OvidОвидий

2. Enough, O men, of defiling yourselves with food not permitted!

You have the grains of the field; beneath the weight of a rich burden

Of juicy, ruddy fruit the branches of the trees bow down;

Clusters hang heavy and ripe on the vines; roots and herbs,

Tender and savory, ripen in the fields; and others —

The coarser ones — fire softens and makes sweeter;

The pure liquid of milk and the sweet-smelling combs

Of sweet honey that smells of a fragrant herb — of thyme,

Are not forbidden you. With lavish bounty the earth

Offers you all good things; without cruel killing and without blood

She prepares savory dishes for you.

Only the wild beasts

Appease their hunger with living flesh, and not all beasts at that:

Horses, sheep, oxen — they, after all, feed peacefully on grass;

Only the fierce breeds of beasts of prey: savage tigers,

Pitilessly cruel lions, greedy wolves, and bears

Rejoice in the shedding of blood…

And what a criminal custom,

What a dreadful abomination: entrails swallowed by entrails!

Can we fatten with the flesh and blood of beings like us

Our own greedy bodies, and by killing another creature —

By another’s death — sustain our life?

Is it not shameful

For us, surrounded so lavishly by the gifts of the bountiful earth,

Our mother and provider — for us, not animals but men —

Greedily, with cruel teeth, to rip and tear with relish

Shreds of mangled carcasses, like savage wild beasts?

Can you not appease, without sacrificing another’s life,

O men, your frenzied hunger, the greed of insatiable bellies?

There was — the tradition has come down — a golden age, not for nothing

So called; people lived happy and gentle — and simply;

They were content and well fed on the fruits of the earth alone,

And did not defile their lips with blood. And the birds then safely

Cut through the air around them; and the timid hares fearlessly

Roamed the fields; no little fish hung on a hook then,

A victim of its trust; there were no cunning snares and traps;

Fear, treachery, and malice no one knew. And everywhere

Peace reigned.

Where is it now? And how have you earned your death,

You harmless sheep, creatures meek and without malice,

Born for the good of men? You who give us to drink so generously

The milk of your bountiful udders, and warm us with your soft wool.

You whose happy life is of more use to us than your cruel death?

What wrong have you done, ox, destined to be a help to men,

You, the uncomplaining, submissive comrade and friend of the plowman?

How can one forget gratitude, how bring oneself with a cruel hand

To let the sharp ax fall on the obedient, gentle neck

Chafed by the heavy yoke? To redden mother earth, our provider,

With the warm blood of the worker who gave her the harvest?…

Terrible is your vile custom, and slippery your path to crime,

O men! It is not hard to kill a man for one who, hearing

The pitiful death rattles, slaughters innocent calves,

Who kills the lamb whose feeble cries are like

The weeping of a child, who strikes down a bird of the air for sport

Or — having fed it on purpose with his own hand — devours it!

Right beside your habitual cruelty stands cannibalism!

Oh, abstain, come to your senses, I implore you, brothers!

Do not tear the farmer’s ox from the plow by killing it;

Let him who served you faithfully die no violent death:

Do not destroy the defenseless flocks: let them clothe you,

Warm you with their soft fleece, and give you their milk to drink in plenty,

Living in peace, dying quietly in your pastures.

Throw away your snares and traps! Do not touch the little birds of the air;

Let them, flitting carefree, sing to us of happiness and freedom.

Your cunningly woven nets, your hooks with their deadly bait,

Throw them away! Do not catch the trusting fish by treacherous deceit;

Do not defile human lips with the blood of living creatures;

Mortals — spare mortals!

Feed on permitted food —

Food fit for the loving, pure soul of man.

Ovid (translated by A. P. Barykova).