non hic herba valet, non hic nocturna Cytaeis, non Perimedaea gramina cocta manu; nam cui non ego sum fallaci praemia vati? quae mea non decies somnia versat anus? non eget hic medicis, non lectis mollibus aeger, huic nullum caeli tempus et aura nocet; ambulat'et subito mirantur funus amici! sic est incautum, quidquid habetur amor.
In such a case no herb avails, no night of Colchian sorcery, no drug distilled by the hand of a Perimede; for of what deceitful soothsayer am I not the prey? What witch does not a dozen times interpret my dreams? In such a case the sick man needs no doctor or soft bed; it is not the climate or weather that does him harm. He is out walking, and all of a sudden his friends are astonished at his demise! Such an intractable thing is love, whatever it is held to be.
final_alignments\Propertius_Elegies_Book2.json