ion by Amyot from Plutarch, A
philosopher should converse with princes.]

"Tu, dea, rerum naturam sola gubernas,
Nec sine to quicquam dias in luminis oras
Exoritur, neque fit laetum, nec amabile quidquam."

["Goddess, still thou alone governest nature, nor without thee
anything comes into light; nothing is pleasant, nothing joyful."
--Lucretius, i. 22.]

I know not who could set Pallas and the Muses at variance with Venus, and
make them cold towards Love; but I see no deities so well met, or that
are more indebted to one another. Who will deprive the Muses of amorous
imaginations, will rob them of the best entertainment they have, and of
the noblest matter of their work: and who will make Love lose the
communication and service of poesy, will disarm him of his best weapons:
by this means they charge the god of familiarity and good will, and the
protecting goddesses of humanity and justice, with the vice of
ingratitude and unthankfulness. I have not been so long cashiered from
the state and service of this god, that my memory is not still perfect in
his force and value:

"Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae;"

["I recognise vestiges of my old flame."--AEneid., iv. 23.]

There are yet some remains of heat and emotion after the fever:

"Nec mihi deficiat calor hic, hiemantibus annis!"

["Nor let this heat of youth fail me in my winter years."]

Withered and drooping as I am, I feel yet some remains of the past
ardour:

"Qual l'alto Egeo, per the Aquilone o Noto
Cessi, the tutto prima il volse et scosse,
Non 's accheta ei pero; ma'l suono e'l moto
Ritien del l'onde anco agitate e grosse:"

["As Aegean seas, when storms be calmed again,
That rolled their tumbling waves with troublous blasts,
Do yet of tempests passed some show retain,
And here and there their swelling billows cast."--Fairfax.]

but from what I understand of it, the force and power of this god are
more lively and animated in the picture of poesy than in their own
essence:

"Et versus digitos habet:"

["Verse has fingers."--Altered from Juvenal, iv. 196.]

it has I know not what kind of air, more amorous than love itself. Venus
is not so beautiful, naked, alive, and panting, as she is here in Virgil:

"Dixer