Ovid

“ Or to rip apart her tunic – to degrade her – from its top edge
To the middle (her belt would have come to the rescue at the middle) ?
But indeed I allowed myself to tear hair from her forehead
And brand her tender cheeks with my nail [like] an iron- [hearted thug] .
She stood there distraught, her face white and bloodless,
Like the marble hewn from the hills of Paros;
I saw her lifeless limbs and trembling frame,
Just as when the soft breeze fans the foliage of the poplar,
As the slender reed is rustled by the gentle West Wind
Or the surface of the water ruffled by the warm South Wind ”

“ And tears, long kept in suspense, streamed from her face,
As water springs from a pile of snow.
Then for the first time I began to feel myself guilty;
The tears were my own blood, which she was shedding.
Yet three times I tried to sink down before her feet and make humble entreaties;
Three times she thrust aside the hands she dreaded.
But (since vengeance will lessen anguish) do not hesitate
To immediately fly at my face with your nails;
Spare neither my eyes nor my hair:
Anger favours hands, however weak. ”

“ Now go, conqueror, prepare your magnificent triumphs,
Circle [your] hair with laurel and fulfil [your] vows to Jupiter,
And let the crowd of followers who accompany your chariot
Shout “By Jupiter! [Our] brave victor has conquered a girl!” ”