And thus no doubt there is, that voice and words
     Consist of elements corporeal,
     With power to pain. Nor art thou unaware
     Likewise how much of body's ta'en away,
     How much from very thews and powers of men
     May be withdrawn by steady talk, prolonged
     Even from the rising splendour of the morn
     To shadows of black evening,—above all
     If 't be outpoured with most exceeding shouts.
     Therefore the voice must be corporeal,
     Since the long talker loses from his frame
     A part.

           Moreover, roughness in the sound
     Comes from the roughness in the primal germs,
     As a smooth sound from smooth ones is create;
     Nor have these elements a form the same
     When the trump rumbles with a hollow roar,
     As when barbaric Berecynthian pipe
     Buzzes with raucous boomings, or when swans
     By night from icy shores of Helicon
     With wailing voices raise their liquid dirge.

     Thus, when from deep within our frame we force
     These voices, and at mouth expel them forth,
     The mobile tongue, artificer of words,
     Makes them articulate, and too the lips
     By their formations share in shaping them.
     Hence when the space is short from starting-point
     To where that voice arrives, the very words
     Must too be plainly heard, distinctly marked.
     For then the voice conserves its own formation,
     Conserves its shape. But if the space between
     Be longer than is fit, the words must be
     Through the much air confounded, and the voice
     Disordered in its flight across the winds—
     And so it haps, that thou canst sound perceive,
     Yet not determine what the words may mean;
     To such degree confounded and encumbered
     The voice approaches us. Again, one word,
     Sent from the crier's mouth, may rouse all ears
     Among the populace. And thus one voice
     Scatters asunder into many voices,
     Since it divides itself for separate ears,
     Imprinting form of word and a clear tone.
     But whatso part of voices fails to hit
     The ears themselves perishes, borne beyond,
     Idly diffused among the winds. A part,
     Beating on solid porticoes, tossed back
     Returns a sound; and sometimes mocks the ear
     With a mere phantom of a word. When this
     Thou well hast noted, thou canst render count
     Unto thyself and others why it is
     Along the lonely places that the rocks
     Give back like shapes of words in order like,
     When search we after comrades wandering
     Among the shady mountains, and aloud
     Call unto them, the scattered. I have seen
     Spots that gave back even voices six or seven
     For one thrown forth—for so the very hills,
     Dashing them back against the hills, kept on
     With their reverberations. And these spots
     The neighbouring country-side doth feign to be
     Haunts of the goat-foot satyrs and the nymphs;
     And tells ye there be fauns, by whose night noise
     And antic revels yonder they declare
     The voiceless silences are broken oft,
     And tones of strings are made and wailings sweet
     Which the pipe, beat by players' finger-tips,
     Pours out; and far and wide the farmer-race
     Begins to hear, when, shaking the garmentings
     Of pine upon his half-beast head, god-Pan
     With puckered lip oft runneth o'er and o'er
     The open reeds,—lest flute should cease to pour
     The woodland music! Other prodigies
     And wonders of this ilk they love to tell,
     Lest they be thought to dwell in lonely spots
     And even by gods deserted. This is why
     They boast of marvels in their story-tellings;
     Or by some other reason are led on—
     Greedy, as all mankind hath ever been,
     To prattle fables into ears.

                                 Again,
     One need not wonder how it comes about
     That through those places (through which eyes cannot
     View objects manifest) sounds yet may pass
     And assail the ears. For often we observe
     People conversing, though the doors be closed;
     No marvel either, since all voice unharmed
     Can wind through bended apertures of things,
     While idol-films decline to—for they're rent,
     Unless along straight apertures they swim,
     Like those in glass, through which all images
     Do fly across. And yet this voice itself,
     In passing through shut chambers of a house,
     Is dulled, and in a jumble enters ears,
     And sound we seem to hear far more than words.
     Moreover, a voice is into all directions
     Divided up, since off from one another
     New voices are engendered, when one voice
     Hath once leapt forth, outstarting into many—
     As oft a spark of fire is wont to sprinkle
     Itself into its several fires. And so,
     Voices do fill those places hid behind,
     Which all are in a hubbub round about,
     Astir with sound. But idol-films do tend,
     As once sent forth, in straight directions all;
     Wherefore one can inside a wall see naught,
     Yet catch the voices from beyond the same.

     Nor tongue and palate, whereby we flavour feel,
     Present more problems for more work of thought.
     Firstly, we feel a flavour in the mouth,
     When forth we squeeze it, in chewing up our food,—
     As any one perchance begins to squeeze
     With hand and dry a sponge with water soaked.
     Next, all which forth we squeeze is spread about
     Along the pores and intertwined paths
     Of the loose-textured tongue. And so, when smooth
     The bodies of the oozy flavour, then
     Delightfully they touch, delightfully
     They treat all spots, around the wet and trickling
     Enclosures of the tongue. And contrariwise,
     They sting and pain the sense with their assault,
     According as with roughness they're supplied.
     Next, only up to palate is the pleasure
     Coming from flavour; for in truth when down
     'Thas plunged along the throat, no pleasure is,
     Whilst into all the frame it spreads around;
     Nor aught it matters with what food is fed
     The body, if only what thou take thou canst
     Distribute well digested to the frame
     And keep the stomach in a moist career.

