Latin Without Latin: Ad Amicam Absentem

This is my fifty-seventh "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. One of the things I like about the distich form is that it encourages poets to use paradoxes, taking advantage of the two-line format to introduce an element of paradoxical surprise. Sometimes the poets even include the word "paradox" in the title of the poem, as in this distich by John Owen, which has the following title: Paradóxon. Ad Amícam Abséntem.

Here is how the title works:

Paradóxon. This is a Greek word, meaning paradox (the -on is a noun ending in Greek, as likewise in the Greek word automaton which we use in English).

Ad Amícam. The preposition ad means to, and the word amícam is the accusative form of amíca, meaning girlfriend (compare the English work amicable). So, the poem is a paradox, paradóxon, which Owen is dedicating to his girlfriend, ad amícam.

Abséntem. This is from the Latin participle absens, meaning absent; the form agrees with amícam - so Owen is dedicating the poem to his absent girlfriend: ad amícam abséntem.

Here is the poem to that absent girlfriend:

Uror amóre miser, tantóque poténtius uror,
Quanto qui me urit lóngius ignis abest.

And here is how it works:

Uror. This is from the Latin verb urere, meaning to burn (from the participle, ustus, we get the word combustion). The form is first-person singular, and it is passive: uror, I am burned, I am burning (i.e. intransitively, I am on fire).

amóre. This is from the Latin noun amor, meaning love (compare the English word amorous). The form is in the ablative case: amóre, by love, with love. That first the verb nicely: uror amóre, I am being burned by love, I am burning with love.

miser. This is the Latin adjective that means wretched, miserable. The form is masculine singular, agreeing with the subject of the verb: uror amóre miser, miserable, I am burning with love. In English, we're more likely to use an adverb instead of an adjective to express this idea: I am burning miserably with love.

tantóque. The -que is a particle at the end of the word which means and. The word tanto is from the adjective tantus, meaning so much, so great. It could be dative in case, or ablative; we will have to read on to find out which.

poténtius uror. Here we again have uror, I am burning, together with an adverb: poténtius, more strongly, more powerfully (compare the English word potent). Now we know what tanto is doing in the sentence: it is in the ablative case to express the degree of comparison - tanto poténtius uror, I am burning more powerfully - tanto, by this much more powerfully.

Quanto. This word is from the adjective quantus, meaning how much, how great. It is paired with tanto in a correlative expression: tanto-quanto, by so much as this much… The tanto-quanto construction is very simple in Latin as you can see, but it sure sounds awkward in English! We'll need to keep reading to see just what terms of the comparison are.

qui. Here we have a relative pronoun, qui, meaning who, which, that. It is in the nominative case, so it is the subject of the relative clause, and we need to find a masculine noun that is the reference for the pronoun.

me urit. Here we have the accusative form me of the first-person pronoun ego, meaning I, me. The word urit is the third-person singular form of the verb urere that we saw in the first line: urit, he/she/it burns. Put it all together and you have a relative clause: qui me urit, which (masculine thing) burns me.

lóngius. Aha, just what we needed: another comparative adverb to go with the parallel construction; longius means longer, farther away, at a greater distance. But we need a verb to go with this adverb to see just how it works.

ignis. This is the Latin noun that means fire (compare the English word ignite). The form is nominative, giving us the subject of the main clause - and since ignis is a masculine noun, it is also the reference for the pronoun qui: the fire, ignis, qui me urit, which burns me. Now we just need a verb for the main clause to put it all together!

abest. This is from the Latin verb abesse, to be away, to be absent (the word absens that we saw in the title is a participial form of this same verb). So, the farther away the fire is, quanto lóngius ignis abest, the more powerfully I burn, tanto poténtius uror.

So, unlike the usual sort of fire, the fire of love burns hotter at a distance: I am wretchedly on fire with love, says Owen, uror amóre miser, and the farther away the fire is, quanto lóngius ignis abest (which fire? the fire that burns me, ignis qui me urit), the more powerfully I burn, tanto poténtius uror. His absent girlfriend, amíca absens, is, of course, that far-away fire!

Uror amóre miser, tantóque poténtius uror,
Quanto qui me urit lóngius ignis abest.

The laws of physics say the fire's heat is felt less at a distance, but the laws of love say just the opposite - hence the paradoxon, the paradox.

For more of Owen's poems in Latin, you can visit the Owen stream in my Latin distichs blog, and as I add new English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog.

(image source)

Latin Without Latin: Petito

This is my fifty-sixth "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. It's been a while since I did one of the distichs of Cato; given that these poems constitute what must be the most famous collection of Latin distich poetry, I did not want to neglect him! So, here is one of Cato's distichs:

Quod iustum est pétito vel quod videátur honéstum;
Nam stultum pétere est quod possit iure negári.

