He tells Macer that he ought to write on Love.

While thou art tracing thy poem onwards 479 to the wrath of Achilles, and art giving their first arms to the heroes, after taking the oaths; I, Macer, 480 am reposing in the shade of Venus, unused to toil; and tender Love attacks me, when about to attempt a mighty subject. Many a time have I said to my mistress, "At length, away with you:" and forthwith she has seated herself in my lap. Many a time have I said, "I am ashamed of myself:" when, with difficulty, her tears repressed, she has said, "Ah wretched me! Now you are ashamed to love." And then she has thrown her arms around my neck: and has given me a thousand kisses, which quite overpowered me. I am overcome: and my genius is called away from the arms it has assumed; and I forthwith sing the exploits of my home, and my own warfare.

Still did I wield the sceptre: and by my care my Tragedy grew apace; 481 and for this pursuit I was well prepared. Love smiled both at my tragic pall, and my coloured buskins, and the sceptre wielded so well by a private hand. From this pursuit, too, did the influence of my cruel mistress draw me away, and Love triumphed over the Poet with his buskins. As I am allowed to do, either I teach the art of tender love, (alas! by my own precepts am I myself tormented:) or I write what was delivered to Ulysses in the words of Penelope, or thy tears, deserted Phyllis. What, too, Paris and Macareus, and the ungrateful Jason, and the parent of Hip-polytus, and Hippolytus himself read: and what the wretched Dido says, brandishing the drawn sword, and what the Lesbian mistress of the Æolian lyre.

How swiftly did my friend, Sabinus, return 482 from all quarters of the world, and bring back letters 483 from different spots! The fair Penelope recognized the seal of Ulysses: the stepmother read what was written by her own Hippolytus. Then did the dutiful Æneas write an answer to the afflicted Elissa; and Phyllis, if she only survives, has something to read. The sad letter came to Hypsipyle from Jason: the Lesbian damsel, beloved by Apollo, may give the lyre that she has vowed to Phoebus. 484 Nor, Macer, so far as it is safe for a poet who sings of wars, is beauteous Love unsung of by thee, in the midst of warfare. Both Paris is there, and the adultress, the far-famed cause of guilt: and Laodamia, who attends her husband in death. If well I know thee; thou singest not of wars with greater pleasure than these; and from thy own camp thou comest back to mine.