     Now, how it is we see some food for some,
     Others for others....

     I will unfold, or wherefore what to some
     Is foul and bitter, yet the same to others
     Can seem delectable to eat,—why here
     So great the distance and the difference is
     That what is food to one to some becomes
     Fierce poison, as a certain snake there is
     Which, touched by spittle of a man, will waste
     And end itself by gnawing up its coil.
     Again, fierce poison is the hellebore
     To us, but puts the fat on goats and quails.
     That thou mayst know by what devices this
     Is brought about, in chief thou must recall
     What we have said before, that seeds are kept
     Commixed in things in divers modes. Again,
     As all the breathing creatures which take food
     Are outwardly unlike, and outer cut
     And contour of their members bounds them round,
     Each differing kind by kind, they thus consist
     Of seeds of varying shape. And furthermore,
     Since seeds do differ, divers too must be
     The interstices and paths (which we do call
     The apertures) in all the members, even
     In mouth and palate too. Thus some must be
     More small or yet more large, three-cornered some
     And others squared, and many others round,
     And certain of them many-angled too
     In many modes. For, as the combination
     And motion of their divers shapes demand,
     The shapes of apertures must be diverse
     And paths must vary according to their walls
     That bound them. Hence when what is sweet to some,
     Becomes to others bitter, for him to whom
     'Tis sweet, the smoothest particles must needs
     Have entered caressingly the palate's pores.
     And, contrariwise, with those to whom that sweet
     Is sour within the mouth, beyond a doubt
     The rough and barbed particles have got
     Into the narrows of the apertures.
     Now easy it is from these affairs to know
     Whatever...

     Indeed, where one from o'er-abundant bile
     Is stricken with fever, or in other wise
     Feels the roused violence of some malady,
     There the whole frame is now upset, and there
     All the positions of the seeds are changed,—
     So that the bodies which before were fit
     To cause the savour, now are fit no more,
     And now more apt are others which be able
     To get within the pores and gender sour.
     Both sorts, in sooth, are intermixed in honey—
     What oft we've proved above to thee before.
     Now come, and I will indicate what wise
     Impact of odour on the nostrils touches.
     And first, 'tis needful there be many things
     From whence the streaming flow of varied odours
     May roll along, and we're constrained to think
     They stream and dart and sprinkle themselves about
     Impartially. But for some breathing creatures
     One odour is more apt, to others another—
     Because of differing forms of seeds and pores.
     Thus on and on along the zephyrs bees
     Are led by odour of honey, vultures too
     By carcasses. Again, the forward power
     Of scent in dogs doth lead the hunter on
     Whithersoever the splay-foot of wild beast
     Hath hastened its career; and the white goose,
     The saviour of the Roman citadel,
     Forescents afar the odour of mankind.
     Thus, diversly to divers ones is given
     Peculiar smell that leadeth each along
     To his own food or makes him start aback
     From loathsome poison, and in this wise are
     The generations of the wild preserved.

     Yet is this pungence not alone in odours
     Or in the class of flavours; but, likewise,
     The look of things and hues agree not all
     So well with senses unto all, but that
     Some unto some will be, to gaze upon,
     More keen and painful. Lo, the raving lions,
     They dare not face and gaze upon the cock
     Who's wont with wings to flap away the night
     From off the stage, and call the beaming morn
     With clarion voice—and lions straightway thus
     Bethink themselves of flight, because, ye see,
     Within the body of the cocks there be
     Some certain seeds, which, into lions' eyes
     Injected, bore into the pupils deep
     And yield such piercing pain they can't hold out
     Against the cocks, however fierce they be—
     Whilst yet these seeds can't hurt our gaze the least,
     Either because they do not penetrate,
     Or since they have free exit from the eyes
     As soon as penetrating, so that thus
     They cannot hurt our eyes in any part
     By there remaining.

                        To speak once more of odour;
     Whatever assail the nostrils, some can travel
     A longer way than others. None of them,
     However, 's borne so far as sound or voice—
     While I omit all mention of such things
     As hit the eyesight and assail the vision.
     For slowly on a wandering course it comes
     And perishes sooner, by degrees absorbed
     Easily into all the winds of air;—
     And first, because from deep inside the thing
     It is discharged with labour (for the fact
     That every object, when 'tis shivered, ground,
     Or crumbled by the fire, will smell the stronger
     Is sign that odours flow and part away
     From inner regions of the things). And next,
     Thou mayest see that odour is create
     Of larger primal germs than voice, because
     It enters not through stony walls, wherethrough
     Unfailingly the voice and sound are borne;
     Wherefore, besides, thou wilt observe 'tis not
     So easy to trace out in whatso place
     The smelling object is. For, dallying on
     Along the winds, the particles cool off,
     And then the scurrying messengers of things
     Arrive our senses, when no longer hot.
     So dogs oft wander astray, and hunt the scent.