Here is how it works:

Quod. This is from the Latin relative pronoun, qui; the form quod is neuter singular: that (thing) which.

iustum est. This is from the Latin adjective iustus, meaning righteous, right, just. The form iustum is neuter singular, agreeing with the relative pronoun. The word est is the third-person singular form of the verb esse, to be (compare the English word essential). That completes the relative clause: quod iustum est, that which is right.

pétito. This is from the Latin verb petere, to ask for, aim at, seek (compare the English word petition). The form is a future imperative, a direct command: pétito, seek, ask for! The relative clause provides the object of the verb: pétito quod iustum est, ask for what is right.

vel. This Latin word means or.

quod videátur. Here we have another relative clause introduced with quod, plus a form of the verb videre, to see (compare the English word video). In the passive voice, which we have here, the word means not to see, but to be seen, to seem. The mood is subjunctive, expressing potential, possibility. So, seek what is just, pétito quod iustum est, or what can be seen, quod videátur... can seen as what? We need a predicate to complete the clause.

honéstum. This is a form of the Latin adjective honestus, worthy, honorable, honest. The form is neuter, completing the clause: pétito quod videátur honéstum, seek what can be seen as worthy.

As often the first line of the poem has give us a direct command; now the second line will then provide the reason why:

Nam. This Latin word means for, because. It lets us know that the second line is introducing an explanation of the command in the first line.

stultum. This is from the Latin adjective stultus meaning silly, foolish (compare the English word stultify). The form is neuter singular: stultum, a foolish thing.

pétere est. Here we have the verb petere again, to seek, along with the verb est, it is. Put it all together and we have a statement: stultum pétere est. It is foolish to ask for... but to ask for what? We need an object for the verb.

quod possit. We have the relative pronoun quod as in the first line, along with a form of the verb posse, can, be able (compare the English word possibility). The form possit is third-person singular, and the mood is subjunctive: quod possit, what could be, what might be.

iure. This is from the Latin noun ius, meaning law, right (compare the English word justice). The form iure is ablative, meaning by right, rightfully.

negári. This is from the Latin verb negáre, to deny (compare the English word negation). The form is passive: negári, to be denied. That completes the statement: stultum pétere est, it is foolish to ask for, quod possit iure negári, that which might be rightfully denied.

So, put it all together and you have a good piece of advice in the first line - seek what is just, quod iustum est pétito, or what can be seen to be worthy, vel quod videátur honéstum - along with a justification in the second line: because it is foolish to ask, nam stultum pétere est, for what might be rightfully denied, quod possit iure negári. Very useful advice for the next time you need to ask your boss for something!

Quod iustum est pétito vel quod videátur honéstum;
Nam stultum pétere est quod possit iure negári.

For more of Cato's poems in Latin, you can visit the Cato stream in my Latin distichs blog, and here is a link to the blog post for this specific poem. Meanwhile, as I add new English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog. The next distich is a love poem, from John Owen to his absent girlfriend: Ad Amicam Absentem.

Below, you can see that this LOLCat has not been reading Cato's distichs! :-)

(image source)

Latin Without Latin: Zoilus

This is my fifty-fifth "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. In yesterday's poem, Martial rebuked one of his critics very wittily, so I thought a good follow-up would be a poem about Zoilus, the archetypal critic of the Greco-Roman tradition (Zoilus is the ultimate human critic, while Momus was the critic among the gods). The historical Zoilus was a Greek grammarian and Cynic philosopher of the fourth century B.C.E. He gained the nickname of Homeromastix, the "Whipper-of-Homer" for his harsh criticism of Homer's poems. Legend has it that when Zoilus directed his criticisms of Ptolemy II Philadelphus, king of Egypt, the king was so furious that he condemned Zoilus to death on the cross (the story is no doubt apocryphal, as Ptolemy reigned in the third century B.C.E., long after the historical Zoilus had shuffled off this mortal coil). As the centuries passed, Zoilus became a proverbial figure, the archetypal critic, as you can see in this poem by Georgius Carolides (1569-1612). As often, Carolides chooses a Latin proverb as the title for his poem: Calúmniae Mórsui Nullum Remédium.

Here is how the title works:

Calúmniae. This is from the Latin noun calúmnia, trickery, a false accusation, a malicious charge, calumny. The form is either dative singular (for calumny) or genitive singular (of calumny); we will have to keep reading to find out which.

Mórsui. This is from the Latin noun morsus, meaning a bite (compare the English word morsel). So, the genitive of calúmniae fits nicely here: calúmniae mórsui, the bite of an accusation, calumny's bite. The word mórsui is in the dative case; we will have to keep on reading to find out the function of this dative.

Nullum. This is from the Latin adjective nullus, meaning not any, none (compare the English word nullify). The form is either masculine or neuter; we will have to keep reading to find out which.

