C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Aphrodite and Selene
By Lucian (c. 125–after 180)
A
Selene—Ask that son of yours, Aphrodite. He is to blame for all this.
Aphrodite—Ah, he respects no one. What things he has done to me, his mother! now dragging me to Ida for Anchises’s sake, now to Libanus to meet that Assyrian boy. And the Assyrian he brought into Persephone’s good graces too, and so robbed me of half my lover. I have often threatened to break his arrows and quiver and tie his wings unless he abandoned these games. And I have taken him across my knee before this and smacked him with my sandal. But somehow or other, though he is frightened at the moment and prays for mercy, he presently forgets all about it. But tell me, is Endymion handsome?
Selene—To my mind he is very handsome indeed, Aphrodite; especially when he lies wrapped in his blanket asleep on the rocks, his left hand loosely closed upon his darts, his right arm bent above his head and making a charming frame for his face, his whole body relaxed in sleep and stirred by his sweet breathing. Then I came down noiselessly, on tiptoe, lest he wake annoyed. Still, you know all this: why should I tell you any more? But I am sick with love.