Remedia amoris
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Original / primary: Perseus Eng2
311.331
A certain nymph did once my heart incline,
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Whose humor wholly disagreed with mine;
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(I, your physician, my disease confess)
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I from my own prescriptions found redress.
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Her still I represented to my mind,
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With what defects I could suppose or find,
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Oh, how ill-shaped her legs, how thick and short!
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(Though neater limbs did never nymph support,)
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Her arms, said I, how tawny brown they are!
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(Though never ivory statue had so fair.)
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How low of statue! (yet the nymph was tall)
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Oh, for what costly presents will she call!
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What change of lovers! - And of all the rest,
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I find this thought strike deepest in my breast.
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Such thin partitions good and ill divide,
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That one for t'other may be misapplied.
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E'en truth and your own judgment you must strain,
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Those blemishes you cannot find, to feign:
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Call her blackmoor, if she's but lovely brown;
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Monster, if plump; if slender, skeleton.
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Censure her free discourse as confidence;
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Her silence, want of breeding and good sense.
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Discover her blind side, and put her still
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Upon the task which she performs but ill;
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To dance, if she has neither shape nor air;
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Court her to sing, if she wants voice and ear;
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If talking misbecomes her, make her talk;
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If walking, then in malice make her walk.
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Commend her skill when on the lute she plays,
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Till vanity her want of skill betrays.
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Take care, if her large breasts offend your eyes,
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No dress does that deformity disguise.
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Ply her with merry tales of what you will,
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To keep her laughing, if her teeth be ill.
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Or if blear-eyed, some tragic story find,
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Till she has read and wept herself quite blind.
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But one effectual method you may take,-
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Enter her chamber ere she's well awake:
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Her beauty's art, gems, gold, and rich attire,
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Make up the pageant you so much admire:
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In all that specious figure which you see,
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The least, least part of her own self is she;
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In vain for her you love, amidst such cost,
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You search; the mistress in the dress is lost.
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Take her disrob'd, her real self surprise,
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I'll trust you then for cure, to your own eyes.
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(Yet have I known this very rule to fail,
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And beauty most, when stript of art prevail.)
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Steal to her closet, her close tiring place,
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While she makes up her artificial face.
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All colours of the rainbow you'll discern,
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Washes and paints, and what you're sick to learn,