Remédium. This is the Latin noun meaning medicine, remedy. The word is neuter, so with nullum makes a noun phrase: Nullum Remédium, there is not any remedy, there is no remedy. Add in the dative noun phrase and it all fits together: Calúmniae Mórsui Nullum Remédium, There is no remedy for calumny's bite.

So, the title does not mention Zoilus - but it mentions calumny, which is definitely the kind of speech that Zoilus preferred. You will then find Zoilus here in the poem:

Divérsos hóminum sanat medicína dolóres:
Zoiléos mórsus nulla medéla levat.

And here is how the poem works:

Divérsos. This is from the Latin adjective divérsus, meaning separated, different, diverse. The form is masculine plural, and the case is accusative, so we have here the object of our verb - but we need a noun to go with the adjective.

hóminum. This is from the Latin noun homo, meaning person, man (compare the name of our species, homo sapiens - the wise man!). The form hóminum is genitive plural: of people, of men.

sanat. This is from the Latin verb sanáre, meaning to heal (compare the English word sanatorium). The form is third-person singular: sanat, he/she/it heals. We are still waiting on our subject!

medicína. This is the Latin noun that means medicine, and it is in the nominative case, giving us the subject of our verb: sanat medicína, medicine heals. We have part of our object also: divérsos sanat medicína, medicine heals various (masculine things) - but we need an accusative noun to clarify the meaning of the object.

dolóres. This is the Latin word for sorrow, pain (compare the English word dolorous; via Maria de los Dolores, "Mary of the Sorrows," it is the origin of the name Dolores). The noun is masculine plural in the accusative case, dolóres, so that gives us our object completes the sentence: sanat medicína, medicine can heal, divérsos dolóres hóminum, people's various pains.

So, the first line makes an affirmative statement about medicine and its powers. In the next line, however, we encounter Zoilus:

Zoiléos. This is the adjectival form of Zoilus' name, masculine plural, in the accusative case. So, the object of the verb is going to be "Zoilean," having something to do with Zoilus.

mórsus. We saw this word, bite, in the title already, and it goes with our adjective: mórsus here is masculine plural (mórsūs, long u), and like the adjective Zoiléos it is in the accusative case: Zoiléos mórsus, the bites of Zoilus. So, we have the object of the verb - now we just need the verb and its subject.

nulla. This is from the adjective nullus, not any, which we saw in the first line. This time the form is either feminine or neuter; we will have to keep reading to find out which it is.

medéla. This Latin noun means something with a healing power, a cure, medicine (you can see that medéla shares the same root with the word medicína that we saw in the first line, and also remédium in the title). The word is feminine nominative, in agreement with our adjective nulla, giving us our subject: nulla medéla, no medicine.

levat. This is from the Latin verb levare, meaning to lighten, to relieve, to alleviate. The form is third-person singular: levat, it alleviates. Put it all together and you have a complete statement: nulla medéla levat, no medicine can alleviate, Zoiléos mórsus, the bites of Zoilus.

Luckily, I am a pretty thick-skinned person, but no one likes to be bitten by criticism - so watch out for Zoilus, because his criticism bites... and there is no medicine that will heal the wound:

Divérsos hóminum sanat medicína dolóres:
Zoiléos mórsus nulla medéla levat.

To find out more about Zoilus, you can visit this Wikipedia article. Meanwhile, for more of Carolides' poems in Latin, you can visit the Carolides stream in my Latin distichs blog, and as I add more of these English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog. The next essay is one of the distichs of Cato: Petito.

I could not find a portrait of Zoilus online, but below is a sculpture of a Cynic philosopher - that will have to suffice!

(image source)

Latin Without Latin: Ede Tua

This is my fifty-fourth "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. I had fun with the Martial poem yesterday, so I thought I would do another Martial poem today. The object of Martial's sharp-tongued wit in this poem is a fellow poet named Laelius:

Cum tua non edas, carpis mea cármina, Laeli;
Cárpere vel noli nostra, vel ede tua.

Here is how it works:

Cum. This Latin word can mean either when or with. We will have to wait and see what fits.

tua. This is from the Latin possessive adjective, tuus, meaning your, yours. The form could be either feminine singular or neuter plural so, again, we are going to have to wait and see.

non edas. Here we have the Latin verb edere, meaning to give out, put out, publish (it is a compound of ex- out, and -dare, give; this verb is the origin of our English words edit, edition, etc.) The form is second-person singular: edas, you give out, you publish. The mood is subjunctive, which lets us know what to do with cum: the word cum, meaning when, often takes a subjunctive verb and expresses a logical concession, something like English even when or although: cum non edas, even when you do not publish, although you don't publish. The word tua now fits as the neuter object of the verb: tua, your (things). Put it all together, and you have a complete clause: cum tua non edas, although you don't publish your own (things).

carpis. This is from the Latin verb carpere, meaning to pick, to pluck and, metaphorically, to gnaw at or criticize, to carp or complain. The form is second-person singular: carpis, you criticize.

mea cármina. Here we have a form of the first-person possessive adjective, meus, meaning my, mine. The Latin noun carmen means song or poem (and it is the origin of the English word charm). The gender is neuter and the form is plural: mea cármina, my poems. That gives us an object for our verb: carpis mea cármina, you criticize my poems. The cármina also lets us be more specific about the word tua as we can now see the parallel structure: cum tua (cármina) non edas, although you don't publish your (poems).

