savage assault by calling it a trivial one, it else he is humorously exaggerating something that, if it was an assault at all, was of a very different kind. In Roman poetry, as we have already seen, the language of sex includes the language of violence.
The messy hair, says the poet, was attractive (line 12). He then elaborates, this time with three learned exempla: Atalanta and Ariadne (neither of whom is actually named), and Cassandra, who were all famous for their disordered hair (lines 13-18). The reasons were different: Atalanta lived in the wild, Ariadne had messy hair at the moment that Theseus abandoned her, and Cassandra was possessed. But all three women were also sex objects: Milanion won Atalanta in the famous footrace, Ariadne was in disarray because she had been asleep with Theseus on Naxos, and Cassandra ended up as the concubine of Agamemnon. We saw in Amores 1.5 (line 10) that Corinna came to bed with her hair down, and it seems clear that the poet is thinking of that kind of intimacy here. This could be a mere passing thought. But it seems more likely that it was a desire for intimacy that prompted him to touch her hair in the first place, and that they weren't fighting at all. The poet had made a move, not an attack.
If so, the exaggerated remorse makes much more sense: there is an obvious parallelism between seduction and assault, but a seducer, if successful, sees the parallel as rhetorical rather than real. The poet continues with even deeper expressions of remorse: other people would call him names, and she reproached him with silent tears (lines 19-22). The poet cannot forgive himself for his offense: he'd rather lose his arms, what he did was worse than assaulting a Roman citizen, and worse even than sacrilege (lines 23-34). Indeed the assault was a kind of sacrilege, since the girl herself is a goddess (line 32). The remorse is described in terms that suggest serious violence, and it is easy to forget that this all started because of a hairdo.
The sarcasm goes up yet another notch as the poet sarcastically imagines himself as a triumphator, proudly celebrating this "assault" (lines 35-40). The girl was his prisoner, complete with the dishevelled hair of a captive (line 39), and, we now learn, with marks of some kind on her face (laesae genae, line 40). If this is anything approaching the bruising of a battered woman, the poet's sarcasm here is simply grotesque. But we soon learn that what caused the marks (or mark) was only a fingernail (ingenuas ungue notare genas, line 50; see line 64). And the marks (or mark) was a byproduct of the messing up of the hair, not, apparently, an end in itself. Is the joke, then, that the girl is making a fuss about, literally, a mere scratch? This is not an easy conclusion, perhaps; even a scratch inflicted by an ardent lover is not a ready subject for humor.
What follows is perhaps the most difficult and disturbing section of a difficult and disturbing poem, as the poet goes on to describe forms of assault that would have been "better" (lines 41-50). The first alternative he thinks of is love-bites, confirming that it is sex rather than fighting that is uppermost in his mind (lines 41-42). But talk of lovemaking then turns, apparently, into talk about fighting: if he was going to be angry, there were better alternatives; for example, he could simply have yelled at her and threatened her (lines 43-46). But his second possibility reveals that they were not really fighting at all: he could also, he says, have taken off her top (lines 47-48). What he wanted, it turns out, was sex, and he could have threatened her, or he could have stripped her to the waist. What he did was mess with her hair, which was his big mistake.
The poet follows with even more abject apology: he paints a touching picture of a dazed and weeping victim and invites her to take her revenge (lines 51-66). She should scratch him back and go for his eyes as well as his hair (lines 65-66). Is this a final attempt to get what he had wanted all along?
It is striking that in the last couplet the poet begs his victim to fix her hair: doing so will remove all traces of his crime (lines 67-68). Again, we are faced with a choice: either he is spectacularly heartless, ignoring entirely that scratched face, or his offense was indeed a trivial one. We might also wonder when the hair was to be fixed: immediately, or after that final encounter? Notes on Amores 1.7 1-2: adde manūs: addō can mean "insert"; binding the hands was the traditional treatment for the insane. The poem begins with a request that some friend put the speaker in chains. meruēre = meruērunt. catēnās: whereas vincla are chains or restraints in general, catēnae are long and heavy chains. dum: dum + indicative can mean "until." sī quis amīcus ades: the second person singular verb makes this hard to put into English: perhaps, "if any of you, my friends, are present." For the use of indefinite quis, quid with sī, nisi, nē and num see AG §310a.
3-4: in dominam: in can mean "against" (OLD 9). 5-6: tunc: tunc can be used to refer to a hypothetical situation: "if I could do X, then." saeva vel … deos = vel ferre saeva verbera in sanctōs deōs. verbera ferre: a variation of the idiom arma ferre, which means "make war on." 7-8: clipeī dominus septemplicis: "lord of the seven-layered shield," a reference to Ajax's famous "tower" shield of seven ox hides (Homer, Iliad 7.219-223). Aiax: the i is a vowel, and part of the dipthong Ai. Ajax went insane with anger because he had not been awarded the prize in the funeral games held in honor of Achilles; he destroyed a flock of sheep because he mistook them for the Greeks who had done him the (as he saw it) injustice.
9-10: in mātre: "in the matter of his mother"; in + abl. used in a judicial context (e.g., in rē). patris: objective genitive with vindex (AG §348). malus ultor, Orestēs: Orestes, driven temporarily mad by the Furies, avenged the murder of his father Agamemnon by killing his mother Clytemnestra; the morality of this vengeance was of course highly problematic, hence malus ultor. ausus: understand est. arcānās … deās: the Furies, who were associated with the underworld (i.e. "secret," "mystical," or "hidden" from mortal view). poscere tēla: Orestes asked for a bow with which to defend himself from the Furies (Euripides, Orestes 268).
13-14: sīc fōrmōsa fuit: sīc points to an action or a situation: "she was lovely thus" (= "in the way that I have just described her, with her hair messed up"). The narrator now proceeds to describe several women from mythology (Atalanta, Ariadne, and Cassandra) who were beautiful despite their messy hair; the tone shifts from self-reproach to a clueless romanticism. Schoenēida: Atalanta, literally "the daughter of Schoeneus," a king of Boeotia. For the Greek form of the accusative case, see AG §81. dīcam: potential subjunctive (AG §447.1). Maenaliās < Maenalius, -a, -um "of Mount Maenalus" 1 (a range of mountains in Arcadia), "Arcadian." sollicitasse: syncopated form of sollicitāvisse, perfect active infinitive in an indirect statement: "I would say that she were such a one as the daughter of Schoeneus (i.e., Atalanta), who harassed…." 15-16: tālis … Notōs = tālis Cressa flēvit praecipitēs Notōs prōmissaque vēlaque periūrī Thēseī tulisse (eam). tālis … Cressa: tālis is an adjective, but in English we need to supply extra words, e.g. "such a one (was) the Cretan (maiden, when she) lamented." flēvit ("wailed, lamented") introduces an indirect statement. The Cretan princess Ariadne fell in love with Theseus when he came to face her brother the Minotaur, and helped him kill the Minotaur and escape from the Labyrinth; Theseus then abandoned her on the island of Naxos. See especially the description of Ariadne in Catullus 64.63-70, where much is made of the disordered state of her hair and clothes as she watches Theseus sailing away. prōmissaque vēlaque: zeugma: these two nouns are subjects of tulisse, which applies to each in a different sense. An English example would be, "she gave him her heart and her purse." Thēseī: two syllables, by synizesis (the running together of two vowels in different syllables without full contraction) (AG §603c).

Amores 1.8: The bad influence
This is the longest of all the Amores, and occupies the central position in Book 1. It is, therefore, an important poem, and it is intriguingly different. The central speech, by far the longest speech Ovid gives to any female character in the Amores, is delivered by an anti-heroine. Dipsas is an old woman and a lena, a stock character of the comic stage variously translated as "bawd," "procuress," "brothel-keeper," or "madam." A better translation might be "panderess" (if the word were used these days) or perhaps "enabler," since Dipsas is not actually an employer of prostitutes; she is an aged dependent and confidante of the poet's girlfriend, presumably a slave or freedwoman, and perhaps originally the girlfriend's nurse. She is now trying to control the girl's sex life, for entirely mercenary reasons. © William Turpin, CC BY htp //ιx.ιoi.org/ . /Ξ"Ο. .
One of the less attractive features of Roman literature, and indeed of Roman society, was its selection of elderly women as the objects of scorn and hostility (Richlin, 1984 provides a good introduction). Poets could be unsparing in their references to wrinkles, bad hair, and worse, and they associated the physical degeneration of such women with sexual dissolution and drinking (the Romans regarded the two vices as closely associated with each other); particularly vivid is the Roman copy of a famous Hellenistic sculpture of a drunken old lady, now in the Munich sculpture museum. Ovid's character draws from this traditional stereotype: the name Dipsas itself suggests drunkenness, and the first thing we learn about her is that the name is completely appropriate. But Dipsas is also dangerous: the name evokes a snake as well as thirst, and the next thing we learn about her is that she is a witch. Some witches in classical literature are young and beautiful, but others, like Dipsas, are old and ugly. This is not an easy poem to like. Even if we get past the unpleasant demonization of an elderly female retainer, there remains the problem of subtlety. The poet begins by telling us who Dipsas is: a drunk (lines 3-4), a witch (lines 5-18), and an eloquent corruptor of chaste girls (lines 19-20), and he tells us about overhearing her speech (lines 21-22). Most of the poem is devoted to Dipsas' speech-we have to imagine that the girl herself never says anything at all-on the subject of rich and generous lovers (lines 23-108). The speech comes to a sudden end when, we are told, Dipsas senses that she has been overheard (line 109). The poem then comes to an end almost as abrupt, with the poet wishing he had beaten Dipsas up (lines 110-112), praying instead that she should be a homeless, cold and drunken pauper in what remains of her old age. As conclusions go, this is certainly clear and definitive, but it is not, at first sight, very interesting, or attractive.
It is the speech of Dipsas that provides the most obvious moments of interest, and even wit. As should be clear by now, Ovid in the Amores is nothing if not rhetorical, and the most surprising thing about Dipsas is that she is too: nec tamen eloquio lingua nocente caret (line 20). The formal rhetorical qualities of her speech have been well discussed by Nicolas Gross (1995-96), who even provides a formal outline (here given with some modifications): 23-26 exordium. Dipsas begins by telling the girl that she has attracted a rich suitor because she is so beautiful (captatio benevolentiae).
27-28 propositio. The basic argument of the speech is that Dipsas would be less poor if her mistress were rich.
29-34 egressio. Dipsas digresses, on reasons why the girl can and should accept a wealthy lover; the right stars are in alignment and the rich suitor is also handsome. (I suggest that this is part of the propositio.) 35-104 argumentatio. How to get the lover you want, and how to control him.
• 35-38. While pretending to look down modestly, evaluate the present he's bringing.
