Classic Poem

Ad amicam cursum equorum spectantem

I sit not here the noble horse to see,
Yet whom thou favour'st, pray may conqueror be.
To sit and talk with thee I hither came,
That thou mayst know with love thou mak'st me flame.
Thou view'st the course, I thee: let either heed
What please them, and their eyes let either feed.
What horse-driver thou favour'st most is best,
Because on him thy care doth hap to rest.
Such chance let me have: I would bravely run,
On swift steeds mounted till the race were done.
Now would I slack the reins, now lash their hide,
With wheels bent inward now the ring-turn ride;
In running if I see thee, I shall stay,
And from my hands the reins will slip away.
Ah, Pelops from his coach was almost felled,
Hippodamia's looks while he beheld,
Yet he attained by her support to have her:
Let us all conquer by our mistress' favour.
In vain, why fly'st back? force conjoins us now:
The place's laws this benefit allow.
But spare my wench, thou at her right hand seated,
By thy side's touching ill she is entreated.
And sit thou rounder, that behind us see;
For shame press not her back with thy hard knee.
But on the ground thy clothes too loosely lie;
Gather them up, or lift them, lo, will I.
Envious garments so good legs to hide!
The more thou look'st, the more the gown envied.
Swift Atalanta's flying legs, like these,
Wish in his hands grasped did Hippomenes.
Coat-tucked Diana's legs are painted like them,
When strong wild beasts she stronger hunts to strike them.
Ere these were seen, I burned; what will these do?
Flames into flame, floods thou pour'st seas into.
By these I judge delight me may the rest,
Which lie hid under her thin veil suppressed.
Yet in the meantime wilt small winds bestow,
That from thy fan, moved by my hand, may blow?
Or is my heat of mind, not of the sky?
Is 't women's love my captive breast doth fry?
While thus I speak, black dust her white robes ray;
Foul dust, from her fair body go away.
Now comes the pomp; themselves let all men cheer:
The shout is nigh, the golden pomp comes here.
First, Victory is brought with large spread wing:
Goddess, come here, make my love conquering.
Applaud you Neptune, that dare trust his wave,
The sea I use not: me my earth must have.
Soldier, applaud thy Mars: no wars we move,
Peace pleaseth me, and in mid-peace is love.
With augurs Phoebus, Phoebe with hunters stands,
To thee, Minerva, turn the craftsmen's hands;
Ceres and Bacchus countrymen adore,
Champions please Pollux, Castor loves horsemen more;
Thee, gentle Venus, and the boy that flies
We praise; great goddess, aid my enterprise.
Let my new mistress grant to be beloved;
She becked, and prosperous signs gave as she moved.
What Venus promised, promise thou we pray;
Greater than her, by her leave, th' art, I'll say.
The gods and their rich pomp witness with me,
For evermore thou shalt my mistress be.
Thy legs hang down, thou mayst, if that be best,
Awhile thy tiptoe on the footstool rest.
Now greatest spectacles the praetor sends,
Four-chariot horses from the lists' even ends.
I see whom thou affectest: he shall subdue;
The horses seem as thy desire they knew.
Alas, he runs too far about the ring;
What dost? thy wagon in less compass bring.
What dost, unhappy? her good wishes fade,
Let with strong hand the rein to bend be made.
One slow we favour; Romans, him revoke,
And each give signs by casting up his cloak.
They call him back; lest their gowns toss thy hair,
To hide thee in my bosom straight repair.
But now again the barriers open lie,
And forth the gay troops on swift horses fly.
At least now conquer, and outrun the rest;
My mistress' wish confirm with my request.
My mistress hath her wish; my wish remain:
He holds the palm, my palm is yet to gain.
She smiled, and with quick eyes behight some grace:
Pay it not here, but in another place.