Becoming Pasiphae

Euripides, Pasiphae fr. 82.1-13

“Even if I deny it, I could not persuade you–
since it is abundantly clear how things turned out.
If I would have offered myself to a man,
Vending out my secret sex to him,
Then I would already clearly appear to be an adultress.
But know, since I am crazy from a god’s attack,
I grieve, but I grieve over an unwilling crime.
There’s no probability to it! What did I see in that bull
bull to be bitten by the most wretched disease?”

Πασιφά(η), Fragment 82.1-13

ἀρνουμένη μὲν οὐκέτ’ ἂν πίθοιμί σε•
πάντως γὰρ ἤδη δῆλον ὡς ἔχει τάδε.
ἐγ[ὼ] γὰρ εἰ μὲν ἀνδρὶ προύβαλον δέμας
τοὐμὸν λαθραίαν ἐμπολωμένη Κύπριν,
ὀρθῶς ἂν ἤδη μάχ̣[λο]ς̣ οὖσ’ ἐφαινόμην•
νῦν δ’, ἐκ θεοῦ γὰρ προσβολῆς ἐμηνάμην,
ἀλγῶ μέν, ἐστὶ δ’ οὐχ ἑκο[ύσ]ιον κακόν.
ἔχει γὰρ οὐδὲν εἰκός• ἐς τί γὰρ βοὸς
βλέψασ’ ἐδήχθην θυμὸν αἰσχίστηι νόσωι;

Image result for ancient greek vase pasiphae

Greek Anthology 9.456

“If you have taught me to love a bull who wanders in the mountains,
Teach me to moo so that I might call my dear husband.”

Εἰ ποθέειν μ᾿ ἐδίδαξας ἐν οὔρεσι ταῦρον ἀλήτην,
μυκηθμόν με δίδαξον, ὅτῳ φίλον ἄνδρα καλέσσω.

Sometimes You Might be Too Pretty to Be Loved (Sappho to Phaon; Ovid Heroides, 15.31-40)

“If unfair nature denied beauty to me,
Take in exchange for appearance my wit.
I am short, but my name stretches across all lands:
I am the measure of my fame not my height.
If I am not pale enough, well, Cepheian Andromeda,
Dark with the color of her country, pleased Perseus!
White doves often mate with different colors:
The dark turtle-dove has a love dressed in green.
If no one who cannot be worthy of you in beauty alone
will be yours, then no one will ever be yours.”

si mihi difficilis formam natura negavit,
ingenio formae damna repende meae.
sum brevis. at nomen, quod terras impleat omnes,
est mihi: mensuram nominis ipsa fero.
candida si non sum, placuit Cepheia Perseo
Andromede patriae fusca colore suae.
et variis albae iunguntur saepe columbae
et niger a viridi turtur amatur ave.
si nisi quae facie poterit te digna videri,
nulla futura tua est, nulla futura tua est!

Sappho writes this letter, according to Ovid, to Phaon.