• 39-40. The Sabine women might have been chaste, but they were primitive.
• 41-48. Chastity now is obsolete (casta est quam nemo rogavit, line 43), and Roman women only pretend to be chaste. Even Penelope wasn't really chaste: the contest with Odysseus' bow was really about male sexual endowments.
• 49-56. Life is short, and girls in particular have only a limited time to profit (literally) from their good looks. In fact they should maximize profits by taking multiple lovers.
• 57-68. (Gross regards this section as part of the preceding one). This brings us (ecce, line 57) to your lover the poet: poetry is no good, and aristocratic birth is no good, if the lover is poor (pauper amator, line 66). Even being attractive is no good: nobody gets a night with you for free.
• 69-86. How to get what you want from your lover: start with small requests, then ask for more once you've got him hooked. Play hard to get, but not so much that he loses interest; play lovers off against each other; go on the offensive when you quarrel, and don't let arguments go on too long. Fake tears can be helpful, and lies are acceptable in love affairs.
• 87-94. (Gross regards this section as part of the preceding one). Your servants and your relatives are all part of the process: they can advise your lover on what presents to give, and if they are subtle about it they can acquire presents for themselves.
• 95-102. Also, you can invent reasons for your lover to give you presents: you can pretend it's your birthday, and you can make him jealous; above all, show him the presents you get from his rival, and if there aren't any go buy them yourself. And, finally, if he's given you a lot already, you can switch to asking for loans, and simply never pay him back.
105-108 conclusio. The girl should listen to Dipsas, and if she does she will be extremely grateful. Part of the joke here is that of course we do not expect an aged and dissolute retainer to be an expert in rhetoric. It is the same joke, very roughly, as when Cockney ladies in Monty Python argue about the relative merits of French and German philosophers. But Dipsas' rhetoric also brings her intriguingly close to the poet himself; it is the poet, after all, who relies on his rhetorical skills. Moreover, the arguments with which Dipsas begins (before she gets too preoccupied with presents) are the typical ones of the poet-lover, the famous carpe diem theme: chastity is overrated in general (lines 39-48), and a girl's beauty does not last long (lines 49-50). Thus Dipsas sounds more and more like a projection of the poet rather than a "real" old woman.
This perhaps suggests that we should read the poem not as a story, but as fantasy, rather like the address to an unresponsive doorkeeper in Amores 1.6. Consider the plight of a poet-lover whose girlfriend is unavailable or uninterested. A young man in this situation might, in theory, assess the situation objectively: he might accept that he is not handsome, or interesting, or even much of a poet. But our bumptious and self-confident poet has an explanation that is much more flattering to his own ego. There is Dipsas talking to the girl, corrupting her with all that talk about money and presents. He might be handsome, and interesting, and a great poet, but he is not rich. The mystery of his failure is solved.
Thus the poem can be read as a study in delusion. Such a reading, I believe, gives more point to the long speech of Dipsas: we are appalled not by Dipsas herself (too easy a target), but by a lover who simply can't face reality. He should be angry at himself, or perhaps simply at life itself, but he transfers that anger (he is all too human) to his invented nemesis (lines 110-115). And such a reading perhaps gives more point to the elaborate description of Dipsas' magical powers (lines 5-18). The poet ought to be able to get the girl, because he's wonderful. If he can't, it's not just that Dipsas is persuasive. She's also a witch. Notes on Amores 1.8 1-2: lēnam < lēna -ae, f., "brothel-keeper, madam, procuress, go-between." The lēna, who profited financially from arranging sexual liaisons between men and young women, was a stock character in comedy and mime, and also appeared frequently in love elegy. In this poem, a lēna gives advice to a young woman on how to get more gifts out of her lover/clients, as the poet listens from behind a door. Dipsas: "Dipsas by name." nōmine is ablative of specification (AG §418 . Γipsas is ικrivκι froς thκ Grκκk δ ψά ςκaning a small snake, the bite of which supposedly makes its victim extremely thirsty. It indicates the "poisonous" nature of the lēna who makes the puella "thirsty" for monetary rewards, and it points a drinking problem. anus: anus, anūs, f. "old woman." 3-4: ex rē: "based on fact," "for good reason." nigrī … parentem / Memnonis: Dipsas is always drunk at dawn: the mother (parentem) of Memnon, King of Ethiopia (nigrī … / Memnonis), is Aurora, goddess of the dawn, who arrives every morning in a horse-drawn chariot (in roseīs … equīs). sōbria: postponed for emphasis: Dipsas has never seen the dawn sober.
5-18: the narrator describes the magical powers of the lēna, which recall those of similar characters in Tibullus and Propertius. 1.8: The bad influence 5-6: magās < magus, -a, -um, "magic" (rare; the usual word is magicus). Aeaeaque < Aeaeus -a -um, "of Aeaea." Aeaea was the island of the witch Circe, who used her magical powers to turn Odysseus' men into animals. carmina < carmen, carminis n. "chant, spell, incantation." caput: "the source" (of a river). recurvat: the ability to reverse the course of rivers was one of the proverbial powers of witches.
23-24: here: "yesterday," a colloquial form of herī; adverb. mea lux: vocative; a term of endearment the lēna uses when addressing the puella, similar to our "light of my life." iuvenī … beātō: "a rich young man," dative object of placuisse. The rival for the puella's attentions is a common figure in love elegy, and the fact that this rival is well off financially gives the narrator a real cause for concern. haesit … tuō: "he stood stock-still and fixed his gaze unwaveringly on your face" (Barsby).
27-28: tam fēlix essēs = vellem (ut) tam fēlix esses quam fōrmōsissima es . fēlix here means "wealthy"; for the omission of ut from a substantive clause of purpose with volō, see AG §565a. The personal fortunes of the lēna are tied to those of the puella, i.e., she proposes to be her madam and enrich herself as the puella is enriched.
29-30: stella … contrāria: stella often means "planet"; in astrology Mars was often the bringer of bad luck. tibi: with nocuit (noceō takes a dative), but also with oppositī. oppositī: "hostile, opposed" in the astrological sense. signō nunc Venus apta suō: supply est, "favorable Venus is now established in her own corner of the sky" (Barsby). For the ablative without the preposition see on line 15 above. Venus has now entered one of the signs of the Zodiac (signō) favorable to her-clearly a good sign for the puella.
33-34: est … illī: illī is a dative of possession (AG §373). faciēs: faciēs can mean "good looks." comparet: potential subjunctive (AG §447.3). sī tē nōn emptam vellet: "if he did not wish to buy your favors." volō in the sense of "want something to be done" can take a perfect passive participle as well as the more usual accusative and infinitive. vellet is imperfect subjunctive in the protasis of a present contrary to fact condition. emendus erat: "he would have to be bought"; i.e., if he wasn't willing to pay for you, you would be willing to pay for him. We would expect emendus esset, but if the verb in the apodosis of a contrary to fact condition implies a future it can be in the indicative (AG §517 n.1).
37-38: bene: here "decorously, becomingly." gremium: supply tuum. Downcast eyes are a sign of modesty. quantum quisque ferat: either "you will have to look to see how much each one is bringing," or "however much each one might bring, to that extent (understanding a tantum, implied by quantum) he will have to be esteemed." The first option better preserves the antithesis between deiectīs ocellīs (37) and respiciendus (38). respiciendus erit: supply tibi (AG §196).
39-40: immundae … Sabīnae: the Sabine 1 women, from Rome's remote past, were famous for their old-world chastity; they are also famous for being raped by the followers of Romulus, but that is not the point here. For Dipsas chastity was merely a lack of sophistication, just as Tacitus suggests that Romans in his day called adultery "modern" (saeculum, Tac. Germ. 19). Tatiō regnante: "in the reign of Tatius" (ablative absolute). Titus Tatius was a king of the Sabines, who became king along with Romulus following the rape of the Sabine women; the story is told in Livy, History of Rome 1.10-11. nōluerint habilēs … esse: "did not wish to offer themselves," literally, "be easy to handle." nōluerint: potential subjunctive, as regularly with forsitan (AG §447.3a). habilēs: there are no obvious parallels for this use of the word, which has physical and sexual overtones at Amores 1.4.37 (habilēs … papillae).
41-42: externīs … in armīs: "for wars abroad"; Dipsas regards the wars of the time of Romulus and Titus Tatius as internal ones, since the Sabines had for so long been incorporated into the Roman state. animōs exercet: either "is occupying his energies" (Barsby), or perhaps "is giving brave men some practice" or "is keeping their minds busy." In other words, the husbands are so busy preparing themselves for war that they are paying no attention to their wives' extramarital activities. exerceō traditionally has associations with military training. Aenēae … suī: Aeneas was Venus' son; according to Dipsas that apparently makes sexual freedom all the more appropriate for the Rome of her day; Augustus, who traced his lineage back to Venus and Aeneas, would have been shocked by this deduction.
43-44: lūdunt: lūdō can have an explicitly sexual meaning, "to sport amorously," "to be promiscuous." nēmo: the o is normally long, but Ovid sometimes shortens it; see McKeown ad loc. rogāvit: here with an explicitly sexual meaning, "to proposition." rusticitās: "lack of sophistication," with an allusion to the simple country living of the Sabine women. ipsa: i.e. (illa) quam nēmo rogāvit.
45-46: hās: understand fēminās, object of excute. frontis … in vertice portant: "on the tops of their their foreheads" (singular for plural). rūgās: "wrinkles"; prudish ladies (not necessarily old ones) would make wrinkly judgemental faces. excute: "shake out" the prudish ladies, like someone shaking out a garment-a bold metaphor. For the use of an imperative as the equivalent of a protasis in a condition, see AG §521b. crīmina: "many a guilty thought" (Barsby) or "many (sexual) misdeeds." Given the outrageous rewriting of the story of Penelope in the next couplet, the second option is probably meant.