Laeli. This is the vocative form of the Roman name Laelius. As often, Martial is addressing his poem to a specific person, although we do not know anything about who this Laelius was.

So, in the first line, Martial sets up the occasion for the poem: Laelius has been criticizing Martial's poems, carpis mea cármina, Laeli - even though Laelius does not publish his own, cum tua non edas. The second line contains Martial's advice about how to remedy this situation:

Cárpere vel. Here we have again the verb cárpere, to criticize, along with the conjunction vel, meaning or. When used in a pair, vel…vel… means something like the English either…or… The second line of the poem has two halves, each coordinated by this word vel.

noli. This is from the verb nolle, meaning to not want (it is a contraction: non+velle = nolle, not to want). The form is an imperative and is used to express negative commands: cárpere noli, don't criticize!

nostra. This is from the Latin first-person plural possessive adjective, noster, meaning our, ours. The form nostra is neuter plural, so Martial is talking about poems, cármina, again - and he is using the "royal" we in this line as he gives Laelius a direct command: cárpere vel noli nostra (cármina), either don't criticize our (poems)… The second half of the line will give the alternative!

vel ede tua. Here we have again the verb edere, to give out, to publish, along with the neuter plural, tua, your (meaning tua cármina, your poems). The verb form is imperative, expressing a command: ede, publish! So, either don't criticize our poems, cárpere vel noli nostra, or publish yours: vel ede tua!

Thus in the second line Martial presents his addressee with a choice: he tells Laelius to publish his poetry, ede tua, or else he better stop criticizing Martial's poems: cárpere noli nostra. Notice also the nice chiasmus (criss-cross pattern) of the verbs; the order is edas...carpis in the first line, and then carpere...ede in the second. Martial, as always, is very elegant, in addition to being sharp-tongued:

Cum tua non edas, carpis mea cármina, Laeli;
Cárpere vel noli nostra, vel ede tua.

As someone who publishes a lot online, and who has received her fair share of sometimes carping comments, I really like this poem. I am far more likely to take criticism seriously from someone who has their own website or blog, as opposed to someone who just wants to complain without making their own contribution. After all, it takes about two minutes to create a blog with Blogger.com ... and the Internet has room for everyone! So just as Martial can say to Laelius, ede tua, I would say the same to all the students and teachers out there: the more blogs, the better!

Meanwhile, for more of Martial's poems in Latin, you can visit the Martial stream in my Latin distichs blog, which includes a blog post for this specific poem. As I add more of these English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog. The next poem is about that proverbial critic, Zoilus.

(image source)

Latin Without Latin: Non Amo Te

This is my fifty-third "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. In case yesterday's post left people with the impression that I was not interested at all in Roman poetry, that is not the case! The Roman poet Martial (who lived from 40 CE to c. 104 CE) is a great source for distich poetry and exerted a tremendous influence on the development of the distich genre in Latin. I have chosen one of his distichs for today - it is one that has a popular history of its own in English, too, which I've included down below. Meanwhile, here is the poem:

Non amo te, Sábidi, nec possum dícere quare;
hoc tantum possum dícere: non amo te.

Here is how it works:

Non amo. Here we have the Latin verb amare (compare the English word amatory), in the first-person singular form: amo, I love. The word non is like English not, negating the verb: non amo, I do not love.

te. This is the Latin second-person singular pronoun, tu, in the accusative case: te. That gives us a complete statement: non amo te, I do not love you.

Sábidi. This is from the Latin name Sabidius. Although people have speculated about the identity of this Sabidius and just why Martial did not like him, such speculations are just that: speculation. We do not know anything about who this Sabidius was. The form here is vocative, Sabidi, so Martial is addressing Sabidius directly in the poem (Martial's poems often have a personal addressee).

nec possum. Here we have the Latin verb posse, meaning can, be able (compare the English word possible); the form is first-person singular: possum, I can. The word nec is a negating conjunction, meaning and not, nor. Put them together and you have: nec possum, and I cannot, I am not able to … to do what? We need an infinitive to complete the verb phrase.

dícere. This is the Latin verb meaning to speak, to say (compare the English words diction, dictum). The infinitive completes the verbal phrase: nec possum dícere, and I am not able to say, I cannot say.

quare. This Latin word means why, which completes the statement: nec possum dicere quare, I cannot say why.