     Now mark, and hear what objects move the mind,
     And learn, in few, whence unto intellect
     Do come what come. And first I tell thee this:
     That many images of objects rove
     In many modes to every region round—
     So thin that easily the one with other,
     When once they meet, uniteth in mid-air,
     Like gossamer or gold-leaf. For, indeed,
     Far thinner are they in their fabric than
     Those images which take a hold on eyes
     And smite the vision, since through body's pores
     They penetrate, and inwardly stir up
     The subtle nature of mind and smite the sense.
     Thus, Centaurs and the limbs of Scyllas, thus
     The Cerberus-visages of dogs we see,
     And images of people gone before—
     Dead men whose bones earth bosomed long ago;
     Because the images of every kind
     Are everywhere about us borne—in part
     Those which are gendered in the very air
     Of own accord, in part those others which
     From divers things do part away, and those
     Which are compounded, made from out their shapes.
     For soothly from no living Centaur is
     That phantom gendered, since no breed of beast
     Like him was ever; but, when images
     Of horse and man by chance have come together,
     They easily cohere, as aforesaid,
     At once, through subtle nature and fabric thin.
     In the same fashion others of this ilk
     Created are. And when they're quickly borne
     In their exceeding lightness, easily
     (As earlier I showed) one subtle image,
     Compounded, moves by its one blow the mind,
     Itself so subtle and so strangely quick.

     That these things come to pass as I record,
     From this thou easily canst understand:
     So far as one is unto other like,
     Seeing with mind as well as with the eyes
     Must come to pass in fashion not unlike.
     Well, now, since I have shown that I perceive
     Haply a lion through those idol-films
     Such as assail my eyes, 'tis thine to know
     Also the mind is in like manner moved,
     And sees, nor more nor less than eyes do see
     (Except that it perceives more subtle films)
     The lion and aught else through idol-films.
     And when the sleep has overset our frame,
     The mind's intelligence is now awake,
     Still for no other reason, save that these—
     The self-same films as when we are awake—
     Assail our minds, to such degree indeed
     That we do seem to see for sure the man
     Whom, void of life, now death and earth have gained
     Dominion over. And nature forces this
     To come to pass because the body's senses
     Are resting, thwarted through the members all,
     Unable now to conquer false with true;
     And memory lies prone and languishes
     In slumber, nor protests that he, the man
     Whom the mind feigns to see alive, long since
     Hath been the gain of death and dissolution.

     And further, 'tis no marvel idols move
     And toss their arms and other members round
     In rhythmic time—and often in men's sleeps
     It haps an image this is seen to do;
     In sooth, when perishes the former image,
     And other is gendered of another pose,
     That former seemeth to have changed its gestures.
     Of course the change must be conceived as speedy;
     So great the swiftness and so great the store
     Of idol-things, and (in an instant brief
     As mind can mark) so great, again, the store
     Of separate idol-parts to bring supplies.

     It happens also that there is supplied
     Sometimes an image not of kind the same;
     But what before was woman, now at hand
     Is seen to stand there, altered into male;
     Or other visage, other age succeeds;
     But slumber and oblivion take care
     That we shall feel no wonder at the thing.

     And much in these affairs demands inquiry,
     And much, illumination—if we crave
     With plainness to exhibit facts. And first,
     Why doth the mind of one to whom the whim
     To think has come behold forthwith that thing?
     Or do the idols watch upon our will,
     And doth an image unto us occur,
     Directly we desire—if heart prefer
     The sea, the land, or after all the sky?
     Assemblies of the citizens, parades,
     Banquets, and battles, these and all doth she,
     Nature, create and furnish at our word?—
     Maugre the fact that in same place and spot
     Another's mind is meditating things
     All far unlike. And what, again, of this:
     When we in sleep behold the idols step,
     In measure, forward, moving supple limbs,
     Whilst forth they put each supple arm in turn
     With speedy motion, and with eyeing heads
     Repeat the movement, as the foot keeps time?
     Forsooth, the idols they are steeped in art,
     And wander to and fro well taught indeed,—
     Thus to be able in the time of night
     To make such games! Or will the truth be this:
     Because in one least moment that we mark—
     That is, the uttering of a single sound—
     There lurk yet many moments, which the reason
     Discovers to exist, therefore it comes
     That, in a moment how so brief ye will,
     The divers idols are hard by, and ready
     Each in its place diverse? So great the swiftness,
     So great, again, the store of idol-things,
     And so, when perishes the former image,
     And other is gendered of another pose,
     The former seemeth to have changed its gestures.
     And since they be so tenuous, mind can mark
     Sharply alone the ones it strains to see;
     And thus the rest do perish one and all,
     Save those for which the mind prepares itself.
     Further, it doth prepare itself indeed,
     And hopes to see what follows after each—
     Hence this result. For hast thou not observed
     How eyes, essaying to perceive the fine,
     Will strain in preparation, otherwise
     Unable sharply to perceive at all?
     Yet know thou canst that, even in objects plain,
     If thou attendest not, 'tis just the same
     As if 'twere all the time removed and far.
     What marvel, then, that mind doth lose the rest,
     Save those to which 'thas given up itself?
     So 'tis that we conjecture from small signs
     Things wide and weighty, and involve ourselves
     In snarls of self-deceit.