47-48: Pēnelopē:
The wife of Odysseus is normally considered a paragon of wifely chastity, but Dipsas gives a much racier and more cynical version of her relationship with her suitors. vīrēs: the plural of vīs, f., which can refer to sexual prowess. temptābat < temptō, -āre, "to test, try out." Since in the Odyssey there was only a single archery contest, this may be an inceptive imperfect, indicating that the action has begun but not been completed (AG §471c); but the imperfect also makes sense in the racier alternative version, given the sexual sense of vīrēs, since Penelope could be seen as working through the long list of suitors. in arcū: "with the bow," though arcus can also mean "penis," cf . McKeown ad loc.; in + ablative can mean "bearing" a weapon. qui latus … arcus erat = arcus qui latus arguerat erat corneus. latus < latus, lateris, n. "side, flank," but here "physical strength, vigor," sometimes in the sexual sense of "prowess." arguerat < arguō, arguere, arguī, argūtum, "demonstrate, prove." corneus: "made of horn"; in Homer, the bow of Odysseus was made of horn (a composite bow), but corneus also has an explicitly sexual connotation (McKeown ad loc.) 49-50: lābitur … aetās: Dipsas changes her subject here (adversative asyndeton, cf. on 1.3.19). Poets, in Latin elegy and throughout western literature, have used the transitory nature of youth as an argument in seduction; the tradition is encapsulated in Horace's carpe diem poem (Odes 1.11), and Marvell's "To his Coy Mistress." occultē: "without being noticed" (adverb). fallitque < fallō, fallere, fefellī, falsum "to trick, deceive" but also "elude, be unnoticed." admissīs … aquīs: admittō can mean "to release, let loose." Some manuscripts and some editors read admissīs … equīs.
51-52: aera: "(pieces of) bronze," i.e. money. ūsū: "from use," i.e., bronze becomes dull if it is not handled. habērī: "to be worn." cānescunt: "to become white" with dust etc., but here the allusion to the human body, which grows white-haired with age, is even more obvious than in the previous line. turpī … sitū < situs, ūs, m. "neglect." 53-54: admittās: admittō can have the specific meaning of "receive a lover." The form can be explained as a generalizing second person singular in an indefinite subjunctive (Barsby), or as the protasis of a future less vivid condition, the apodosis of which is in the present indicative (AG §516b); in the latter case, Dipsas is addressing her mistress directly. nullō exercente: ablative absolute (AG §420); exerceō here means "to employ, put to use." Just as bronze loses its sheen when it isn't handled and used (51), so beauty (according to Dipsas) loses its youthful appeal if no one puts it to use sexually. satis effectūs < effectus, effectūs, m., "result, outcome"; satis is an indeclinable substantive, here accusative, with a partitive genitive (AG §346). ūnus et alter: "(just) one or two." Supply amātor with both adjectives. rapīna < rapīna, ae, f. "plunder" (of property but also "abduction" (especially of a woman); here the primary meaning is "plunder," as an exaggerated way of talking about profit. Having only two lovers is not enough; one should have many (multīs, 55) to keep one's sexual prowess keen and to make a more reliable profit. 55-56: Dipsas now turns to her interest in the financial profitability of having lovers. cānīs … lupīs: both "to gray wolves" and "to white-haired prostitutes." cānus, -a, -um means "white, gray"; lupīs is either from lupus ("wolf") or lupa ("she-wolf" or "prostitute"). dē grege: "from a (whole) flock"; this is the point. 57-58: iste tuus … vātēs: "that poet of yours." It is finally revealed that the narrator and the puella are lovers, and it is clear that the narrator has been more than simply a casual eavesdropper. The pejorative sense of iste underscores the lēna's scornful contempt for a poet (presumably a man of few financial resources). amātōris mīlia multa legēs: legō here means either "collect" (Barsby) or "read" (McKeown). If "collect" is right, the point is both repetitive and unclear: her mistress will get lots of money (mīlia nummōrum) from a lover, who is different from the poet under discussion.
If "read" is right, it comes as a surprise: we expect that a sentence beginning with "many thousands of a lover's things" (possibly mīlia nummōrum) will conclude with "you'll receive as presents," but "the lover's things" turn out to be something that, according to Dipsas, her mistress will reading: all the poet has to offer is lots of poetry.
59-60: ipse deus vātum: Apollo. The point of this couplet seems to be that a really good poet, like Apollo, would display obvious signs of worldly success, comparable to Apollo's golden cloak and lyre, and would thus be worthy of attention. pallā: "cloak"; ablative of cause (AG §404) or specification (respect) (AG §418). aureā: here two syllables by synizesis (AG §603c). tractat … fīla: "plucks the strings." The chiasmus reflects an actual lyre: the consona fīla are tucked inside inaurātae … lyrae. 61-62: quī dabit: "he who will give" gifts; the amātor dīves who will give gifts and money to his lover. tibi: dative of reference, expressing point of view: "as far as you are concerned" (AG §378); the second i of tibi is usually short, but it can be lengthened to accomodate the meter. mihi: as with tibi, the second i can be long. rēs est ingeniōsa dare = dare est rēs ingeniōsa; dare is a subjective infinitive with est (AG §461b). Dipsas has no use for the talents of a poets, only for the "talent" of gift-giving.
63-64: nec tū …/ despice = nōlī despicere. "Don't despise the man who has bought his freedom at the price of his head," refers to a former slave who grew rich enough to purchase his freedom. In Ovid's circles, this would be a somewhat disreputable class. capitis: caput can mean "the status of a free citizen." mercēde < mercēs, mercēdis f., "price"; ablative of price (AG §416).
redemptus < redimō, redimere, redēmī, redemptum "buy back," especially "buy out of slavery." gypsātī crīmen ināne pedis: supply est; "the accusation of (having had) a foot whitened with gypsum is pointless," i.e., "the taint of slavery is pointless." When foreign slaves were put up for sale for the first time their feet were whitened with gypsum. The genitive is perhaps best described as appositional (AG §343d), or genitive with words suggesting accusation (AG §352).
65-66: ātria: "atrium" (the main reception room in a Roman house); the plural is regularly used for the singular in poetry. cērae: "wax portrait busts," but here a reference to the imāginēs, wax masks of distinguished ancestors placed in the atrium of an aristocratic Roman house; to say that a Roman had imāginēs was to say that he was a member of the senatorial aristocracy. tolle … tēcum: "pick up and take with you (as you leave)." Note the harsh alliteration of the "t" sounds, emphasizing the lēna's contempt for potential suitors who offer a lover nothing more than an illustrious ancestry. avōs: a reference to the ancestors (65, veterēs circum ātria cērae) in whom an aristocrat would put so much stock.
67-68: quī = ille quī. quia pulcher erit: Dipsas now turns to the suitor who is so good-looking that he thinks he doesn't need to offer presents (or payment) for a night with the girl. quod det, amātōrem flāgitet ante suum: "let him first demand something from his own lover to give (to you)." flāgitet < flāgitō -āre, "to ask for repeatedly"; it can take a double accusative, "ask someone for something" (AG §396); hortatory subjunctive. The lēna makes the assumption that, if the potential lover is pulcher, he must have a (male) lover of his own (amātōrem … suum), from whom he can wheedle the money he needs to pay his mistress; she should never give away her favors for free. 69-70: parcius rathκr sparingρy coςparativκ of parcē. exigitō: "demand payment"; future imperative (from the language of Roman law and religion). dum rētia tendis: a hunting metaphor; hunters regularly stretched out nets to catch anything from birds to boar and deer. lēgibus ūre tuīs: "torment them on your own terms." lēgibus is probably ablative of specification (respect), which can include expressions indicating that in accordance with which a thing is done (AG §418). Smitten Roman lovers were often said to be subject to the lēgēs of their mistresses. ūrō is used especially of passion. 71-72: nocuit: gnomic perfect, used sometimes to indicate that what has been true in the past is always true; translate as a present or present perfect (AG §475). sine crēdat amārī = sine ut crēdat sē amārī: "permit him to believe he is loved." cave: imperative of caveō, here as often with a short e (iambic shortening, a feature of colloquial speech). Prohibition can regularly be expressed by cave + present subjunctive, but cave nē sometimes occurs (AG §450 n.2). nē grātīs hic tibi constet amor: "lest this love be worth nothing to you," "lest you charge nothing for this love." grātīs is the ablative plural of grātia, usually occurring in this syncopated form (instead of gratiīs), and means "without payment, for nothing." For the ablative of price, see AG §416.
83-84: quīn etiam: "and in fact"; when used to introduce a statement confirming what has just been said, quīn is often strengthened by etiam. coactī: "on demand," literally, "when compelled," from cogō. illa vel illa: supply (alia) puella for both adjectives. She is supposed to act as though the man's other girlfriends were making her cry.
89-90: rogent … rogābunt: the subjects are servus and ancilla. multōs: rogō can take an accusative of the person asked for a thing, as well as an accusative of the thing asked for. stipulā < stipula, -ae, f. "stubble," i.e., what is left over after the grain harvest. acervus: "heap, pile," esp. a pile of money. Dipsas is looking at the situation from the slaves' point of view: if the servus and the ancilla get a little bit from a lot of boyfriends (multōs), it mounts up. 91-92: carpat < carpō, carpere, carpsī, carptum normally "to pluck, harvest," but here "despoil, fleece." fit cito per multās praeda petīta manūs = praeda petīta per multās manūs cito fit; fit cito here means "quickly accumulates" or "is quickly produced." The whole process of plundering the boyfriend by servants and relatives alike will be successful when there are a lot of people involved.
99-100: mīserit: future perfect. Sacra roganda Via est = Sacra Via roganda est; the Via Sacra was the principal street of the Roman Forum, but it was also notable for jewelry shops.
101-102: ut nōn tamen = ita tamen ut nōn "but without its happening that," "yet not with the result that"; for the use of a result clause in a restrictive sense, see AG §537b. Dipsas now has advice on what to do if the man won't give everything he has. quod numquam reddās, commodet, ipsa rogā = ipsa rogā ut commodet id quod numquam reddās. For the omission of ut with verbs of commanding, etc., see AG §565a. Here commodō has its original sense of "lend": ask him to lend you things that you have no intention of returning.
105-106: praestiterīs: "bring to bear, apply"; for the long final syllable see on 1.4.31. nec tulerint: supply sī; a continuation of the protasis of the preceding line.
107-108: mihi dīcēs vīvae bene: "you will speak well of me (or kindly to me) while I am alive." benedīcō is a verb taking the dative, and Ovid here splits it into its parts, perhaps to emphasize the key word vīvae; for the scansion of mihi see 61-62 above. dēfunctae: "when I have died," parallel to vīvae in the previous line. molliter … cubent: where we say "rest in peace" the Romans said "rest comfortably"; the formula sit tibi terra levis was common on tombstones, often abbreviated s.t.t.l.
109-110: in cursū: "in full flow" (Barsby). Probably the metaphor is of a river, but the word was often used of speech (OLD 3d). prōdidit < prōdō, prōdere, prōdidī, prōditum, here "betray" (OLD 8); the narrator's lurking presence has been discovered. vix sē continuēre manūs: the narrator reacts angrily but with restraint to the advice Dipsas has been giving to his girlfriend. continuēre = continuērunt; followed by the quin clause below.