So, the first line lets us know that Martial does not love Sabidius, Non amo te, Sábidi, even if he cannot say why, nec possum dícere quare. The second line will simply drive that point home once again!

hoc. This is from the Latin pronoun hic, meaning this. The form is neuter singular: hoc, this thing. We cannot tell yet if the form is nominative (subject of the verb) or accusative (object); we will have to keep on reading.

tantum. This Latin adverb means only, merely.

possum dícere. Here we have the same verbs from the first line: possum, I can, dícere, say. That gives us a complete statement: hoc tantum possum dicere, I can only say this.

non amo te. The poem ends just as it began, with the words non amo te, I do not love you.

Put it all together, and you have a rejection that is both completely vague and absolutely definite:

Non amo te, Sábidi, nec possum dícere quare;
hoc tantum possum dícere: non amo te.

This epigram became famous in connection with one "Doctor Fell," i.e. John Fell, who was a 17th-century academic and teacher at Christ Church College in Oxford. Fell ordered one of his students, Tom Brown, to give a translation of this epigram by Martial, and Tom Brown supposedly replied offered this translation:

I do not love thee, Dr Fell,
The reason why I cannot tell;
But this I know, and know full well,
I do not love thee, Dr Fell.

While the incident may or may not have really happened, it was widely repeated and has made this Martial poem far more famous in the English tradition than it ever would have been otherwise!

For more of Martial's poems in Latin, you can visit the Martial stream in my Latin distichs blog, which includes a blog post for this specific poem. As I add new English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog. The next essay is about another Martial poem: Ede Tua.

Meanwhile, you can read more about Doctor John Fell and about the satirist Tom Brown at Wikipedia; the portrait below is one of Doctor Fell:

(Doctor Fell)

Latin Without Latin: Auctores

This is my fifty-second "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. After a discussion online today about the difference between teaching with a humanistic pedagogy as opposed to teaching the humanities as a canon limited to classical Greek and Roman authors, I was inspired to include this little distich, as I am definitely a fan of all kinds of writing, ancient and modern alike! This little poem comes from the Disticha de Educatione of Urbano Appendini, published in 1834 (you can see the whole book at Google Books):

Auctóres miror véteres mirórque recéntes:
Pulchra mihi, quisquis díxerit illa, placent.

Here is how it works:

Auctóres. This is from the Latin noun auctor, meaning author; the form is plural: auctóres, authors. The form could be either nominative (subject of the sentence) or accusative (object of the verb); we will have to wait to find out.

miror. This is from the Latin verb mirári, to wonder at, be amazed at, admire (the English word miracle is from this same root). The form is first-person singular: miror, I admire. So that lets us know the auctóres are the object of the verb: auctóres miror, I admire authors.

véteres. This is from the Latin adjective vetus, meaning old (compare the English words veteran and inveterate). The form véteres is plural, agreeing with authors: auctóres miror véteres, I admire the old authors.

mirórque. Here we have the verb míror again, with a -que stuck on the end, meaning and. So we have a second statement to go with the first: auctóres miror véteres, I admire the old authors, mirórque, and I admire...

recéntes. This is from the Latin adjective recens, meaning fresh, new, recent. The form recéntes is plural, giving us the object for our second verb: mirórque recéntes, and I admire recent authors.

So that gives us the first line: I admire authors both new and old, Auctóres miror véteres mirórque recéntes. The second line explains why:

Pulchra. This is from the Latin adjective pulcher, meaning handsome, beautiful (compare the English word pulchritude). The form is neuter plural: pulchra, beautiful things. It could be nominative or accusative; we will need to keep reading to find out what role it plays in the sentence.

mihi. This is from the Latin first-person pronoun, ego, in the dative case: mihi, to me. So, we have an adjective and a pronoun, but no verb yet to show us how they work together.

quisquis. This is a Latin pronoun that means whoever. The comma helps give us a clue that this word will be the subject of a clause inserted into our main statement; the form is nominative, so quisquis, whoever, will be the subject of the verb.

díxerit. This is from the Latin verb dicere, to speak, to say (compare the English words diction, dictation). The form is third-person subjunctive, expressing a hypothetical situation that goes perfectly with the pronoun quisquis: whoever might have said, quisquis díxerit. Now we need an object for this verb!

illa. This is the neuter plural form of the pronoun ille, meaning those things, them - which gives us the object of our verb: quisquis díxerit illa, whoever might have said them. Now we just need a verb for the main clause of the sentence.

placent. This is from the Latin verb placere, meaning to please (as in the English word placebo). The form is third-person plural, so pulchra, the beautiful things, must be the subject: pulchra placent, beautiful things are pleasing - and don't forget about the pronoun, mihi: to me. So that gives us a complete statement: pulchra mihi placent, beautiful things please me (i.e., I like beautiful things), quisquis díxerit illa, whoever might have said them.