                              In these affairs
     We crave that thou wilt passionately flee
     The one offence, and anxiously wilt shun
     The error of presuming the clear lights
     Of eyes created were that we might see;
     Or thighs and knees, aprop upon the feet,
     Thuswise can bended be, that we might step
     With goodly strides ahead; or forearms joined
     Unto the sturdy uppers, or serving hands
     On either side were given, that we might do
     Life's own demands. All such interpretation
     Is aft-for-fore with inverse reasoning,
     Since naught is born in body so that we
     May use the same, but birth engenders use:
     No seeing ere the lights of eyes were born,
     No speaking ere the tongue created was;
     But origin of tongue came long before
     Discourse of words, and ears created were
     Much earlier than any sound was heard;
     And all the members, so meseems, were there
     Before they got their use: and therefore, they
     Could not be gendered for the sake of use.
     But contrariwise, contending in the fight
     With hand to hand, and rending of the joints,
     And fouling of the limbs with gore, was there,
     O long before the gleaming spears ere flew;
     And nature prompted man to shun a wound,
     Before the left arm by the aid of art
     Opposed the shielding targe. And, verily,
     Yielding the weary body to repose,
     Far ancienter than cushions of soft beds,
     And quenching thirst is earlier than cups.
     These objects, therefore, which for use and life
     Have been devised, can be conceived as found
     For sake of using. But apart from such
     Are all which first were born and afterwards
     Gave knowledge of their own utility—
     Chief in which sort we note the senses, limbs:
     Wherefore, again, 'tis quite beyond thy power
     To hold that these could thus have been create
     For office of utility.

                           Likewise,
     'Tis nothing strange that all the breathing creatures
     Seek, even by nature of their frame, their food.
     Yes, since I've taught thee that from off the things
     Stream and depart innumerable bodies
     In modes innumerable too; but most
     Must be the bodies streaming from the living—
     Which bodies, vexed by motion evermore,
     Are through the mouth exhaled innumerable,
     When weary creatures pant, or through the sweat
     Squeezed forth innumerable from deep within.
     Thus body rarefies, so undermined
     In all its nature, and pain attends its state.
     And so the food is taken to underprop
     The tottering joints, and by its interfusion
     To re-create their powers, and there stop up
     The longing, open-mouthed through limbs and veins,
     For eating. And the moist no less departs
     Into all regions that demand the moist;
     And many heaped-up particles of hot,
     Which cause such burnings in these bellies of ours,
     The liquid on arriving dissipates
     And quenches like a fire, that parching heat
     No longer now can scorch the frame. And so,
     Thou seest how panting thirst is washed away
     From off our body, how the hunger-pang
     It, too, appeased.

                        Now, how it comes that we,
     Whene'er we wish, can step with strides ahead,
     And how 'tis given to move our limbs about,
     And what device is wont to push ahead
     This the big load of our corporeal frame,
     I'll say to thee—do thou attend what's said.
     I say that first some idol-films of walking
     Into our mind do fall and smite the mind,
     As said before. Thereafter will arises;
     For no one starts to do a thing, before
     The intellect previsions what it wills;
     And what it there pre-visioneth depends
     On what that image is. When, therefore, mind
     Doth so bestir itself that it doth will
     To go and step along, it strikes at once
     That energy of soul that's sown about
     In all the body through the limbs and frame—
     And this is easy of performance, since
     The soul is close conjoined with the mind.
     Next, soul in turn strikes body, and by degrees
     Thus the whole mass is pushed along and moved.
     Then too the body rarefies, and air,
     Forsooth as ever of such nimbleness,
     Comes on and penetrates aboundingly
     Through opened pores, and thus is sprinkled round
     Unto all smallest places in our frame.
     Thus then by these twain factors, severally,
     Body is borne like ship with oars and wind.
     Nor yet in these affairs is aught for wonder
     That particles so fine can whirl around
     So great a body and turn this weight of ours;
     For wind, so tenuous with its subtle body,
     Yet pushes, driving on the mighty ship
     Of mighty bulk; one hand directs the same,
     Whatever its momentum, and one helm
     Whirls it around, whither ye please; and loads,
     Many and huge, are moved and hoisted high
     By enginery of pulley-blocks and wheels,
     With but light strain.

                       Now, by what modes this sleep
     Pours through our members waters of repose
     And frees the breast from cares of mind, I'll tell
     In verses sweeter than they many are;
     Even as the swan's slight note is better far
     Than that dispersed clamour of the cranes
     Among the southwind's aery clouds. Do thou
     Give me sharp ears and a sagacious mind,—
     That thou mayst not deny the things to be
     Whereof I'm speaking, nor depart away
     With bosom scorning these the spoken truths,
     Thyself at fault unable to perceive.
     Sleep chiefly comes when energy of soul
     Hath now been scattered through the frame, and part
     Expelled abroad and gone away, and part
     Crammed back and settling deep within the frame—
     Whereafter then our loosened members droop.
     For doubt is none that by the work of soul
     Exist in us this sense, and when by slumber
     That sense is thwarted, we are bound to think
     The soul confounded and expelled abroad—
     Yet not entirely, else the frame would lie
     Drenched in the everlasting cold of death.
     In sooth, where no one part of soul remained
     Lurking among the members, even as fire
     Lurks buried under many ashes, whence
     Could sense amain rekindled be in members,
     As flame can rise anew from unseen fire?