Amores 1.9: Love and war
This is an easy poem to like. Part of the appeal is that, for once, we can place it within a specific literary tradition without the aid of commentaries. We all know that "all is fair in love and war," and poets have understood that young men in war and young men in love have much in common (see above all Henry Reed's Lessons of the War). Part of the appeal, too, is that the poem is so self-consciously rhetorical. But the poem also presents problems of coherence. I will argue that this, too, is part of the appeal: we have a ponderous rhetorical discussion of something that turns out to be very physical and basic.
Greek and Latin poets often compared lovers and soldiers. Often, too, the two professions are regarded as polar opposites: on the comic stage the hapless young lover is regularly confronted with the miles gloriosus, and a life of love is stereotypically one of laziness, contrasted with the exertions of a military career. The paradoxical claim that lovers are like soldiers is usually made rather delicately, as in Horace's famous Ode 3.26 (vixi puellis nuper idoneus, et militavi non sine gloria). But Ovid is taking the paradox and running it into the ground: we are, I think, supposed to be irritated by his obsession with this one point.
Ovid's poetry, as we have observed more than once already, often reflects the rhetorical techniques that were the foundation of a Roman literary education. In this poem he seems to be going out of his way to put his rhetorical skills on display, almost as though that were the real point. The poet speaks directly, in the vocative, to an unknown "Atticus" (line 2), serving notice that he now needs to be persuasive. The address to Atticus also invites us to wonder, at least in the backs of our minds, what it is the two men have been talking about.
The first thirty lines present almost a caricature of a formal speech in defense of a particular proposition: militat omnis amans. The phrase is repeated word for word, to underscore that it is a proposition (lines 1-2). There follows a long list of comparisons, which are clever but unconvincing; it is not actually true, after all, that every lover is a soldier, or even very similar (see Murgatroyd 1999). Lovers and soldiers are alike, supposedly, in eight different ways: they're young men (lines 3-6), they keep watch at night (lines 7-8), they travel (lines 9-14), they go on scouting expeditions (lines 15-18), they conduct sieges (lines 19-20), they conduct night maneuvers (lines 21-26), they evade guards (lines 27-28), and they have both successes and failures (lines 29-30). The poet uses a variety of verbal formulations to maintain our interest, but also to show us just how clever he can be. The high point of his rhetorical creativity is with the sudden direct address (apostrophe) to, of all things, the horses of Rhesus captured in the Iliad (line 24). It is soon followed by what we might regard as a conspicuous rhetorical failure, when the poet, offering the last of his eight arguments, stumbles into a sexual double entendre (lines 29-30).
The list of comparisons is followed by a tentative conclusion (ergo, line 31): people should not say that love is lazy, because it's not. This is a dramatically different claim from the one we thought we were dealing with, and it forces us to re-evaluate what has been going on. Our poet has been comparing soldiers and lovers, it turns out, only to support a more general proposition about lovers being lazy. He will return to this issue at the end of the poem.
A more difficult problem is what comes next, a sudden shift to Homer: Achilles, Hector, Agamemnon, and Mars all had love interests (lines 33-40). The logic is simply not obvious, and part of the explanation may be that, as we have seen, our poet is conspicuously bad at rhetoric. But even if this is right, we would like to understand better than we do what is going on in our poet's head.
One problem is that it is not clear what the Homeric examples are supposed to illustrate. McKeown takes the discussion of Homer as following directly from the claim that lovers are not lazy. But, as he says (in his commentary, ad loc.), "To point out that great warriors have been lovers is of only limited relevance to the thesis that lovers are active." It seems preferable, therefore, to take the discussion of Homer as an amplification of the central proposition about lovers and soldiers. There is still a problem: the fact that Homeric warriors were also lovers does not prove that lovers are also warriors (Murgatroyd 1999). But our speaker has spent most of his poem desperately trying to make the case that lovers are soldiers; that he should resort with climactic desperation to a logical fallacy seems to me to make a certain psychological and comic sense. Groucho Marx, examining a patient in A Day at the Races, famously says "Either this man is dead or my watch has stopped." Part of the solution, too, may reside in a feature of Roman rhetorical structure, the refutatio (also called confutatio). Orators, after laying out their main arguments, sometimes mention an objection: "But you will say, I suppose, that my client has a long criminal record, and to that I say…." But the objection is often unstated: the audience is primed to expect an objection, usually about four-fifths of the way through the speech, and is thus prepared for an abrupt change in direction: "My client's criminal record is irrelevant, because …." It is easiest to spot a refutatio in an actual speech, but similar shifts of direction occur quite often in other prose works, and in some poetry. Thus in Amores 1.9 our poet has for 30 lines been insisting to "Atticus" that lovers are like soldiers. Once we see that the discussion of Homeric warriors is a refutatio, we can guess at Atticus' objection: "Don't be silly; soldiers and lovers are totally different," or, perhaps "So, give me some examples." The last six lines change everything. The argument that has been unfolding since line 1 is "Lovers are soldiers, Atticus; so they're not lazy." But this, we now learn, has been a response to a personal attack: "I used to be lazy, but now I'm not, because I fell in love. Love is an excellent remedy for laziness." The poem is not really about lovers and soldiers at all; it's about the poet himself (ever self-absorbed), and about being in love.
Even more fundamentally, the poem is about energy; lovers need it, others don't. And it is this, perhaps, that provides the point at the end of the poem. The "lover as soldier" theme returns one last time. His girl's beauty made him enlist in her service (line 44). In particular, he is now an energetic participant in the "wars" that happen at night (nocturnaque bella gerentem, line 45). Sex emerged as a preoccupation at the end of his long list of comparisons (lines 29-30), and here too what really interests our poet are his night moves.
11-12: ībit: the subject is the lover; Amores 3.6 is addressed to a stream swollen with rain that kept the poet from getting to his mistress. nimbō < nimbus, -ī, m. "rain-cloud" hence "cloud-burst, downpour"; ablative of cause/means. ille: the soldier.
13-14: freta < fretum, -ī, n. "strait" but also, in both plural and singular, "the sea"; freta pressūrus = "about to set sail." tumidōs: "swollen," i.e. "causing the sea to swell," or perhaps in the developed sense of "raging, angry." causābitur < causor (1) "plead as an excuse"; the subject is primarily (I think) the lover. Eurōs: "winds"; Eurus is technically the east or southeast wind, but the word is used of winds generally. verrendīs … aquīs: "for skimming the water," i.e., for sailing. The dative of the gerundive is used with certain adjectives (like apta), especially those expressing fitness or adaptability (AG §505a). sīdera: someone considering a sea voyage might claim to be waiting for weather in which he could see stars to steer by. quaeret: understand nec from line 13.
33-34: ardet: historical present for vividness (AG §469). It represents both the anger of Achilles at Agamemnon (for taking away Briseis) and his passion for Briseis, the first of several famous examples of love mixing with war. in abductā Brīsēide: Briseis was the concubine of Achilles. Her appropriation by Agamemnon provoked the "wrath of Achilles" on which the Iliad hinges. Brīsēide is ablative singular; for the forms of Greek nouns in the third declension, see AG §81. in + abl., here "over/because of/in the matter of." dum licet: Achilles' anger about his loss of Briseis led him to withdraw from the fighting, allowing the Trojans their best chance of defeating the Greek army. Argēās < Argēus, -a, -um "Argive, of Argos," used (as in Homer) as an equivalent of "Greek." Trōes: "Trojans, men of Troy"; vocative. opēs: "military strength, troops."
39-40: Mars quoque: Hephaestus (Vulcan) made a snare (fabrīlia vincula) and caught Ares (Mars) in the act of adultery with his wife Aphrodite (Venus) . nōtior in caelō fābula nulla fuit: Hephaestus (Vulcan) then summoned all the Olympian gods to laugh at the captured adulterers.

Amores 1.10: Love for sale
This poem is conspicuously manipulative. We are led to expect a love poem, with the poet comparing his girlfriend to three legendary beauties. But we quickly learn that the poet is in fact angry, because his girl has asked for presents. The poet then shifts into his rhetorical mode, and argues elaborately that women should not charge for sex. Or if they do (the poet apparently changes his mind on this point), a man should pay with poetry, not cash.
The first six lines, with three mythological exempla in as many couplets, is one of Ovid's most sustained and obvious allusions to his predecessor Propertius. Propertius 1.3 begins with a comparison of his sleeping girlfriend Cynthia to three sleeping heroines, in three couplets: In the Propertius poem, too, the relationship between the poet-lover and his girlfriend turns out to be more difficult than that suggested by the idyllic (and sexual) opening comparisons. But in Ovid the reversal is even more dramatic. Ovid's three heroines are cited not because they are in a specific situation (asleep), but simply because they are spectacularly beautiful: Helen of Troy, Leda, and Amymone (lines 1-6). Now, although the poet had been possessive about his gorgeous girlfriend (lines 7-8), that's all over: he has decided that she's not attractive at all (lines 9-10). The reason for this change, we learn, is that she has asked for presents (munera, line 11). The poet realizes, now, that there's something wrong with what we might call her personality (animus, mens), and that apparently means her beauty isn't beauty at all.
We may pause here to reflect briefly on whether or not this is plausible. A disillusioned lover might well conclude that a woman's moral flaws made her beauty irrelevant. He might even say, perhaps, that it made her beauty non-existent, at least to him. But that latter formulation, in this case, seems hard to accept as genuine: this girl is not just good-looking, she's in the Helen of Troy league. The poet, then, can hardly be sincere: he's trying to convince the girl, and perhaps himself, that there's no physical attraction any more, but he's protesting far too much to be convincing. We get a sense of his desperation, perhaps, in his odd arrangement of mythological exempla: he starts out with the glibbest of glib comparisons, to Helen, but then moves, through Leda, to the far more obscure Amymone. Is he not working just a little too hard to make his point?
Our poet's long attack on the buying and selling of love is selfconsciously rhetorical. The fictional audience changes from one particular girl (note the singulars in lines 7 and 10), to women in general (see the 2nd person plural at line 17 and subsequently). This is a standard rhetorical move, even in modern discourse: a single instance of something mildly offensive can provoke a harangue full of generalizations addressed to an entire class of likely culprits. But it is an overreaction: asking for a present does not actually make a woman a prostitute (see McKeown's note on lines 17-18).
