a triumphant hurrah, for my traps have caught The quarry I sought. Each happy lover awards my poem the palm, first prize; I outshine Homer and Hesiod in his eyes. He’s as pleased as Pelops, the unknown face Who won both the chariot-race And Hippodameia, as pleased as Paris, the stranger Who snatched his bride from the heart of Sparta’s danger And spread his white sails for Troy. But why the hurry, boy? Your ship’s still out at sea, And the port I’m aiming for distant. Thanks to me You’ve a mistress, but that’s just a start. I’m teaching a beginner How to keep as well as how to win her. Hunting’s hard work, but so is guarding the kill; There’s some luck in the chase, but this takes real skill. I appeal to you, Venus and Cupid, and to you, Erato, the Muse whose name connotes love too— Be my friends now, if ever, And help me in this, my epic endeavour, To describe ways and means of keeping Love at home, The world-ranging gypsy who must roam, Being fickle and equipped With wings for flight not easily tied or clipped.