That indeed sums up my own wide-ranging approach to language and literature, including Latin - I like the authors both old and new:

Auctóres miror véteres mirórque recéntes:
Pulchra mihi, quisquis díxerit illa, placent.

When looking for an image to use for this post, I was delighted to find an old "Authors" card game for sale at eBay - I used to play this game when I was a small child! For more poems by Appendini, see the Appendini stream in my blog, including a post for this particular poem. For more English essays, check the English stream at the blog. The next poem is by one of the ancient authors, the Roman poet Martial: Non Amo Te.

(image source)

Latin Without Latin: Laudo Capillos

This is my fifty-first "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. After yesterday's poem about the bald man, I thought I should include another one about baldness - and this one is even more sharp-tongued than yesterday's poem. I found it in Nihus' huge distich anthology; the poem itself is by Jean Tixier de Ravisi, know in Latin by the name Ravisius Textor (c. 1480-1524). Here is the poem:

Calve, mihi tecum nihil est: sed laudo capíllos,
Istud qui taetrum deseruére caput.

Here is how the poem works:

Calve. This is from the Latin adjective calvus, meaning bald (as in the Bible place name, Calvary). The gender is masculine and the case is vocative, which means the poet is speaking directly to someone: Calve, O bald man, …

mihi. This is from the Latin first-person pronoun, ego. The form is dative: mihi, to me.

tecum. This is a combination of two words: te and cum. The Latin preposition cum means with, together. The word te is from the second-person pronoun, tu. Put them together and you have a prepositional phrase: tecum, with you.

nihil. This is the Latin word for nothing (compare the English words nihilism, annihilate, etc.). The form could be either nominative or accusative; we will have to wait and see what its function is in the sentence.

est. This is from the Latin verb esse, to be (compare the English word essential). The form is third-person singular: est, it is, there is. With the verb, we now have a complete sentence: mihi tecum nihil est, there is nothing for me, mihi, with you, tecum - in other words, I have nothing to do with you, we have nothing to do with each other.

sed. This little word means but.

laudo. This is from the Latin verb laudare, meaning to praise (compare the English word laudable, and our use of the Latin phrases summa cum laude, etc.). The form is first-person singular: laudo, I praise.

capíllos. This is from the Latin word capillus, meaning hair (compare the English word capillary). The form capíllos is accusative, giving us the object of our verb: laudo capíllos, I praise the hairs. Now that is a surprise! The first word of the line, Calve, let us know that the poet is speaking to a bald man - but the last word of the line invokes hairs. What hairs? Whose hairs? We will find out in the second line!

Istud qui. Here we have two Latin pronouns: istud is the neuter form of iste, meaning that, that one (we don't have a neuter noun yet, so we will have to wait to see what it refers to). The word qui is a relative pronoun, masculine plural, referring back to our masculine noun, capíllos, in the main clause: capíllos qui, hairs which…

taetrum. This is from the Latin adjective taeter, meaning foul, disgusting, grotesque. The form is neuter, so, like istud, this tells us more about some neuter noun: some disgusting, taetrum, neuter noun. We need to read on to find out what it is.

deseruére. This is from the Latin verb deserere, to abandon, to desert. The form is third-person plural, past tense: deseruére, deserted. We already have our subject, the hairs: capíllos qui deseruére, the hairs which deserted… what? We need an object for the verb.

caput. This is the Latin noun that means head (as in English words like captain and decapitate, and also in the Latin phrase per capita). The noun is neuter accusative, giving us the object of our verb: capíllos qui deseruére caput, the hairs which deserted the head. Plus, we know more about the head - it is istud taetrum caput, that disgusting head of yours, O bald man!

Put it all together and you have quite an insult: O bald man, Calve, you and I have nothing to do with each other, mihi tecum nihil est, but I praise the hairs, laudo capíllos, which deserted, qui deseruére, your disgusting head, istud taetrum caput. The idea, of course, is that if even your own hair could not stand you, I will not have anything to do with you either... zing!

Calve, mihi tecum nihil est: sed laudo capíllos,
Istud qui taetrum deseruére caput.

I suppose from the brashness of this poem we can assume that the poet, Ravisius Textor, had a full head of luxuriant hair, ha ha (I looked for a portrait of Ravisius Textor online but could not find one, alas). Meanwhile, for more poems from Nihus' anthology, you can visit the Nihus stream in my Latin distichs blog, and as I add new English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog likewise. The next poem is about authors, old and new: Auctores.

(image source)

Latin Without Latin: Ad Calvum

This is my fiftieth "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. I thought I would follow up yesterday's poem about the apple tree in the Garden of Eden, with another poem that includes a tree; this poem again comes from John Owen, and it is entitled Ad Calvum.

Ad. This Latin preposition means to, toward (you can see this in many English compounds such as admit, advent, etc.).

