"Amores 1.1" by Ovid

Arma gravi numero violentaque bella parabam edere, materia conveniente modis. par erat inferior versus—risisse Cupido dicitur atque unum surripuisse pedem.	I was preparing to speak of many violent wars with heavy weaponry, with wordstuff appropriate to the size. It was equal to lesser verse - Cupid was said to have laughed and stolen one foot.
'Quis tibi, saeve puer, dedit hoc in carmina iuris? 5 Pieridum vates, non tua turba sumus. quid, si praeripiat flavae Venus arma Minervae, ventilet accensas flava Minerva faces?	"Who gave to you, savage boy, this things in song by oath? We poets of the Muses, we are not your crowd. What, ifVenus snatched the arms of golden-haired Minerva, and golden-haired Minerva fanned the burning torches?
quis probet in silvis Cererem regnare iugosis, lege pharetratae Virginis arva coli? 10 crinibus insignem quis acuta cuspide Phoebum instruat, Aoniam Marte movente lyram?	Who would approve of Ceres ruling in the mountainous woods, of fields being cultivated by the rule of the bequivered Virgin? Who will equip Phoebus of long hair with a sharp spear, the Aonian lyre with a moving Mars.
sunt tibi magna, puer, nimiumque potentia regna; cur opus adfectas, ambitiose, novum? an, quod ubique, tuum est? tua sunt Heliconia tempe? 15 vix etiam Phoebo iam lyra tuta sua est?	Boy, there are to you great kingdoms and too much power; why do you create a new work, ambitious one? Or, anything everywhere, is it yours? Is the Heliconia weather yours? Is even the lyre of Pheobus safe now?
cum bene surrexit versu nova pagina primo, attenuat nervos proximus ille meos; nec mihi materia est numeris levioribus apta, aut puer aut longas compta puella comas.' 20	When a new page rises well with a new line, the next one diminishes my strengths; my material is not suitable for lighter meters, not composed for a boy or a girl with long hair."
Questus eram, pharetra cum protinus ille soluta legit in exitium spicula facta meum, lunavitque genu sinuosum fortiter arcum, 'quod' que 'canas, vates, accipe' dixit 'opus!'	I had been complaining, when suddenly he chose from his unbound quiver an arrow made into my destruction, and he curved on his knee an arched bow strongly. He said, "What you sing, poet, accept this work!"
Me miserum! certas habuit puer ille sagittas. 25 uror, et in vacuo pectore regnat Amor. Sex mihi surgat opus numeris, in quinque residat: ferrea cum vestris bella valete modis!	Poor me! That boy had sure-firing arrows. I am burning, and in my empty heart Amor is king. My work rises in six feet, and subsides in five: Farewell, iron bars with your meters!
cingere litorea flaventia tempora myrto, Musa, per undenos emodulanda pedes! 30	Circle with myrtle from the golden shore, Muse, and measure out the meter by 11s.