Named Entity Results
P. Ovidius Naso, Art of Love, Remedy of Love, Art of Beauty, Court of Love, History of Love, Amours (ed. various)

ew dry, The farmer lost his crop and knew not why; When he had toil'd, manur'd his grounds, and plough' d, Harrow'd his fields, and broke his clods, and sow'd, No corn appear'd, none to reward his pain, His labour and his wishes were in vain. For Ceres wand'red in the woods and groves, And often heard, and often told her loves: Then Crete alone a fruitful summer knew, Where'er the goddess came a harvest grew. Ida was grey with corn, the furious boar Grew fat with wheat, and wonder'd at the storrey with corn, the furious boar Grew fat with wheat, and wonder'd at the store: The Cretans wish'd that such all years would prove, They wish'd that Ceres would be long in love. Well then, since then 'twas hard for you to lie All night alone, why at your feast must I ? Why must I mourn, when you rejoice to know Your daughter safe, and queen of all below? 'Tis holy-day, and calls for wine and love; Come, let's the height of mirth and humor prove, These gifts will please our master pow'rs above.

s to lie alone ? For Ceres, though she loves the fruitful fields, Yet sometimes feels the force of love, and yields: This Crete can witness, (Crete not always lies) Crete that nurs'd Jove, and heard his infant cries, There he was suckled who now rulCrete not always lies) Crete that nurs'd Jove, and heard his infant cries, There he was suckled who now rules the skies. That Jove his education there receiv'd, Will raise her fame, and make her be believ'd; Nay she herself will never strive to hide Her love, 'tis too well known to be denied: She saw young Jasius in the Cretan grove Pursue the deer, she Crete that nurs'd Jove, and heard his infant cries, There he was suckled who now rules the skies. That Jove his education there receiv'd, Will raise her fame, and make her be believ'd; Nay she herself will never strive to hide Her love, 'tis too well known to be denied: She saw young Jasius in the Cretan grove Pursue the deer, she saw, and fell in love. She then perceived when first she felt the fire, On this side modesty, on that desire; Desire prevail'd, and then the field grew dry, The farmer lost his crop and knew not why; When he had toil'd, manur'd his grounds, and plou and his wishes were in vain. For Ceres wand'red in the woods and groves, And often heard, and often told her loves: Then Crete alone a fruitful summer knew, Where'er the goddess came a harvest grew. Ida was grey with corn, the furious boar Grew fat

Elegy X. Now Ceres' feast is come, the trees are blown, And my Corinna now must lie alone. And why, good Ceres, must thy feast destroy Man's chief delight, and why disturb his joy ? The world esteems you bountiful and good, You led us from the field and from the wood, And gave us fruitful corn, and wholesome food. Till then poor wretched man on acorns fed; Oaks gave him meat, and flow'ry fields a bed. First Ceres made our wheat and barley grow, And taught us how to plough, and how to mow; Who then can think that she designs to prove Our piety, by coldness in our love ? Or make poor lovers sigh, lament, and groan, Or charge her votaries to lie alone ? For Ceres, though she loves the fruitful fields, Yet sometimes feels the force of love, and yields: This Crete can witness, (Crete not always lies) Crete that nurs'd Jove, and heard his infant cries, There he was suckled who now rules the skies. That Jove his education there receiv'd, Will raise her fame, and make her be believ'd; Nay sh

Elegy X. Now Ceres' feast is come, the trees are blown, And my Corinna now must lie alone. And why, good Ceres, must thy feast destroy Man's chief delight, and why disturb his joy ? The world esteems you bountiful and good, You led us from the fielCeres, must thy feast destroy Man's chief delight, and why disturb his joy ? The world esteems you bountiful and good, You led us from the field and from the wood, And gave us fruitful corn, and wholesome food. Till then poor wretched man on acorns fed; Oaks gave him meat, and flow'ry fields a bed. First Ceres made our wheat and barley grow, And taught us how to plough, and how to mow; WhoCeres made our wheat and barley grow, And taught us how to plough, and how to mow; Who then can think that she designs to prove Our piety, by coldness in our love ? Or make poor lovers sigh, lament, and groan, Or charge her votaries to lie alone ? For Ceres, though she loves the fruitful fields, Yet sometimes feels the force of love,Ceres, though she loves the fruitful fields, Yet sometimes feels the force of love, and yields: This Crete can witness, (Crete not always lies) Crete that nurs'd Jove, and heard his infant cries, There he was suckled who now rules the skies. That Jove his education there receiv'd, Will raise her fame, and make her be believ'd; Nay