Calvum. This is from the Latin adjective calvus, meaning bald (compare the Bible word Calvary, "the place of the skull" - a skull being profoundly bald, of course). The gender is masculine and the case is accusative, as required by the preposition: Ad Calvum, To a Bald Man.

Here is the poem:

Arbóribus rédeunt crines, et grámina campis,
At cápiti frondes non rediére tuo.

Here is how it works:

Arbóribus. This is from the Latin noun arbor, meaning tree (as in Arbor Day). The form is either ablative plural, by the trees, or dative plural, to the trees - we will have to keep reading to find out which.

rédeunt. This is from the Latin verb redíre, to come back, return, and the form is third-person plural: rédeunt, they come back, they return. The dative fits nicely here, too: arbóribus rédeunt, they return to the trees. But who, or what, are they? We will have to keep reading to find our subject.

crines. This is from the Latin word crinis, meaning hair, but also meaning things that look like hair, like the tail of a comet, foliage of trees, etc. (compare the English word crinoline). The form is plural: crines, hairs. The case is nominative, giving us the subject of the sentence: arbóribus rédeunt crines, the leaves return to the trees.

et. This little Latin word means and.

grámina. This is from the Latin noun gramen, meaning grass (compare the English word graminivorous, grass-eater). The form is plural, grámina, grasses (although in English, we usually do not use the word grass in the plural). As this is a neuter noun, the case could be either nominative or accusative; we need to keep reading to find out.

campis. This is from the Latin noun campus, meaning field. The form is dative plural, so we have a new statement that parallels the first statement, borrowing the same verb: campis (rédeunt) grámina, the grass returns to the fields. Note the elegant chiastic structure: in the first statement, the dative complement came first and was followed by the subject (arbóribus rédeunt crines), while in the second statement, the subject is first, and the dative complement comes second (campis ... grámina).

The first line thus gives a picture of the eternal renewal of nature, with the leaves returning to the trees each spring, arbóribus rédeunt crines, and the grass returning to the fields, et grámina campis. In the second line, alas, we will find that things are not so for the bald man:

At. This little Latin word means but.

cápiti. This is from the Latin noun caput, meaning head (as in English words like captain and decapitate, and also in the Latin phrase per capita). The form is dative: cápiti, to the head.

frondes. This is from the Latin noun frons, meaning a leafy branch, foliage (compare the English word frond). The form is plural: frondes, meaning leaves, leafy branches.

non rediére. The verb rediére is a perfect form of redíre, to return; the form is third-person plural, negative: non rediére, they have not come back. The subject would be the frondes, and the dative cápiti fits perfectly again: cápiti frondes non rediére, the leaves have not returned to the head. Whose head? Read on!

tuo. This is from the Latin adjective tuus, meaning your (you, singular). The form is dative, agreeing with cápiti, with tuo in a very emphatic position at the end of the statement: cápiti frondes non rediére tuo, the leaves have not returned to YOUR head.

So, put it all together, and you have a witty and sharp-tongued rebuke directed at a bald man whose hair will never grow again, no matter how many years may pass:

Arbóribus rédeunt crines, et grámina campis,
At cápiti frondes non rediére tuo.

Students of Latin will hear an echo here of Horace's famous ode - Diffugere nives, redeunt iam gramina campis / arboribusque comae - and thanks to blog reader Arcady7, here is a nice version with both Latin and English:  Horace, Odes 4.7.

For more of Owen's poems in Latin, you can visit the Owen stream in my Latin distichs blog, and as I add new English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog. The next poem is also about a bald man: Laudo Capillos.

(image source)

Latin Without Latin: Fructus Veritus

This is my forty-ninth "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. I've done some mythological poems previously (most recently, Pasiphae), and there are also some distichs which use characters from Bible stories. Adam, in particular, appears frequently! This little poem by Owen, plays with a famous pun in Latin: mālum (with a long "a" vowel) means "apple" (so malic acid is obtained from apples), but mălum (with a short "a" vowel) means "evil" (as in English words like malicious, malevolent, etc.). The title of Owen's poem is Fructus Véritus:

Fructus. This is the Latin word for fruit.

Véritus. This Latin word means dreaded, feared. So, that gives us the title of the poem: Fructus Véritus, The Dreaded Fruit.

The fruit, of course, will be the apple:

Nudus Adam vétita quod vulsit ab árbore, mālum
Haud fuit, at mālo peius: origo măli.

