Priapea

Priapea

In spring I am thronged with the rose, in autumn with fruits, in summer with ears of grain: one bristling plague is mine—the winter. For I fear the cold, and I dread lest, being of wood, this god should furnish fire to the unwitting husbandmen.

I, this one—I, fashioned by rustic art, I, dried up—O traveller, behold, a poplar— guard this little field which you see on the left and before you, and my master's little farm and the poor man's little garden, and ward off the thief with my evil hand. For me a painted garland is set out in spring, for me the ear of grain reddens in the burning sun, for me the sweet grape upon the green vine-shoot, for me the olive that falls, ripened by the cold. From my pastures the dainty she-goat, full-grown, carries her milk-laden udders to the city, and from my sheepfolds the fat lamb sends home a right hand heavy with coin. And the tender heifer, while her mother lows, pours forth her blood before the temples of the gods. Therefore, traveller, you shall reverence this god and keep your hand off: this is good for you, for, lo, the savage member stands ready. "I should like that, by Pollux," you say. But, by Pollux, behold, the bailiff comes, for whom, torn off by a strong arm, that member becomes a club fit for his right hand.

This place, O young men, and this marshy little farm, roofed with reed-wicker and bundles of sedge,

I, fashioned by a rustic axe from dry oak, nourish, that it may grow more blessed year by year. For its masters worship me and greet me as a god, the father of the poor cottage and the youthful son, the one tending me with constant diligence, so that the grass, so that the rough bramble may be kept far from my little shrine, the other ever bringing lavish gifts in his little hand. For me a painted garland is set out in the flowering spring, the first soft ear, green, of the tender stalk, yellow violets for me, and the milk-white poppy, and pale gourds and sweetly smelling apples, the grape reddening, reared beneath the vine-leaf's shade. This altar too for me—but you will keep silent— the bearded little he-goat and the horn-footed she-goat anoint with blood. In return for which honours it is needful for Priapus

to provide all things, and to guard the master's little garden and vineyard. Wherefore, O boys, keep your wicked plunderings from here. A rich neighbour is near, and a careless Priapus. Take from there: this path then will lead you itself.