Intermissa, Venus, diu rursus bella moves? parce precor, precor. non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cinarae. desine, dulcium 5mater saeva Cupidinum, circa lustra decem flectere mollibus iam durum imperiis: abi quo blandae iuvenum te revocant preces. tempestivius in domum 10Pauli purpureis ales oloribus comissabere Maximi, si torrere iecur quaeris idoneum: namque et nobilis et decens et pro sollicitis non tacitus reis 15et centum puer artium late signa feret militiae tuae, et, quandoque potentior largi muneribus riserit aemuli, Albanos prope te lacus 20ponet marmoream sub trabe citrea.
1Horace is too old for passion (?)
Are you making war again, Venus, after so long a truce? Have mercy, I beg you, I beg you! I am not the man I was in the reign of Cinara the Good. Stop, o cruel mother of sweet Desires, stop driving one who after nearly fifty years is now too hardened to answer your soft commands. Away, and make for a place to which the young men with their coaxing appeals are calling you.
If you seek a suitable heart to inflame, it will be more seemly for you to revel in the house of Paullus Maximus, riding there on the wings of your gleaming swans; for he is aristocratic and good-looking, he is an eloquent counsel for anxious defendants, and as a young fellow of a hundred accomplishments he will carry far and wide the banner of your army. When he has prevailed over the gifts of his big-spending rival, he will laugh and set you up in marble under a citron roof beside the Alban Lake.1 There you will