Ovid

“ All will fear you, extending their arms to you
The people will sing ‘io triumphe’ with a great voice.
Flatteries and Error and Madness, constantly having followed
The crowd as your supporters, will be your companions.
You overcome both men and gods with these soldiers;
If someone should take away these advantages from you, you will be naked.
Your happy mother will applaud your triumph from the height
Of Olympus and sprinkle the roses laid beside her on your face.
You will go with jewels on your wings, with jewels of various colours
In your hair, golden yourself in your golden chariot. ”

“ I stretch out my conquered hands to your authority.
There is no need for war: I ask for mercy and peace;
Nor will I be praise to you conquered by arms unarmed.
Bind your hair with myrtle, yoke your mother’s doves;
Your stepfather himself will give you a chariot as he should;
And with the people shouting about your triumph, you will stand in the given
Chariot and you will move the joined birds with skill.
Captive young men and girls will be led:
This procession will be a magnificent triumph for you. ”

“ I myself, your new plunder, will have the wound just made
And I will bear my new chains with a captive mind.
Good Sense will be led with hands tied behind his back
And Modesty and whatever is against Love’s camp. ”