"The Chambermaid's Second Song"
From pleasure of the bed,
Dull as a worm,
His rod and its butting head
Limp as a worm,
His spirit that has fled
Blind as a worm.
"Omne animal post coitum triste."
Translation: All animals are sad after sex.1
Petronius Arbiter, Roman poet d. CE 66
Doing, a filthy pleasure is, and short;
And done, we straight repent us of the sport:
Let us not rush blindly on unto it,
Like lustful beasts, that only know to do it:
For lust will languish, and that heat decay,
But thus, thus, keeping endless Holy-day,
Let us together closely lie, and kiss,
There is no labour, nor no shame in this;
This hath pleased, doth please and long will please; never
Can this decay, but is beginning ever.
Ovid, Roman poet
Remedia Amoris (The Cure for Love)
[Cynical advice - based on the post-orgasmic hangover - on how to get over your love for a woman, published 5 B.C.E]
Part VI: Now About Sex
... As soon as pleasure’s reached the finishing post,
and the spirit lies there exhausted, and the whole body,
while you’re repenting, and you’d rather never have touched
a girl, and you don’t think you’re going to touch one for years,
then impress your mind with whatever’s wrong with her body,
and keep your eyes fixed all the time on those faults....
Part IX: Or Sate Yourself With Her
...You’re too weak, unable to go, tenderly bound,
and cruel Love presses your neck beneath his foot?
Stop struggling: let your sails be brought before the wind,
where the tide calls, let your oars travel too,
That thirst’s to be quenched, by which you’re desperately parched:
I allow it: it’s fine now to drink from mid-stream:
but drink even more than your heart demands,
make your throat overflow, full of the water you’ve taken.
Go, and enjoy your girl, any time, nothing’s forbidden:
let her steal away your nights and days.
Seek loathing for your sickness: and let loathing end it.
Now, too, when you believe you could be free, stay on,
till you’re quite overwhelmed, and abundance destroys love,
and disgusted you’ve no pleasure in her house....