The most conspicuous feature of his "speech" is its variety, reflecting the age-old debating technique of trying out argument after argument in hopes of finding one that will work. And indeed, as he proceeds, our speaker seems to get more and more desperate to find a valid argument. His first point is the light-hearted one that neither Cupid nor Venus, as portrayed in literature, have any interest in money (lines 15-20). He then moves to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum and compares girls who ask for presents to common prostitutes (lines 21-24). This is followed by the equally insulting observation that female farm animals, unlike some women, require no payment for sex (lines 25-32). Less insulting, though equally carnal, is the argument that payment makes no sense, since sex is pleasurable for women too (lines 33-36). The next argument is even more obviously flawed: since it is immoral for a witness, juror, or lawyer to accept payment, it must be wrong for a woman to profit from her love affair (lines 37-42). The final argument is perhaps almost as weak: paying for favors dissolves any sense of gratitude (lines 43-46). The attack concludes with a flat assertion: nothing good ever comes of women trading sex for presents. The claim is supported by the examples of Tarpeia, who betrayed Rome to the Gauls for gold, and Eriphyle, who betrayed her husband in return for a necklace (lines 47-52). But of course just because deals sometimes go wrong is no proof that they always do.
At this point our speaker apparently contradicts everything he has said so far: it is acceptable, he says, for a girl to ask for gifts when her lover is rich (lines 53-56). It helps a little if we see this as a refutatio (here an "answer" to a question like "Are there any circumstances in which a girl should accept presents?") But certainly we now have to re-evaluate. The mention of wealthy givers of gifts leads to the subject closest to our speaker's heart, the question of what a poor man has to offer: love and devotion, certainly, but also poetry, which is better than fancy clothes and jewelry (lines 57-62). As we learned in Amores 1.3, poetry can make a girl immortal.
The final couplet adds a final twist: it's not payment (pretium, line 63) that the poet objects to, it's being asked. The girl will in fact get what she wants, but it has to be a surprise (desine velle, line 64). Her request for a present has not in fact led the poet to end the relationship, and we remember, now, that the girl is (supposedly) one of the great beauties of all time. The crisis has been averted, and the relationship looks solid after all.
But there is one slight problem. The girl surely did not ask for a poem; that would make nonsense of the poet's reaction. But that is what she gets: the poet uses the future (dabo, line 64), but of course the poem is already there. We might wonder if that's going to be enough.
Moreover, it is hard to forget the bitterness of the attack on mercenary women. The point, perhaps, is similar to that of a famous story told about George Bernard Shaw (and others). A society lady jokingly agreed that she would probably sleep with Shaw for a million pounds, but when he suggested five pounds she asked, indignantly: "What do you think I am?" Shaw's answer was not chivalrous: "We've already established what you are, ma'am. Now we're just haggling over the price." Suggested reading Curran, L. C. "Ovid, Amores 1.10," Phoenix 18 (1964) Notes on Amores 1.10 1-2: Quālis: understand ea. The poet begins by comparing his puella to three beautiful heroines, concluding with tālis erās in line 7: "Just as x, y, and z were… such (i.e., so beautiful) were you." Eurōtā < Eurōtās, -ae f. the Eurotas river, 1 the river of Sparta. Phrygiīs < Phrygius, -a, -um "Phrygian," a territory in Asia Minor, 2 hence "Trojan." āvecta: "she who was carried away," a reference to Helen. coniugibus … duōbus: "for her two spouses," Menelaus and Paris. 3-4: Lēdē: alternative form of Lēda, raped by Jupiter in the form of a swan (in falsā … ave). callidus … adulter: Jupiter, renowned for his many sexual dalliances with mortals. in: "in the guise of" + abl. lūsit: here lūdō means primarily "deceive," but it retains its erotic meaning of "sport amorously" and "be promiscuous" (see on 1.8.43 above). 5-6: Amȳmōnē < Amȳmōnē, -ēs, f. Amymone was one of the fifty daughters of Danaus, king of Argos. When Danaus came with his family to Argos, Poseidon blighted the city with drought. Danaus sent his daughters to look for water, but Amymone was attacked by a satyr. The satyr was driven off by Poseidon, who both successfully seduced Amymone and produced a spring. Argīs < Argī, Argōrum, m. pl. "Argos" (an important city of the northern Peloponnese). premeret: premō can mean "be on top of, cover"; Amymone was carrying the jar on her head. 7-8: tālis … timēbam: the scansion of this line is unusual, especially in Ovid. Instead of a caesura in the third foot there is an elision (aquilamq(ue) in tē); the elision is combined with caesuras in the second and fourth feet: tālis erās | aquilamq ue in tē | taurumque timēbam. tālis erās: the narrator is addressing his puella and placing her in the same category with these three women of myth. aquilamque: Jupiter took the form of an eagle to abduct Ganymede. in tē: "for you"; in + accusative can indicate the person towards whom feelings are directed. taurumque: Jupiter took the form of a bull to abduct Europa. quicquid: "whatever," i.e., whatever other shape, like that of eagle or bull, was adopted by Jupiter in pursuit of his love affairs. magnō dē Iove: "out of great Jupiter"; dē here is perhaps used humorously to indicate the material from which a thing is made. 9-10: timor omnis: the fear that she too, like Helen, Leda, Amymone, Europa, and Ganymede, would be abducted. animīque resānuit error: his "mistake" was being in love. faciēs … ista: either "that well-known face of yours" or "that well-known beauty"; in either case ista ("well-known, notorious") indicates contempt. capit: "captivates/captures." 11-12: note the slow, heavy pace of the spondees that make up the question, then the light rapidity of the dactyls that form the response.
19-20: apta: governs not only Venus but also fīlius. An adjective modifying two or more nouns is usually plural, but it can be singular, and agree in gender with the nearest of the nouns (AG §286); supply est. ferīs: construe with armīs. aera merēre: "serve for money" or perhaps "serve as mercenaries"; there is an untranslatable pun here, since mereō is used for the activities of prostitutes, and (esp. with stīpendium) can mean simply "serve in the army." 21-22: certō … aere: "at a set charge" (ablative of price, AG §416). cuivīs: "by anyone"; dative of agent with mercābilis (AG §375). mercābilis: "purchasable" (rare); she can be bought. iussō corpore: that is, by being forced to sell her body; ablative absolute (AG §420).
23-24: dēvovet … avarī: "even so she (haec, the prostitute) curses the power of the greedy pimp." facitis sponte, coacta facit: the contrast between the willing puella and the unwilling meretrix is underscored by the reversed order of words (chiasmus).
This poem and the one after it form a matching pair, much like the writing tablets (tabellae) that are central to each poem. The tabella was the normal medium in Rome for taking notes. It consisted of a wooden board with a frame on each side, and within each frame was a layer of hardened wax (cera); the tabella looked a little like an iPad, except that we should imagine a "screen" and frame on both sides. Writing was done with a sharp stylus, and the end of the stylus provided a flat blade for rubbing out mistakes. Tabellae could be bound together, typically in pairs, with the outside surfaces exposed and the inside surfaces private.
For our poem two functions of tabellae are important. In the first place, a tabella was an obvious medium for sending a simple message. But it was also a medium used regularly by poets, who would typically write drafts (not necessary rough drafts) on such tabellae. This would allow the poems to circulate in a more informal mode than would be expected in a liber, typically a roll of papyrus used when books were "published" formally. The relationship between tabella and liber is perhaps analogous to the relationship (in pre-computer days) to the relationship between a poet's spiral notebook and a published volume. The nature and poetic functions of tabellae are central to an understanding of Amores 1.11 and 1.12. At the most immediate level, the tabellae in question are simply the medium for our poet to send a note to his girlfriend, and for her to reply. But scholars have suggested that we are also supposed to think of the tabellae that poets would typically use for their poetry: what our poet offers in Amores 1.11, and what gets rejected in 1.12, are poems.
In Amores 1.11 the poet begins by flattering Nape, Corinna's hairdresser, and asking to take tabellae that he wrote that morning (lines 1-8). Nape has had a love life of her own, and so she should be sympathetic (lines 9-12). The poet then gives detailed instructions: Nape should give Corinna a message in person, but the tabellae will say most of what needs to be said (lines 13-14). Nape should observe Corinna's reaction, and insist (iubeto) that she write a long message in reply (lines 15-22). But no, why should shκ bothκr aρρ Βorinna has to say is, Βoςκ! ρinκs . If that happκns the poet will dedicate the tabellae to Venus, in thanksgiving, complete with dedicatory inscription (lines 25-28).
There are a number of inconsistencies in all this. Why two messages, oral and in writing? Why does the poet need to be told about Corinna's reaction? How can Nape really give her mistress orders? And why does the poet change his mind about what she should write? But this simply enhances our picture of the poet; he is so excited that he talks nonsense (see .
The problem with this poem, in my view, is that it is hard to see anything more. The poet's excitement is perhaps endearing, and so perhaps is his imagined success. But those things are only preliminaries to the disappointment of Amores 1.12, whereas we want the poem to be successful as a poem in its own right. Moreover, the conclusion of Amores 1.11 seems flat: dedicating a writing tablet to Venus is a striking conceit, perhaps, but we want more. The final couplet is devoted to the poet's inscription, but it doesn't seem to add much: he dedicates the tabellae to Venus, because they were loyal helpers in his love-affair, but they used to be just cheap maplewood.
The solution, I suggest, lies in that ambiguity about tabellae. What the poet is sending to Corinna is not just a message, but a poem. He just wrote it that morning (line 7), and the situation is urgent (line 15). Of course that urgency could simply be the ardor of youth, but we might wonder if there is not a more specific reason. In Amores 1.10 the poet, after that insulting tirade against mercenary women, concluded that he would give her a poem. And the tabellae of Amores 1.11 contain precisely that, the poem to win her back.
We can imagine, too, that the earlier poem, complete with tirade, was also written on tabellae. And when we remember that one feature of tabellae is that they could be used more than once, we have an interesting possibility for reading the final couplet. It isn't just the maplewood of the tabellae that until recently (nuper) was vilis. It is also the previous poem, inscribed on these same tabellae, that the poet now insists was "worthless."

Suggested reading
Meyer, E. "Wooden Wit: Tabellae  vocatives; the gerundive shows necessity or worthiness; "(you who) should not be considered." ancillās inter = inter ancillās (anastrophe, the inversion of the usual word order), "among (ordinary) maidservants"; i.e., Nape stands out from the throng of normal maids. Napē: the name of the servant means "woodland glen" in Greek; vocative. Several grave inscriptions survive for Roman slave hairdressers.
3-6: the next two couplets indicate that hairdressing is not Nape's only skill; she is also adept at serving as a go-between for her mistress and her secret lover. cognita, ūtilis, ingeniōsa, hortāta, and reperta are vocative.
3-4: furtīvae: transferred epithet; though in agreement with noctis, it more properly describes the ministeriīs. ūtilis: predicate adjective (esse understood), with cognita in line 3, "known (to be) useful." dandīs … notīs: "at giving signs." For this meaning of nota see OLD 8; the dative can be used with adjectives (here, ingeniōsa) to indicate "that to which the given quality is directed" (AG §383).
