He entreats the porter to open to him the door of his mistress's house.

P orter, fastened (and how unworthily!) with the cruel fetter, 060 throw open the stubborn door with its turning hinge. What I ask, is but a trifle; let the door, half-opened, admit me sideways with its narrow passage. Protracted Love has made my body thin for such an emergency, and by diminishing my bulk, has rendered my limbs quite supple.'Tis he who shows me how to go softly amid the watches of the keepers; 062 'tis he directs my feet that meet no harm. But, at one time, I used to be afraid of the night and imaginary ghosts; and I used to be surprised if any one was about to go in the dark: Cupid, with his graceful mother, laughed, so that I could hear him, and he softly said, "Thou too wilt become bold." Without delay, love came upon me; then, I feared not spectres that flit by night, 063 or hands uplifted for my destruction.

I only fear you, thus too tardy; you alone do I court; you hold the lightning by which you can effect my destruction. Look (and that you may see, loosen the obdurate bars) how the door has been made wet with my tears. At all events, 'twas I, who, when, your garment laid aside, you stood ready for the whip, 064 spoke in your behalf to your mistress as you were trembling. Does then, (O shocking thought!) the credit which once prevailed in your behalf, now fail to prevail in my own favour? Give a return for my kindness; you may now be grateful. As you wish, 065 the hours of the night pass on; 066 from the door-post 067 strike away the bar. Strike it away then may you one day be liberated from your long fetters and may the water of the slave 068 be not for ever drunk of by you. Hard-hearted porter! you hear me, as I implore in vain; the door, supported by its hard oaken posts, is still unmoved. Let the protection of a closed gate be of value to cities when besieged; but why, in the midst of peace are you dreading warfare? What would you do to an enemy, who thus shut out the lover? The hours of the night pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar.

I am not come attended with soldiers and with arms; I should be alone, if ruthless Love were not here. Him, even if I should desire it, I can never send away; first should I be even severed from my limbs. Love then, and a little wine about my temples, 069 are with me, and the chaplet falling from off my anointed hair. Who is to dread arms such as these? Who may not go out to face them? The hours of the night pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar.

Are you delaying? or does sleep (who but ill befriends the lover) give to the winds my words, as they are repelled from your ear? But, I remember, when formerly I used to avoid you, you were awake, with the stars of the midnight. Perhaps, too, your own mistress is now asleep with you; alas! how much superior then is your fate to my own! And since 'tis so, pass on to me, ye cruel chains. The hours of the night pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar.

Am I mistaken? Or did the door-posts creak with the turning hinge, and did the shaken door give the jarring signal? Yes, I am mistaken; the door was shaken by the boisterous wind. Ah me! how far away has that gust borne my hopes! Boreas, if well thou dost keep in mind the ravished Orithyia, come hither, and with thy blast beat open this relentless door. 'Tis silence throughout all the City; damp with the glassy dew, the hours of the night pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar.

Otherwise I, myself, 073 now better prepared than you, with my sword, and with the fire which I am holding in my torch, 074 will scale this arrogant abode. Night, and lore, and wine, 075 are persuasive of no moderation; the first is without shame, Bacchus and Love are without fear.

I have expended every method; neither by entreaties nor by threats have I moved you, O man, even more deaf yourself than your door. It becomes you not to watch the threshold of the beauteous fair; of the anxieties of the prison, 076 are you more deserving. And now Lucifer is moving his wheels beset with rime; and the bird is arousing 077 wretched mortals to their work. But, chaplet taken from my locks joyous no longer, be you the livelong night upon this obdurate threshold. You, when in the morning she shall see you thus exposed, will be a witness of my time thus thrown away. Porter, whatever your disposition, good bye, and one day experience the pangs of him who is now departing; sluggish one, and worthless in not admitting the lover, fare you well. And you, ye cruel door-posts, with your stubborn threshold; and you, ye doors, equally slaves, 078 hard-hearted blocks of wood, farewell.