Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) - 1.2.5. lyrics

It's like rich men buying horses: they inspect them When they're blanketed, so that if, as often happens, The hoof supporting a beautiful form is tender, the buyer Gazing isn't misled by fine haunches, long neck, small head. In this they're wise: don't study her bodily graces With Lynceus' eyes, yet blinder than Hypseae Ignore her imperfections. ‘Oh, what legs, what arms!' True, But she's narrow-hipped, long-nosed: short waist, big feet. With a wife you can only get to see her face: Unless she's a Catia long robes hide the rest. If you want what's forbidden (since that is what excites you), What walls protect, there's a host of things in your way, Bodyguards, closed litters, hairdressers, hangers-on, A dress-hem down to her ankles, a robe on top, A thousand things that stop you gaining an open view. With the other type, no problem: You can see her almost Naked in Coan silk, no sign there of bad legs or ugly feet: And check her out with your eyes. Or would you rather Be tricked, parted from your cash before the goods are Revealed? Callimachus says how ‘the hunter chases The hare through deep snow, but won't touch it at rest', Adding: ‘That's what my love is like, since it flies past What's near, and only chases after what runs away.' Do you hope with such verses as those to keep Pain, pa**ion, and a weight of care from your heart?