11-12: arcūs: more logically, sagittās, but that would not fit the metrical requirements of the line. in mē: "for me, on my account," i.e., by helping me. signa: here "legionary standards." For the use of military imagery in erotic contexts see Amores 1.9. tuēre: imperative, "protect" (especially in a military sense). The point is that Nape has also been in love, so she should fight on the poet's side.
13-14: quaeret: supply Corinna as the subject. quid agam: "how I'm doing"; indirect question. spē noctis vīvere: understand me as the subject of vīvere: Nape will say that the only thing keeping the poet going is the anticipation of a night with Corinna. dīcēs: the future indicative can be used as the equivalent of an imperative (AG §449b). fert: "reports, tells"; its direct object is cētera (n. pl.). blandā … manū: transferred epithet, with blandā more logically describing the tablet's wax (cēra).
19-20: nec mora: supply sit as a jussive subjunctive, "let there be no delay, let no time be lost." The expression is used parenthetically. perlectīs: understand tabellīs; ablative absolute (AG §420). rescrībat … iubētō: "tell her to write back" iubētō is future imperative (AG §449). lātē splendida cēra: "broadly shining wax," i.e., the wax of the tabella is shiny and bright on its entire surface because nothing has been written on it.
21-22: comprimat: jussive subjunctive, with the softer form of command now directed to Corinna, understood as the subject. ōrdinibus: "in lines" (ablative of place where, AG §421). littera: singular for plural. "Let letters inscribed on the edge of the margin detain my eyes" (Barsby). meōs: modifies oculōs in the preceding line. The distance between the words emphasizes the way his eyes will linger (morētur) over the message.

Amores 1.12: Shooting messengers
This poem, as we have said, forms a pair with Amores 1.11. In the first poem we learned about the tabellae the poet sent to his girl, and in this one we learn that he has failed. The most immediate point of the poem is to show that the poet takes this rejection hard. We are treated to a display of invective, humorously directed at the innocent vehicles of this communication, with particular attention to the tabellae themselves. The poet attacks the hairdresser Nape for letting him down; she seems now to be a drunkard, like Dipsas in Amores 1.8 (lines 3-6). He then directs his wrath at the tabellae themselves, which he hopes will come to a disgraceful end (lines 7-14). He supplements this with an attack on the man who cut the wood for the tabellae (lines 15-16) and on the tree that produced the wood (lines 17-20). He was, in fact, crazy to entrust his amores to tabellae, which are really only suitable for legal and financial documents (lines 21-26). The tabellae are "two-faced," in both senses of the word (lines 27-28). And he hopes they will grow old and gray, and waste away.
It is human nature to curse an inanimate object when we lose our temper, and the literary version of such an attack was a recognized form of literary humor, exemplified most famously in Latin in Horace's Ode 2.13, attacking a tree. (Horace's poem, along with Propertius 3.23 on tabellae, are two important predecessors for Ovid's poem.) But this does not mean that our poet is being reasonable. The girl has turned him down, and instead of facing facts he lashes out at innocent intermediaries.
It is also worth suggesting that, as with Amores 1.11, the tabellae refer not just to simple messages, but also to poetry. The poet tells us, after all, that the tabellae have been entrusted with "his amores" (line 21); even if this is not quite his Amores, the word had been associated with love poems from the time of Cornelius Gallus (for the title of Ovid's collections see McKeown vol. 1,[103][104][105][106][107]. Moreover, this double sense of tabellae provides, again, a much-needed point to the final couplet. On the face of it, the poem ends simply with a final curse: I want you, tabellae, to be ground down with a burdensome old age, and I want your wax to whiten with an ugly disuse (Dipsas was cursed in similar terms, Amores 1.8.113-114). The personification is striking, but is not in itself enough to provide the poem with much punch. But if the tabellae refer to poetry, things get more interesting. The poet relied on his poetry to work its magic on the girl: poetry could bestow immortality on a poet and his girlfriend because good poetry is immortal. That was the premise of Amores 1.3, and the poet reverted to it in Amores 1.10; the girl could reasonably ask for a poem. In Amores 1.11 the poet has sent her tabellae: a note, but also a poem. We now see why the poet is so upset: the poem he sent didn't actually do the job, because it wasn't good enough. Far from claiming that it will be immortal, the poet in the final couplet says the opposite: he wants it to disappear without a trace. Notes on Amores 1.12 1-2: tristēs: "unhappy in their outcome," "grim," because they have failed in their mission. The tabellae are personified with this modifier. rediēre = rediērunt, perfect tense. infēlix: "ill-fated"; again, this adjective personifies the littera. littera: singular for plural. posse negat: "says that she cannot" (meet).
3-4: ōmina < ōmen, inis, n. "omen, augury." aliquid: "something important"; the omens mean something and must be given due consideration. modo: "only recently, just now." discēdere vellet = discessūra esset. digitōs … īcta: "having been struck with respect to her toes," i.e., having stubbed her toe; digitōs is accusative of part affected (Greek accusative, AG §397b). The Romans believed that stumbling over a threshold portended misfortune. 5-6: mementō: "remember to"; future imperative, regular with this verb. sobria: the poet apparently believes that Nape has been drinking. 7-8: hinc: "hence, from here"; adverb. difficilēs: difficilis can be used of persons (here of a personified object) to mean "difficult, obstinate." fūnebria ligna: vocative, in apposition to difficilēs … tabellae. negātūrīs … notīs: ablative of means with referta; the future active participle negātūrīs indicates intention ("intending to deny"). referta < refertus, a, um "crammed, crammed full with." 9-10: quam: the antecedent is cēra in the preceding line; object of mīsit. puto: from the time of Ovid onwards a final ō of a verb is often shortened, as here, for metrical convenience; see AG §604g, and Raven, Latin Metre, p. 13. longae … cicūtae < cicūta, ae, f. "hemlock," a long stalked plant from which was derived poison. melle sub infāmī = sub infāmī melle. Wax in the ancient world was usually beeswax, made from the honeycomb; in this case the honey was Corsican and famously bitter. Thus the wax had been gathered from "underneath the notorious honey." Corsica mīsit apis: i.e. the wax had been sent to Rome by "the Corsican bee." 11-12: tamquam miniō penitus medicāta: "as if deeply dyed with cinnabar." minium, -i ī, n. "cinnabar" (sulphide of mercury, which produces a bright red pigment). rubēbās: the poet continues speaking directly to the wax of the tablet. ille color: i.e. the color of the wax in the writing tablet. sanguinulentus: in this case the wax was clearly red, seen now as ill-omened.
15-16: illum: accusative subject of the infinitive habuisse (16) in an indirect statement. vōs … vertit in ūsum: "converted you into an object of use" (Barsby). vertō can mean "transform" or "undergo physical change," here in the perfect tense. convincam: "I will prove that," governing an indirect statement. The tone is legalistic. pūrās … manūs: "clean hands," i.e., the craftsman himself must have done something to bring this "bad mojo" to the wood of the tabellae.

Amores 1.13: Oh how I hate to get up in the morning
This poem is appealing in a number of ways, though marred by a momentary brush with Roman racism. The poet's situation is one that is easy to sympathize with: dawn is coming, he is in bed, and he has company. He hates the thought of getting up, so he complains to Aurora, goddess of the dawn, and becomes increasingly personal and vicious. In the final couplet we find out whether he has made an impact. The poet begins by trying to persuade. He is comfortably in bed with his girlfriend, so there's no need for Aurora to hurry (lines 1-10). Ever the rhetorician, the poet produces a series of arguments: people from very different walks of life all have to get up at dawn, and they hate it (lines 11-24). Normally a poem (or prayer) to a goddess would give a list of the good things for which she is responsible; here we get the exact opposite, because all this early rising is Aurora's fault.
All these arguments merely support the point important to the poet: the person harmed most by Aurora is the man who's got a woman in bed with him (lines 25-26). The poet, it turns out, has been in this situation often, and he has often wished that something would keep Aurora away. He has fantasized (absurdly) about changes in the cosmos, and about a heavenly chariot accident (lines 28-30).
At this point things turn nasty, with the poet getting more pointedly personal: Aurora, he says, does what she does out of sheer spite. She is as black-hearted as her son is black-skinned (Memnon was an Aethiopian prince). If the poet were to tell her husband what's going on, her reputation would be destroyed. Tithonus, her husband, was incredibly old (Aurora had asked that he be made immortal but forgot to mention eternal youth), and so Aurora can't wait to get away from him; a young man would make her want to slow night down. (Aurora supposedly had a fair number of lovers; the suggestion here may be that she leaves Tithonus to go out looking for them). But none of that is the poet's fault (lines 31-42).
At this point we get another one of those leaps of logic best explained as a rhetorician's refutatio (see Elliott,130). There is an imaginary objection: "But nobody can change the natural order of things." And mythology offers two responses: Luna put Endymion to sleep forever, and (a much better example) Jupiter doubled the length of the night he spent with Alcumena (lines 43-46). The basic proposition remains: Aurora is bringing in the day out of spite, because her own love life is a mess.
The final couplet brings the poem to an amusing and satisfying conclusion. There is no reason to spoil the joke by explaining it here. But it is important to be aware that the Romans saw blushing as the expected response to insults, as well as to embarrassment.

Suggested reading
Elliott, Alison G. "Amores 1.13: Ovid's Art," Classical Journal 69 (1973-74): 127-132. Notes on Amores 1.13 1-2: super ōceanum: note that the ocean was, for the ancients, the body of water circling the known world, very different from sea. venit: notice the scansion, and thus the tense: "is coming." seniōre marītō: the husband of Aurora (Dawn) was Tithonus, an Ethiopian prince. Aurora had obtained the gift of immortality for him, but forgot to ask that he also be granted eternal youth, with the result that he got very old while she stayed young. flāva: "the golden [female] one." Aurora is not named until line 3, but the description here makes it clear whom the poem is about. pruīnōsō … diem = quae vehit diem pruīnōsō axe. axe = currū (synecdoche, with a part representing the whole).
3-4: quō: "why" or "where to." manē: the a is short, so this is the imperative of maneō, not māne = "early" (see line 25). sīc … avis: "so to the shades of Memnon may his birds make their annual offering" (Barsby). Memnon, prince of Ethiopia, was the son of Aurora and Tithonus, killed by Achilles in the Trojan War. Each year, according to legend, Memnon's grave was visited by birds born from his ashes, who then fought among themselves. The blood they shed was thus a sort of offering to their "parent." sīc: see on 1.6.25. In this case the speaker is hoping that Aurora will do as he orders when he says manē. He says that in that case (sīc) he hopes that the grave of Memnon shall continue to receive its annual sacrifice. annua: either an internal accusative, translated as an adverb, "annually," or feminine singular nominative modifying avis. sollemnī < sollemnis, -e, "customary." parentet < parentō -āre, "to make memorial offerings for one's parents," + dative (umbrīs) and ablative (sollemnī caede). avis: singular for plural. 5-6: iuvat: impersonal; supply mē. iacuisse: perfect infinitive with iuvat, used aoristically (the aorist use of the perfect indicates that the action has occurred but makes no statement about when, see AG §473). The poets often use perfect forms with this aoristic meaning as metrically convenient substitutes for the present tense. sī quandō: "if ever," i.e., sī quandō laterī meō puella bene iuncta est.