     By what devices this strange state and new
     May be occasioned, and by what the soul
     Can be confounded and the frame grow faint,
     I will untangle: see to it, thou, that I
     Pour forth my words not unto empty winds.
     In first place, body on its outer parts—
     Since these are touched by neighbouring aery gusts—
     Must there be thumped and strook by blows of air
     Repeatedly. And therefore almost all
     Are covered either with hides, or else with shells,
     Or with the horny callus, or with bark.
     Yet this same air lashes their inner parts,
     When creatures draw a breath or blow it out.
     Wherefore, since body thus is flogged alike
     Upon the inside and the out, and blows
     Come in upon us through the little pores
     Even inward to our body's primal parts
     And primal elements, there comes to pass
     By slow degrees, along our members then,
     A kind of overthrow; for then confounded
     Are those arrangements of the primal germs
     Of body and of mind. It comes to pass
     That next a part of soul's expelled abroad,
     A part retreateth in recesses hid,
     A part, too, scattered all about the frame,
     Cannot become united nor engage
     In interchange of motion. Nature now
     So hedges off approaches and the paths;
     And thus the sense, its motions all deranged,
     Retires down deep within; and since there's naught,
     As 'twere, to prop the frame, the body weakens,
     And all the members languish, and the arms
     And eyelids fall, and, as ye lie abed,
     Even there the houghs will sag and loose their powers.
     Again, sleep follows after food, because
     The food produces same result as air,
     Whilst being scattered round through all the veins;
     And much the heaviest is that slumber which,
     Full or fatigued, thou takest; since 'tis then
     That the most bodies disarrange themselves,
     Bruised by labours hard. And in same wise,
     This three-fold change: a forcing of the soul
     Down deeper, more a casting-forth of it,
     A moving more divided in its parts
     And scattered more.

                         And to whate'er pursuit
     A man most clings absorbed, or what the affairs
     On which we theretofore have tarried much,
     And mind hath strained upon the more, we seem
     In sleep not rarely to go at the same.
     The lawyers seem to plead and cite decrees,
     Commanders they to fight and go at frays,
     Sailors to live in combat with the winds,
     And we ourselves indeed to make this book,
     And still to seek the nature of the world
     And set it down, when once discovered, here
     In these my country's leaves. Thus all pursuits,
     All arts in general seem in sleeps to mock
     And master the minds of men. And whosoever
     Day after day for long to games have given
     Attention undivided, still they keep
     (As oft we note), even when they've ceased to grasp
     Those games with their own senses, open paths
     Within the mind wherethrough the idol-films
     Of just those games can come. And thus it is
     For many a day thereafter those appear
     Floating before the eyes, that even awake
     They think they view the dancers moving round
     Their supple limbs, and catch with both the ears
     The liquid song of harp and speaking chords,
     And view the same assembly on the seats,
     And manifold bright glories of the stage—
     So great the influence of pursuit and zest,
     And of the affairs wherein 'thas been the wont
     Of men to be engaged-nor only men,
     But soothly all the animals. Behold,
     Thou'lt see the sturdy horses, though outstretched,
     Yet sweating in their sleep, and panting ever,
     And straining utmost strength, as if for prize,
     As if, with barriers opened now...
     And hounds of huntsmen oft in soft repose
     Yet toss asudden all their legs about,
     And growl and bark, and with their nostrils sniff
     The winds again, again, as though indeed
     They'd caught the scented foot-prints of wild beasts,
     And, even when wakened, often they pursue
     The phantom images of stags, as though
     They did perceive them fleeing on before,
     Until the illusion's shaken off and dogs
     Come to themselves again. And fawning breed
     Of house-bred whelps do feel the sudden urge
     To shake their bodies and start from off the ground,
     As if beholding stranger-visages.
     And ever the fiercer be the stock, the more
     In sleep the same is ever bound to rage.
     But flee the divers tribes of birds and vex
     With sudden wings by night the groves of gods,
     When in their gentle slumbers they have dreamed
     Of hawks in chase, aswooping on for fight.
     Again, the minds of mortals which perform
     With mighty motions mighty enterprises,
     Often in sleep will do and dare the same
     In manner like. Kings take the towns by storm,
     Succumb to capture, battle on the field,
     Raise a wild cry as if their throats were cut
     Even then and there. And many wrestle on
     And groan with pains, and fill all regions round
     With mighty cries and wild, as if then gnawed
     By fangs of panther or of lion fierce.
     Many amid their slumbers talk about
     Their mighty enterprises, and have often
     Enough become the proof of their own crimes.
     Many meet death; many, as if headlong
     From lofty mountains tumbling down to earth
     With all their frame, are frenzied in their fright;
     And after sleep, as if still mad in mind,
     They scarce come to, confounded as they are
     By ferment of their frame. The thirsty man,
     Likewise, he sits beside delightful spring
     Or river and gulpeth down with gaping throat
     Nigh the whole stream. And oft the innocent young,
     By sleep o'ermastered, think they lift their dress
     By pail or public jordan and then void
     The water filtered down their frame entire
     And drench the Babylonian coverlets,
     Magnificently bright. Again, those males
     Into the surging channels of whose years
     Now first has passed the seed (engendered
     Within their members by the ripened days)
     Are in their sleep confronted from without
     By idol-images of some fair form—
     Tidings of glorious face and lovely bloom,
     Which stir and goad the regions turgid now
     With seed abundant; so that, as it were
     With all the matter acted duly out,
     They pour the billows of a potent stream
     And stain their garment.

