Sonnets, Songs, and Triumphs

¶ Rudely and insultingly, he Cupid began to rebuke the presumption of Apollo, speaking to him as if to a lustful and unruly boy. He spoke as one who, through presumption, wished to attribute to himself the praises that belonged to Cupid, suggesting Apollo should have been satisfied with his own common little torches. Cupid was greatly indignant that Apollo, following his recent victory Apollo had just killed the monstrous serpent Python, was puffed up with such pride that he not only refused to acknowledge Cupid as his superior, but would not even consider him an equal. Cupid replied that he would soon show Apollo how much more glorious he was than him, just as all other animals were surpassed by Apollo in glory. And then, having flown with a most swift movement above Mount Parnassus, he drew two arrows from his quiver: one of them has a head or point of gold, sharp and inducing love. The other is of lead and blunt, which induces hate. With the leaden arrow he immediately struck Daphne, daughter of Peneus—a maiden of marvelous and unusual beauty—and with the golden arrow he struck Apollo with similar speed, in such a way that it passed through his bones into the very marrow where the matter of love and lust is hidden. Thus, as much as Apollo was more enamored of her, so much more did she hold him in great hatred, having given herself entirely to virginity and the service of the goddess Diana. Apollo first attempted to win her in vain with kind and gracious words, speaking to her in this manner when he saw her fleeing from his presence, for she would not stop for any reason at his sweet and coaxing request.

Apollo's speech to Daphne, arranged in two columns in the original
Daughter of Peneus, for God's sake, wait!
Graceful Nymph, stay your step!
Why does fleeing delight you so?
Thus the lamb flees the wolf—alas, weary me!—
Thus the doe is wont to flee the lion,
Thus they flee from the rush of the eagle's wings;
With swift wings the little doves flee the wrath
Of their enemies; every other thing flees its foe.
But Love spurs me to follow you.
Wretched me, for my soul has no rest,
Fearing your fall, your face to the ground—
O, let not the agonizing pain of the briars
Wound your legs! This war is unworthy
Of your beauty. It would be the cause
Of your grief, for which my heart is buried.
Do you not see, Nymph, the harsh region
Through which you run? Now run, Nymph, a while
More to the right, and use reason in your flight,
For I shall do the same in following you.
But yet, if you seek one who dies for you,
You shall clearly find one of such merit and boast:
I am no mountain-dweller; I am no shepherd;

I do not watch over herds and flocks.
Ah, foolish one, you do not know my worth!
You know not whom you flee, and therefore you flee the tracks
Of me, who am Lord of Delphi and Claros,
Of Tenedos and Patara; nor does my father,
Illustrious Jove, sleep in the depths below.
I am the knower of times past,
And of present days, and of the most rare
Judgment of the prized years to come.
By me was the sweet lyre discovered;
The strikes of my bow are well-proven,
Never erring—though one arrow, more harsh and cruel
And more certain than my own arrow,
Has shown its wrath within my naked breast.
I have discovered medicine, and such certainty
Makes me called "Physician" in every part;
To me, every power of the herbs is subject.
Alas, that fierce Love, which tears the heart apart,
No herb can heal! Alas, wretched me,
That its lord finds no fruit in that art
Which helps everyone else—and for this I am miserable!

¶ Apollo said these aforementioned amorous words, which have been translated by me into the common tongue Italian in verse from the excellent poet Ovid Naso original: "Eximio poeta Oui. Nasone" as written in the first book of his Transformations The Metamorphoses with a most elegant style. And wishing to say much more to her, as is the habit of those in love, Daphne—terrified by such talk—immediately set herself to flee with all her strength. Together with the fatigue of the flight, her beauty increased; even the lower parts of her body were no less white fair, where her lovely and charming face was uncovered by the opposing breezes. Her blonde hair was scattered behind her by the breeze The author uses "Laura," a pun on l'aura (the breeze) and Petrarch's muse Laura, and Apollo watched everything with sharp eyes, considering it all. Then, seeing that his flatteries were of no use, like a young man inflamed by love, he ceased his vain talking and began to run after her, not otherwise than a swift and hungry greyhound does after seeing a hare in the open field. Thus for some space they both ran most swiftly: Apollo out of hope of attaining the thing he loved, and Daphne so as not to be the prey of him for whom she was inflamed with the greatest hatred. Finally, hope being much more powerful than fear, Apollo—helped by the pains of love—had already, with his persevering course, nearly reached the desired Daphne. She, through the fear of him whose breath she already felt in her hair and breathing upon her neck behind her shoulders, became all pale and weak, so that she could move almost no more. Therefore, directing her eyes to the waters of the river—first calling upon the ancient Peneus Her father, the river god—where she had already arrived in her exhaustion, she began to pray in this manner.