17-18: fraudās: "you cheat of, deprive of" + abl. of separation (AG §400). trādisque: "and hand them over to." Whacks on the hands were the main memory Roman adults had from primary school.
19-20: eadem: feminine singular, "it is you, the same (female) who." sponsum < spondeō, spondēre, spopondī, sponsum "to make a solemn promise"; supine with verb of motion to indicate purpose (AG §509). "It is also you who send men into court to pledge themselves, so that they may suffer severe losses which attach to a single word" (Barsby). To initiate a civil suit a litigant had to pledge a certain amount of money (hence sponsum), which he would forfeit if his case was judged to be without merit; making that pledge required just one word, spondeō. †cultōs †: the daggers (obeli) mean that editors cannot make good sense of the manuscript readings, and are reluctant to commit themselves to emendations. Some scholars do accept cultōs, given in the manuscripts, understanding it as "well-groomed, neat in appearance." Romans often complained about having to wear the uncomfortable toga on formal occasions, such as a visit to the law courts. Others prefer the emendation incautōs: it was well-known that litigation could be ruinuous for the unwary. ātria: "the courts." The reference here is probably to the ātrium of the Temple of Vesta in the Forum, where lawsuits were typically conducted.
21-22: nec tū … nec tū: understand es. consultō … disertō: these terms refer to the two kinds of lawyers in the Roman world: a iūris consultus would give advice on the substance of the law, while a rhetor (= disertus) would offer his skill in speaking. The distinction is analogous to that of the English legal system, where solicitors do the paperwork and barristers (often called "advocates") argue in court. Both nouns are dative with the adjective iūcunda. uterque: "each one," i.e. the rhetor and the iūris consultus. The iūris consultus did not have to be present in court, and thus did not really have to get up early.
25-26: omnia perpeterer: "I would be able to bear all that"; imperfect subjunctive expressing potential in the present. surgere: objective infinitive dependent on ferat in line 26. Its subject is puellās: "Who would endure that girls get up?" māne: note the long a: "early in the morning"; adverb. cui = alicui, dative of possession with non est, "someone for whom there is not," i.e., "who does not have." 27-28: tibi: the dawn. nē fugerent … mōta: "that they would not move and flee," literally, "that they, having been set in motion, would not flee." vultūs … tuōs: plural for singular; the "countenance" of Aurora is the rising sun.
29-30: frangeret: optō can take a subordinate clause with the subjunctive, without ut. axem = currum as in line 2. spissā nūbe: "by a thick cloud"; abl. with retentus. retentus: from retineō, "to keep back." Either the horse as a whole is kept back (blinded?) by the cloud and therefore falls, or his foot is kept back so that he trips.
33-34: lines 31-32 are not printed in the text, since they are seen as a later interpolation. They read: quid sī nōn cephalī quondam flāgrāsset amōre/an putat ignōtam nēquitiam esse suam. invida: supply Aurora; vocative. quod: "because." fīlius āter: Memnon, Aurora's son, was Ethiopian. The Romans were not particularly prone to color prejudice, but they certainly made jokes about physical characteristics. fuerat: notice the tense: she had been that way before giving birth to Memnon. 37-38: grandior: understand ille, i.e. Tithonus, who was much older than his wife (see on line 1 above). aevō: ablative of degree of difference (AG §414) or cause (AG §404). ad invīsās … rotās: rotās = currum. Aurora's chariot is hated by Tithonus (because he hates it when she leaves), or by all humankind (who hate it when she arrives). ā sene: "from the old man," or "by the old man." 39-40: sī … tenērēs/clāmārēs: present contrary to fact condition, "if you were holding … you would shout." quem … Cephalum: "some Cephalus, someone like Cephalus." For the use of indefinite quis, quid with sī nisi, nē, and num, see AG §310a. Cephalus was a handsome young man, married to Procris, with whom Aurora fell in love. manibus = bracchiīs. noctis equī: better printed Noctis equī, since the owner of the horses is the goddess Nox. Several artists have protrayed Aurora in the throes of passionate desire for the young and handsome Cephalus, who makes such a contrast with her aged husband Tithonus. 41-42: cūr ego plectar: "why should I be punished?"; deliberative subjunctive. A question implying doubt or indignation can become a simple exclamation (AG §444a). vir tibi: "your husband," literally, "the husband for you." nupsistī … senī: nūbō is the normal word for marriage by a woman; it takes a dative. conciliante < conciliō -āre, "to advise"; mē … conciliante is ablative absolute, "with me advising," i.e., "I wasn't the one who advised you to ςarry an oρι ςan! 43-44: somnōs: "(nights of) sleep." dōnārit = dōnāverit (perfect subjunctive in an indirect question). For the contracted perfect forms, see AG §181a. dōnō is stronger than dō, and means "present, make a present of, reward someone with." Lūna = Selene, who fell in love with Endymion, while he was asleep on a hillside. She caused him to sleep forever, so that she could always admire his beauty. The poet is suggesting that Aurora, too, could reasonably change the natural order of things if she had a handsome young lover. Roman sarcophagi often depict Selene and the sleeping Endymion. neque … tuae = neque fōrma illīus = fōrma Lūnae secunda est fōrmae tuae. 45-46: ipse deum genitor: deum = deōrum (AG §49g). The phrase is intended to remind us of the formulaic description of Zeus/Jupiter in Homer and Vergil. The reference in this couplet is to Jupiter's rape of Alcmene, the wife of Amphitryon, by assuming the features of her husband. In order to take full advantage of this trick, he ordered that the night be doubled in length. commīsit: "joined together, made continuous." in sua vōta: "for his desires"; in + acc. expresses purpose.
47-48: iurgia fīnieram: "I had finished my rant." scīrēs: potential subjunctive. The second person singular is probably indefinite ("one might know"); see AG §447.2 for this meaning of the second person singular subjunctive (present or imperfect) of verbs of saying, thinking, etc. audisse = syncopated form of audīvisse or audiisse; the understood subject is eam (= Aurōram). rubēbat < rubeō, rubēre "to be or become red" and/or "to blush," as a sign of shame or modesty. There is a pun here, and the whole poem depends on it: the arrival of Aurora makes everything pink. Note also the imperfect tense. adsuētō tardius: "later than the accustomed (time)"; ablative of comparison (G §406). orta: understand est.
20. Amores 1.14: Bad hair This poem, like Amores 1.7, is hard to like. Here the poet is not violent, but he seems to be conspicuously unsympathetic. There are moments of wit and cleverness, but taken at face value the poem is unpleasant, and it is difficult to see any satisfactory point in the end. I will suggest a reading that makes the poem more appealing (perhaps), and reads the poet as a less (or at least differently) annoying character. If we take the first couplet literally, we have to believe that the poet's girlfriend (we may assume she is Corinna) has, thanks to some combination of curling iron and dyes, lost all her hair. If so, we have to conclude that our poet is astonishingly heartless: a major cosmetic disaster of this sort is no time to be saying "I told you to leave it alone." But what if he's exaggerating? He didn't want her to get her hair done, and now that there's a slight problem she overreacts. Could it be that she simply got it cut shorter than either one of them had expected?
Our poet goes on to talk at length about how much he liked Corinna's hair in its natural state: very long, very delicate, with a beautiful color (lines 3-12). It was also easy to manage, needing no pins or combs, which could hurt anyone who messed with it (lines 13-18). In fact Corinna had looked wonderful with her hair left loose, like a Bacchante (lines 19-22). Again, if her hair really fell out, this is pretty tactless. But comparison with a Bacchante points in a very different direction: for a girl to have long and messy hair, as we saw with Amores 1.5 and 1.7, suggested that she was (or had been) ready for sex.
This leads to a more explicit discussion of the process that has done so much harm (lines 23-26). The emphasis is on the use of hot curling irons, which are perhaps the instruments most immediately responsible for any hair loss. The poet had warned quite explicitly about their use, on the grounds that he liked Corinna's hair the way it was (lines 27-30). Tellingly, his interest in her turns out, again, to be sexual: her hair had been as nice as that of Apollo and Bacchus (Dionysus), but it was also as nice as that of the wet and naked Venus (lines 31-34).
At this point our poet returns to his initial and problematic proposition of "It's all your fault." There's no point in Corinna's complaining about the lost hair, and no point in her looking in the mirror. The only remedy is to forget about her appearance; indeed she should stop thinking about herself entirely (lines 35-38). Is this because she should be thinking about him?
Moreover, it wasn't some external force such as witchcraft or illness that caused the hair loss: Corinna put the "poison" on herself (lines 39-44). So now she has to wear a wig, and she feels sad when people praise her fake hair instead of the real thing (lines 45-50). In fact she's in tears (the poet is now sympathetic), just sitting there with the old hair on her lap (lines 51-54).
The poet ends with words of encouragement: everything will be alright in the end (lines 55-56). This makes sense, at some level, if we take the story at face value: hair usually does grow back, even if it all falls out. We can also, on this reading, see the final couplet as to some extent redeeming the poet: Corinna, he says, will look great when her real hair grows back, and, we infer, he will be supporting her during the long months before that happens.
But I want to suggest that the point is somewhat different. Corinna is sad because she doesn't like her new cut, and she will be wearing a wig to compensate. Her long messy hair had been sexy, and now it's shorter and covered up by a wig, and thus not sexy at all. But wigs are easy to remove, and he is hoping to remove it soon: postmodo (line 56) can mean "presently" as well as "later." She will be back in his bed, and her hair will still be the way he likes it: nativa conspiciere coma (line 56 Notes on Amores 1.14 1-2: dīcēbam: notice the tense: the poet kept saying it, but she didn't ρistκn. Now hκ has his opportunity to say I toρι you so! medicāre tuōs dēsiste capillōs: Roman love elegists seem to prefer the "natural look" in their mistresses, complaining of their reliance on makeup, perfumes, dyes, overly elaborate hair ornamentations, and the like. Ovid follows in this tradition by demanding that his puella stop dying her hair. possīs: potential subjunctive (AG §445-447). tibi: dative of possession.