                            And as said before,
     That seed is roused in us when once ripe age
     Has made our body strong...
     As divers causes give to divers things
     Impulse and irritation, so one force
     In human kind rouses the human seed
     To spurt from man. As soon as ever it issues,
     Forced from its first abodes, it passes down
     In the whole body through the limbs and frame,
     Meeting in certain regions of our thews,
     And stirs amain the genitals of man.
     The goaded regions swell with seed, and then
     Comes the delight to dart the same at what
     The mad desire so yearns, and body seeks
     That object, whence the mind by love is pierced.
     For well-nigh each man falleth toward his wound,
     And our blood spurts even toward the spot from whence
     The stroke wherewith we are strook, and if indeed
     The foe be close, the red jet reaches him.
     Thus, one who gets a stroke from Venus' shafts—
     Whether a boy with limbs effeminate
     Assault him, or a woman darting love
     From all her body—that one strains to get
     Even to the thing whereby he's hit, and longs
     To join with it and cast into its frame
     The fluid drawn even from within its own.
     For the mute craving doth presage delight.

     This craving 'tis that's Venus unto us:
     From this, engender all the lures of love,
     From this, O first hath into human hearts
     Trickled that drop of joyance which ere long
     Is by chill care succeeded. Since, indeed,
     Though she thou lovest now be far away,
     Yet idol-images of her are near
     And the sweet name is floating in thy ear.
     But it behooves to flee those images;
     And scare afar whatever feeds thy love;
     And turn elsewhere thy mind; and vent the sperm,
     Within thee gathered, into sundry bodies,
     Nor, with thy thoughts still busied with one love,
     Keep it for one delight, and so store up
     Care for thyself and pain inevitable.
     For, lo, the ulcer just by nourishing
     Grows to more life with deep inveteracy,
     And day by day the fury swells aflame,
     And the woe waxes heavier day by day—
     Unless thou dost destroy even by new blows
     The former wounds of love, and curest them
     While yet they're fresh, by wandering freely round
     After the freely-wandering Venus, or
     Canst lead elsewhere the tumults of thy mind.

     Nor doth that man who keeps away from love
     Yet lack the fruits of Venus; rather takes
     Those pleasures which are free of penalties.
     For the delights of Venus, verily,
     Are more unmixed for mortals sane-of-soul
     Than for those sick-at-heart with love-pining.
     Yea, in the very moment of possessing,
     Surges the heat of lovers to and fro,
     Restive, uncertain; and they cannot fix
     On what to first enjoy with eyes and hands.
     The parts they sought for, those they squeeze so tight,
     And pain the creature's body, close their teeth
     Often against her lips, and smite with kiss
     Mouth into mouth,—because this same delight
     Is not unmixed; and underneath are stings
     Which goad a man to hurt the very thing,
     Whate'er it be, from whence arise for him
     Those germs of madness. But with gentle touch
     Venus subdues the pangs in midst of love,
     And the admixture of a fondling joy
     Doth curb the bites of passion. For they hope
     That by the very body whence they caught
     The heats of love their flames can be put out.
     But nature protests 'tis all quite otherwise;
     For this same love it is the one sole thing
     Of which, the more we have, the fiercer burns
     The breast with fell desire. For food and drink
     Are taken within our members; and, since they
     Can stop up certain parts, thus, easily
     Desire of water is glutted and of bread.
     But, lo, from human face and lovely bloom
     Naught penetrates our frame to be enjoyed
     Save flimsy idol-images and vain—
     A sorry hope which oft the winds disperse.
     As when the thirsty man in slumber seeks
     To drink, and water ne'er is granted him
     Wherewith to quench the heat within his members,
     But after idols of the liquids strives
     And toils in vain, and thirsts even whilst he gulps
     In middle of the torrent, thus in love
     Venus deludes with idol-images
     The lovers. Nor they cannot sate their lust
     By merely gazing on the bodies, nor
     They cannot with their palms and fingers rub
     Aught from each tender limb, the while they stray
     Uncertain over all the body. Then,
     At last, with members intertwined, when they
     Enjoy the flower of their age, when now
     Their bodies have sweet presage of keen joys,
     And Venus is about to sow the fields
     Of woman, greedily their frames they lock,
     And mingle the slaver of their mouths, and breathe
     Into each other, pressing teeth on mouths—
     Yet to no purpose, since they're powerless
     To rub off aught, or penetrate and pass
     With body entire into body—for oft
     They seem to strive and struggle thus to do;
     So eagerly they cling in Venus' bonds,
     Whilst melt away their members, overcome
     By violence of delight. But when at last
     Lust, gathered in the thews, hath spent itself,
     There come a brief pause in the raging heat—
     But then a madness just the same returns
     And that old fury visits them again,
     When once again they seek and crave to reach
     They know not what, all powerless to find
     The artifice to subjugate the bane.
     In such uncertain state they waste away
     With unseen wound.