re to the public known, Why should I think she'd sell to me alone ? 'Twas I proclaim'd to all the town her charms, And tempted cullies to her venal arms; I made their way, I show'd them where to come, And there is hardly now a rake in Rome But knows her rates, and thanks my babbling muse: Her house is now as common as the stews; For this I'm to the muse oblig'd, and more For all the mischiefs envy has in store. This comes of gallantry, while some employ Their talents on the fate of Thebes and Troy, While others Caesar's godlike acts rehearse, Corinna is the subject of my verse. Oh, that I ne'er had known the art to please, But written without genius and success. Why did the town so readily believe My verse, and why to songs such credit give ? Sure poetry s the same it ever was, And poets ne'er for oracles did pass. Why is such stress upon my writings laid? Why such regard to what by me is said ? I wish the tales I've of Corinna told, Had been receiv'd as fables were of old; Of furious

fame My verse a price upon her beauty laid, And by my praises she her market made; Whom but myself can I with reason blame? Without me she had never had a name. Did I do this, who knew her soul so well? Dearly to me she did her favours sell; And when the wares were to the public known, Why should I think she'd sell to me alone ? 'Twas I proclaim'd to all the town her charms, And tempted cullies to her venal arms; I made their way, I show'd them where to come, And there is hardly now a rake in Rome But knows her rates, and thanks my babbling muse: Her house is now as common as the stews; For this I'm to the muse oblig'd, and more For all the mischiefs envy has in store. This comes of gallantry, while some employ Their talents on the fate of Thebes and Troy, While others Caesar's godlike acts rehearse, Corinna is the subject of my verse. Oh, that I ne'er had known the art to please, But written without genius and success. Why did the town so readily believe My verse, and why to songs suc

e wares were to the public known, Why should I think she'd sell to me alone ? 'Twas I proclaim'd to all the town her charms, And tempted cullies to her venal arms; I made their way, I show'd them where to come, And there is hardly now a rake in Rome But knows her rates, and thanks my babbling muse: Her house is now as common as the stews; For this I'm to the muse oblig'd, and more For all the mischiefs envy has in store. This comes of gallantry, while some employ Their talents on the fate of Thebes and Troy, While others Caesar's godlike acts rehearse, Corinna is the subject of my verse. Oh, that I ne'er had known the art to please, But written without genius and success. Why did the town so readily believe My verse, and why to songs such credit give ? Sure poetry s the same it ever was, And poets ne'er for oracles did pass. Why is such stress upon my writings laid? Why such regard to what by me is said ? I wish the tales I've of Corinna told, Had been receiv'd as fables were of old; O

mischiefs envy has in store. This comes of gallantry, while some employ Their talents on the fate of Thebes and Troy, While others Caesar's godlike acts rehearse, Corinna is the subject of my verse. Oh, that I ne'er had known the art to please, But written without genius and success. Why did the town so readily believe My verse, ansame it ever was, And poets ne'er for oracles did pass. Why is such stress upon my writings laid? Why such regard to what by me is said ? I wish the tales I've of Corinna told, Had been receiv'd as fables were of old; Of furious Scylla's horrid shape we read, And how she scalp'd her hoary father's lead: Of her fair face, and downwa nymphs that lately were a fleet; Poetic license ever was so great. But none did credit to these fictions give, Or for true history such tales receive, And though Corinna in my songs is fair, Let none conclude she's like her picture there. The fable she with hasty faith receiv'd, And what, so very well she lik'd, believ'd. But sinc

fables were of old; Of furious Scylla's horrid shape we read, And how she scalp'd her hoary father's lead: Of her fair face, and downward how she takes The wolf's fierce form, the dog's, or curling snake's; Serpents for hair, in ancient song we meet, And man and horse with wings instead of feet. Huge Tityon from the skies the poets flung, Encelladus's wars with Jove they sung; How by her spells, and by her voice, to beasts, The doubtful virgin chang'd her wretched guests; How Eolus did for Ulysses keep The winds in bottles while he plough'd the deep: How Cerberus, three headed, guarded hell; And from his car the son of Phoebus fell: How thirsty Tantalus attempts to sip The stream in vain, that flies his greedy lip: How Niobe in marble drops a tear, And a bright nymph was turn'd into a bear: How Progne, now a swallow, does bemoan Her sister nightingale, and pheasant son. In Leda, Danae, and Europa's rapes, They sing the king of gods in various shapes; A swan he lies on ravish'd Leda's

nto a bear: How Progne, now a swallow, does bemoan Her sister nightingale, and pheasant son. In Leda, Danae, and Europa's rapes, They sing the king of gods in various shapes; A swan he lies on ravish'd Leda's breast, And Danae by a golden show'r compress'd; A bull does o'er the waves Europa bear, And Proteus any form he pleases wear. How oft do we the Theban wonders read, Of serpent's teeth transform'd to human seed! Of dancing woods, and moving rocks, that throng To hear sweet Orpheus, and Amphion's song ? How oft do the Heliades bemoan, In tears of gum, the fall of Phaeton! The sun from Atreus' table frightened flies, And backward drives his chariot in the skies. Those now are nymphs that lately were a fleet; Poetic license ever was so great. But none did credit to these fictions give, Or for true history such tales receive, And though Corinna in my songs is fair, Let none conclude she's like her picture there. The fable she with hasty faith receiv'd, And what, so very well she lik'