11-12: quālem: supply colōrem, "the sort of color which." Īdae < Īda, -ae. f. "Mt. Ida." 1 There are two mountains named Ida, the one in Crete on which Jupiter was born, and the one near Troy on which the Judgment of Paris took place; Ovid is probably referring to the Trojan one. dēreptō cortice: "when its bark has been stripped." Cedars do not grow on Mt. Ida near Troy, so the tree in question here is probably in fact the juniper, which when stripped of its bark reveals an auburn wood. Dark-haired Roman women seemed to favor a reddish tint, achieved in early times through a concoction of ashes and later through dyes from Gaul and Germany (Barsby).
1 http://pleiades.stoa.org/places/550592 15-16: acus < acus, -ūs, f., "hairpin." vallum pectinis: "the palisade of the comb," a humorously grand phrase for a humble object. The vallum was a fortification made of sharpened stakes and placed on top of an earthwork; acus and vallum are both subjects of the verb, abrūpit. ōrnātrix < ornātrix, -īcis f. "hairdresser, lady's maid" (rare); literally a female slave who assisted her mistress in getting dressed and adorned. tūtō corpore: ablative of description, used predicatively. The ornātrix was safe because the hair of her mistress did not get badly tangled, and thus did not provoke an angry response.
19-20: nondum digestīs … capillīs: ablative absolute. The poet recalls with admiration the times when his mistress lay half-reclined in bed early in the morning before her hair had been done up. He found this to be quite becoming (decens, 21). 21-22: Bacchē: "a Bacchante"; a Greek nominative singular. The Bacchantes were particularly famous for their wild hair. temerē: "at random, casually." 23-24: cum … essent tamen: "nevertheless, though they were"; a concessive cum clause. lānūginis instar: "like down." instar is a neuter noun, found only in the nominative and the accusative singular, meaning "the equivalent" or "just like"; it often takes a genitive. heu, mala vexātae quanta tulēre comae! ςock-tragic in tonκ. "ρas! What grκat κviρs your troubρκι hair has κnιurκι! 25-26: quam: with patienter, "how patiently." sē praebuerunt: "they submitted (themselves) to"; the second e should be long (praebuērunt) but is shortened for the sake of the meter. ferrō … et ignī: the reference here is to the use of hot curling irons, although more frequently these nouns are used in a military context to describe destruction by fire and sword. ut … sinus: "so that tight ringlets in coiled spirals might be created." sinus can mean merely something that is curved. nexilis -e = "plaited, intertwined." tortō means "twisted" ( < torqueō), but with the nuance "tortured." Many busts of Roman women depict the type of hairstyle alluded to here, especially those with rows of little curls piled up high and encircling the face. 27-28: clāmābam: note the tense, suggesting repeated action. ūrere: subjective infinitive. sponte decent: "they are appealing in their natural form," literally "of their own free will." capitī … tuō: dative object of the verb parce. ferrea: vocative case, addressed to Corinna, who is hard-hearted like iron because she does not have compassion for her hair.
33-34: illīs contulerim, quās: "I would compare them to those (hairs) which." contulerim is potential subjunctive (perfect tense), see AG §447.1, used in first person singular expressions of cautiously saying, thinking or wishing. Diōnē < Diōnē, -ēs, f. Dione was the mother of Aphrodite, but the name is often used for Aphrodite/Venus herself. pingitur: the 4th-century Greek painter Apelles painted a famous picture of "Aphrodite Anadyomene" ("Aphrodite Rising from the Sea"), which showed her wringing sea water out of her hair; the painting was brought to Rome by Augustus (Pliny, Natural History 35.36.91). Aphrodite Anadyomene was often depicted in sculpture as well. sustinuisse: the infinitive depends on pingitur, treated as a verb of speaking: "which naked Dione was painted as having held up." 35-36: quid = cūr. male dispositōs: "(which you considered to be) badly ordered"; it is the puella who had this opinion of her lost hair; Ovid seems to have liked the messiness. maestā: transferred epithet; though the adjective agrees with manū, it more logically describes the puella who has just looked at herself in the mirror. pōnis: "lay aside, put down." inepta: "foolish"; here the adjective is best translated as an adverb.
37-38: nōn bene … ocellīs: "it's wrong for you to be looked at by yourself with your usual eyes." i.e. it's a bad idea to look at yourself with eyes accustomed to the way you looked before this disaster. The grammatical awkwardness makes sense once we realize that the poet is talking about an image in a mirror. ut placeās: supply tibi. tuī: objective genitive (AG §348); "of your (former) self." 39-40: cantātae: "bewitched"; modifies herbae. paelicis < paelex, -icis, f., a mistress who was a rival to a wife or lover. lāvit: "has washed up." Haemoniā < Haemonius, -a, -um "Haemonian, Thessalian"; Thessaly 2 was traditionally associated with witchcraft.
43-44: facta: supply esse for a perfect passive infinitive in indirect discourse, "you perceive that your loss was produced." venēna < venēnum, -ī, n. "magic potion" or "poison." When modified by certain proper adjectives the word can also mean "dye." 45-46: captīvōs mittet Germānia crīnēs: wigs made from hair imported from Germany 3 were particularly desirable; the military imagery is appropriate in view of the Germans' custom of cutting their hair as a sign of surrender. mūnere: "thanks to the gift"; ablative of means or cause.
47-48: emptā … merce: merce < merx, -cis, f. "a commodity"; ablative of cause (AG §404). probor: "I will be approved of" i.e. "people will think well of me." The point is that this approval will come not from Corinna's natural beauty, but because of something she has bought. 49-50: nescioquam: modifies Sygambram, "some Sygambrian woman, I know not who"; note the bracketing of the line with the adjective and its modified noun. iste: the male admirer of line 47. Sygambram < Sygamber, -bra, -brum "of the Sygambri" (a tribe of Germans recently subjugated by Augustus); here a woman of that tribe. fāma … cum fuit ista mea: "when that glory was my own." One reaction, reading these lines some 2000 years after they were written, might be simply to note that what they say is true, at least so far. But should we encounter similar claims by a contemporary poet, even a successful one, we might be more skeptical. It is true that Amores 1.15 dials the claim down a little: we end up with Tibullus and Gallus, to whom even the youthful Ovid could probably be compared favorably, but that long list of poets, from Homer down to Ovid's own day, is surely meant to seem excessive (see Vessey 1981). We might also wonder if it is not supposed to be conspicuously pedestrian. Pleasant though they are, those twenty lines on other poets lack much of the verve of Ovid's preceding fourteen poems, which makes the claim for immortality all the more jarring. Our poet, in short, has delusions of grandeur.
On top of that, our poet is (again) strikingly self-absorbed. This is the only poem in the book that is not about the poet's relationship with his puella. Of course a shift to the poet's identity and output is exactly what we would expect in a sphragis. But the focus on the immortality of the poet himself, alone, contrasts sharply with his insistence, especially in Amores 1.3, that his poems will bestow immortality on the puella. Thus the poet's focus on himself seems downright inconsistent (in toto semper ut in orbe canar, line 8), or at least forgetful. And it is at least tactless to end his long list of immortal poets with the claim that it is one of their girlfriends, Gallus' famous Lycoris, who will be famous (line 30). In Amores 1.1 the poet ended up promising a garland of myrtle (sacred to Venus) to his muse, his inspiration, his Corinna. Here, selfishly, he's planning to wear it himself (line 37). Lovers will be reading about him, not her (line 38).
Even if we read the poem as self-mockery, the final couplet at first seems disappointing, merely summing up the basic proposition about poetic immortality. But it is worth suggesting that there is a literary joke at work here, consistent with our picture of a poet at once self-important and self-absorbed. The two poets most conspicuously absent from the list of immortals are Horace and Propertius, older contemporaries who had an enormous influence on Ovid. And both poets are invoked, I suggest, in the final couplet. When Ovid speaks of the funeral pyre that will finally consume him (cum me supremus adederit ignis, line 41) we are to remember that Propertius was obsessed with his own funeral and his own ashes, and obsessed with the contrast of his ashes with the immortality of his poems (e.g. Prop. 3.1.35-36: "Rome will praise me among its later generations, and I predict that that day will come after my ashes"). And Ovid's last line alludes unmistakably to Horace's famous poem about his own poetic immortality (Hor. Carm. 1.30.6-7): "I will not die completely (non omnis moriar) and a large part of me (multaque pars mei) will escape Death." This, I argue, is self-mockery with a vengeance. Our poet has made a pretentious claim for the immortality of his own poetry, comparing himself to a long list of poets that omits two of his most immediate influences. But the last couplet shows that it is the poetry of Propertius and Horace that will survive, despite Ovid's clumsy attempt to write them out of his story, prompted by none other than Līvor edax. We wonder whether Ovid's poetry will be equally resilient. Notes on Amores 1.15 1-2: Quid = Cūr. mihi … obicis: "bring up as criticism for me," "throw in my teeth" the o is long by position (obicis = objicis). Līvor < līvor, -ōris, m. "envy." The personification is a purely literary device; there was no Roman cult of Līvor. Ovid views Envy as signifying criticism of poetry as an unworthy pursuit. edax < edax, -ācis, adj. "voracious, greedy." 3-4: mē … sequī: indirect statement, dependent on obicis in line 1; "that I do not follow." mōre patrum: "like my ancestors"; for the idiom see OLD mōs 7b) strēnua < strēnuus, a, um "vigorous." sustinet < sustineō, sustinēre, sustinuī, here "support, keep from failing" (see OLD 3). 5-6: mē … ēdiscere … mē … prostituisse: also indirect statement dependent on obicis in line 1. The references are to the two forms of specialist legal activity, that of the iūris consultus who studied the substance of the law (verbōsās lēgēs) and that of the rhētor who made speeches in court (forō); see on 1.13.21. prostituisse: aorist (AG §473); prostituō is a strong word, having much of the flavor that "to prostitute" a talent has in English. In it he discusses wine (ūva, 11) and the harvesting of grain (Cerēs, 12). mustīs < mustum, -ī, n. "must," new and unfermented wine; ablative of source or material (AG §403). incurvā falce: "with the curved sickle." Cerēs < Cerēs, -eris, f., "wheat." 13-14: Battiadēs < Battiadēs, -ae, m. "son of Battus," the founder of Cyrene, 6 i.e., "the Cyrenian," referring to the third-century B.C. Hellenistic poet Callimachus; his poetry had a significant influence on later Roman poets, and for this reason Ovid elevated him to a prominent position, third only to Homer and Hesiod. ingeniō nōn valet, arte valet: Callimachus, like the Alexandrian poets in general, laid great stress on the need for poetic technique (ars) as well as natural talent or inspiration (ingenium). Ovid points to Callimachus' polished artistry (arte valet), but says that when it comes to inspiration Callimachus was not as strong.