                       To which be added too,
     They squander powers and with the travail wane;
     Be added too, they spend their futile years
     Under another's beck and call; their duties
     Neglected languish and their honest name
     Reeleth sick, sick; and meantime their estates
     Are lost in Babylonian tapestries;
     And unguents and dainty Sicyonian shoes
     Laugh on her feet; and (as ye may be sure)
     Big emeralds of green light are set in gold;
     And rich sea-purple dress by constant wear
     Grows shabby and all soaked with Venus' sweat;
     And the well-earned ancestral property
     Becometh head-bands, coifs, and many a time
     The cloaks, or garments Alidensian
     Or of the Cean isle. And banquets, set
     With rarest cloth and viands, are prepared—
     And games of chance, and many a drinking cup,
     And unguents, crowns and garlands. All in vain,
     Since from amid the well-spring of delights
     Bubbles some drop of bitter to torment
     Among the very flowers—when haply mind
     Gnaws into self, now stricken with remorse
     For slothful years and ruin in baudels,
     Or else because she's left him all in doubt
     By launching some sly word, which still like fire
     Lives wildly, cleaving to his eager heart;
     Or else because he thinks she darts her eyes
     Too much about and gazes at another,—
     And in her face sees traces of a laugh.

     These ills are found in prospering love and true;
     But in crossed love and helpless there be such
     As through shut eyelids thou canst still take in—
     Uncounted ills; so that 'tis better far
     To watch beforehand, in the way I've shown,
     And guard against enticements. For to shun
     A fall into the hunting-snares of love
     Is not so hard, as to get out again,
     When tangled in the very nets, and burst
     The stoutly-knotted cords of Aphrodite.
     Yet even when there enmeshed with tangled feet,
     Still canst thou scape the danger-lest indeed
     Thou standest in the way of thine own good,
     And overlookest first all blemishes
     Of mind and body of thy much preferred,
     Desirable dame. For so men do,
     Eyeless with passion, and assign to them
     Graces not theirs in fact. And thus we see
     Creatures in many a wise crooked and ugly
     The prosperous sweethearts in a high esteem;
     And lovers gird each other and advise
     To placate Venus, since their friends are smit
     With a base passion—miserable dupes
     Who seldom mark their own worst bane of all.
     The black-skinned girl is "tawny like the honey";
     The filthy and the fetid's "negligee";
     The cat-eyed she's "a little Pallas," she;
     The sinewy and wizened's "a gazelle";
     The pudgy and the pigmy is "piquant,
     One of the Graces sure"; the big and bulky
     O she's "an Admiration, imposante";
     The stuttering and tongue-tied "sweetly lisps";
     The mute girl's "modest"; and the garrulous,
     The spiteful spit-fire, is "a sparkling wit";
     And she who scarcely lives for scrawniness
     Becomes "a slender darling"; "delicate"
     Is she who's nearly dead of coughing-fit;
     The pursy female with protuberant breasts
     She is "like Ceres when the goddess gave
     Young Bacchus suck"; the pug-nosed lady-love
     "A Satyress, a feminine Silenus";
     The blubber-lipped is "all one luscious kiss"—
     A weary while it were to tell the whole.
     But let her face possess what charm ye will,
     Let Venus' glory rise from all her limbs,—
     Forsooth there still are others; and forsooth
     We lived before without her; and forsooth
     She does the same things—and we know she does—
     All, as the ugly creature, and she scents,
     Yes she, her wretched self with vile perfumes;
     Whom even her handmaids flee and giggle at
     Behind her back. But he, the lover, in tears
     Because shut out, covers her threshold o'er
     Often with flowers and garlands, and anoints
     Her haughty door-posts with the marjoram,
     And prints, poor fellow, kisses on the doors—
     Admitted at last, if haply but one whiff
     Got to him on approaching, he would seek
     Decent excuses to go out forthwith;
     And his lament, long pondered, then would fall
     Down at his heels; and there he'd damn himself
     For his fatuity, observing how
     He had assigned to that same lady more—
     Than it is proper to concede to mortals.
     And these our Venuses are 'ware of this.
     Wherefore the more are they at pains to hide
     All the-behind-the-scenes of life from those
     Whom they desire to keep in bonds of love—
     In vain, since ne'ertheless thou canst by thought
     Drag all the matter forth into the light
     And well search out the cause of all these smiles;
     And if of graceful mind she be and kind,
     Do thou, in thy turn, overlook the same,
     And thus allow for poor mortality.
     Nor sighs the woman always with feigned love,
     Who links her body round man's body locked
     And holds him fast, making his kisses wet
     With lips sucked into lips; for oft she acts
     Even from desire, and, seeking mutual joys,
     Incites him there to run love's race-course through.
     Nor otherwise can cattle, birds, wild beasts,
     And sheep and mares submit unto the males,
     Except that their own nature is in heat,
     And burns abounding and with gladness takes
     Once more the Venus of the mounting males.
     And seest thou not how those whom mutual pleasure
     Hath bound are tortured in their common bonds?
     How often in the cross-roads dogs that pant
     To get apart strain eagerly asunder
     With utmost might?—When all the while they're fast
     In the stout links of Venus. But they'd ne'er
     So pull, except they knew those mutual joys—
     So powerful to cast them unto snares
     And hold them bound. Wherefore again, again,
     Even as I say, there is a joint delight.

     And when perchance, in mingling seed with his,
     The female hath o'erpowered the force of male
     And by a sudden fling hath seized it fast,
     Then are the offspring, more from mothers' seed,
     More like their mothers; as, from fathers' seed,
     They're like to fathers. But whom seest to be
     Partakers of each shape, one equal blend
     Of parents' features, these are generate
     From fathers' body and from mothers' blood,
     When mutual and harmonious heat hath dashed
     Together seeds, aroused along their frames
     By Venus' goads, and neither of the twain
     Mastereth or is mastered. Happens too
     That sometimes offspring can to being come
     In likeness of their grandsires, and bring back
     Often the shapes of grandsires' sires, because
     Their parents in their bodies oft retain
     Concealed many primal germs, commixed
     In many modes, which, starting with the stock,
     Sire handeth down to son, himself a sire;
     Whence Venus by a variable chance
     Engenders shapes, and diversely brings back
     Ancestral features, voices too, and hair.
     A female generation rises forth
     From seed paternal, and from mother's body
     Exist created males: since sex proceeds
     No more from singleness of seed than faces
     Or bodies or limbs of ours: for every birth
     Is from a twofold seed; and what's created
     Hath, of that parent which it is more like,
     More than its equal share; as thou canst mark,—
     Whether the breed be male or female stock.

     Nor do the powers divine grudge any man
     The fruits of his seed-sowing, so that never
     He be called "father" by sweet children his,
     And end his days in sterile love forever.
     What many men suppose; and gloomily
     They sprinkle the altars with abundant blood,
     And make the high platforms odorous with burnt gifts,
     To render big by plenteous seed their wives—
     And plague in vain godheads and sacred lots.
     For sterile are these men by seed too thick,
     Or else by far too watery and thin.
     Because the thin is powerless to cleave
     Fast to the proper places, straightaway
     It trickles from them, and, returned again,
     Retires abortively. And then since seed
     More gross and solid than will suit is spent
     By some men, either it flies not forth amain
     With spurt prolonged enough, or else it fails
     To enter suitably the proper places,
     Or, having entered, the seed is weakly mixed
     With seed of the woman: harmonies of Venus
     Are seen to matter vastly here; and some
     Impregnate some more readily, and from some
     Some women conceive more readily and become
     Pregnant. And many women, sterile before
     In several marriage-beds, have yet thereafter
     Obtained the mates from whom they could conceive
     The baby-boys, and with sweet progeny
     Grow rich. And even for husbands (whose own wives,
     Although of fertile wombs, have borne for them
     No babies in the house) are also found
     Concordant natures so that they at last
     Can bulwark their old age with goodly sons.
     A matter of great moment 'tis in truth,
     That seeds may mingle readily with seeds
     Suited for procreation, and that thick
     Should mix with fluid seeds, with thick the fluid.
     And in this business 'tis of some import
     Upon what diet life is nourished:
     For some foods thicken seeds within our members,
     And others thin them out and waste away.
     And in what modes the fond delight itself
     Is carried on—this too importeth vastly.
     For commonly 'tis thought that wives conceive
     More readily in manner of wild-beasts,
     After the custom of the four-foot breeds,
     Because so postured, with the breasts beneath
     And buttocks then upreared, the seeds can take
     Their proper places. Nor is need the least
     For wives to use the motions of blandishment;
     For thus the woman hinders and resists
     Her own conception, if too joyously
     Herself she treats the Venus of the man
     With haunches heaving, and with all her bosom
     Now yielding like the billows of the sea—
     Aye, from the ploughshare's even course and track
     She throws the furrow, and from proper places
     Deflects the spurt of seed. And courtesans
     Are thuswise wont to move for their own ends,
     To keep from pregnancy and lying in,
     And all the while to render Venus more
     A pleasure for the men—the which meseems
     Our wives have never need of.

                                 Sometimes too
     It happens—and through no divinity
     Nor arrows of Venus—that a sorry chit
     Of scanty grace will be beloved by man;
     For sometimes she herself by very deeds,
     By her complying ways, and tidy habits,
     Will easily accustom thee to pass
     With her thy life-time—and, moreover, lo,
     Long habitude can gender human love,
     Even as an object smitten o'er and o'er
     By blows, however lightly, yet at last
     Is overcome and wavers. Seest thou not,
     Besides, how drops of water falling down
     Against the stones at last bore through the stones?