Here is how it works:

Nudus Adam. Here we have Adam, along with the adjective nudus, meaning naked, nude. The noun phrase is in the nominative case, giving us the subject of our verb: nudus Adam, naked Adam.

vétita. The Latin participle vétitus means forbidden (it is from the Latin verb veto, which we use in English). The form vétita is feminine ablative singular - from or by something forbidden in the feminine gender. We will have to wait for a noun to go with the participle!

quod vulsit. The verb vulsit is from vellere, meaning to pluck or to tear (it is related to the English revulsion, in the sense of tearing yourself away from something, pulling away). We already have our subject: nudus Adam, so we can put that together in a statement: nudus Adam vulsit, naked Adam plucked. The little word quod is a relative pronoun in the neuter case, meaning that which: quod nudus Adam vulsit, that which naked Adam plucked. We will need a referent for the pronoun to figure out just what he plucked.

ab árbore. The Latin preposition ab means from, and we have here the ablative form, árbore, of the word for tree, arbor (as in English Arbor Day). The result is a prepositional phrase: ab árbore, from the tree. The word arbor is feminine in gender, so that our adjective fits here too: vétita ab árbore, from the forbidden tree.

mālum. Here is the neuter noun we were waiting for: mālum, the apple. This neuter gender lets us know that the relative pronoun quod refers to mālum, the apple. Now we will learn something about that apple in the main clause of the sentence.

haud fuit. The word fuit is the past tense of the verb esse, to be (compare the English word essential), and haud negates the verb: haud fuit, it was not. So, we now have a negative assertion: quod nudus Adam vulsit, that which naked Adam plucked, vétita ab árbore, from the forbidden tree, mālum haud fuit, was not an apple. Well, that is a surprise! If it was not an apple, what was it? We will need to keep reading to find out.

at. This Latin word means but. So, mālum haud fuit, it was not an apple, at, but… what? We have to keep reading.

mālo peius. We have here the apple again, this time in the ablative case: mālo. The Latin adjective peior means worse (as in the English pejorative), and peius is the neuter form, meaning a worse thing, something worse. The ablative case is used to express the comparison: mālo peius, something worse than an apple. So, mālum haud fuit, it was not an apple, at mālo peius, but something worse than an apple. We will have to keep reading to find out what that would be.

origo. This is the Latin word for origin.

măli. Here we have the pun at the heart of the poem: mălum means evil, and here it is in the genitive form - măli, of evil. Put that with origo and you have a complete phrase: origo măli. (Compare also the English theological expression: original sin.)

So, the pun provides the clue to the meaning of Adam's story: that which naked Adam plucked,
Nudus Adam quod vulsit, from the forbidden tree, vétita ab árbore (note how the prepositional phrase wraps around the verb), was not an apple, mālum haud fuit, but something worse than an apple, at mālo peius; it was the origin of evil: origo măli.

Nudus Adam vétita quod vulsit ab árbore, mālum
Haud fuit, at mālo peius: origo măli.

Here is an English verse rendering by Thomas Harvey, but he is sadly unable to imitate the pun of apple and evil, mālum and mălum, which is the key feature of Owen's poem:

It was not sole an Apple, It was worse,
Adam bought Sins Original, the Curse.

For more of Owen's poems in Latin, you can visit the Owen stream in my Latin distichs blog, including the blog post for this specific poem. As I add new English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog. The next poem is also by Owen and also involves a tree: Ad Calvum.

(image source)

Latin Without Latin: De Parvis

This is my forty-eighth "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. I've been working hard on the distich project for about a month now and have accumulated such a big stack of materials to work with, thanks to being able to work on the project every single day, bit by bit. I chose a poem for today that fits with the theme of gathering things, bit by bit, into a great harvest! This one of the emblematic poems of Rollenhagen; as usual, he has taken a famous proverb (it was even a Google Toolbar Easter Egg a few years ago) to use as the title: De Parvis Grandis Acérvus Erit. You will see the title incorporated into the second line of the poem:

Adde parum parvo, parvo superádde pusíllum,
Tandem de parvis grandis acérvus erit.

Here is how the poem works:

Adde. This is from the Latin verb addere, meaning to add. The form is imperative, giving a command: adde, add!

parum. This Latin word means a very little bit, not much at all. So, that gives us an object for the verb: adde parum, add a tiny bit.

parvo. This is from the Latin adjective parvus, meaning small, tiny, little. The form here is neuter, meaning a small thing, something small, and the case is dative: to something small, to a small thing. That fits in nicely with our verb: adde parum parvo, add a tiny bit to some small thing.

parvo. Here we have parvo again, this time as the first word in our next statement.

superádde. This is from the verb superaddere, to add on top of (the prefix super- means on top of, as in the English words supernatural, superimpose, etc.). The form is again imperative: superadde, add on top!

pusíllum. This is from the Latin adjective pusíllus, meaning small, trifling, tiny (compare the English word pusillanimous). The case is accusative, giving us the object of our verb: parvo superádde pusíllum, to something tiny, parvo, add something small on top, superádde pusíllum.

So, that gives us a first line that tells us what to do: adde, and then superadde - add, and then keep adding on top of that, one little thing after another (parum, parvum, pusíllum). The second line tells us what the result will be:

Tandem. This Latin word means finally, at last. (And yes, this Latin word is the origin of the English use of tandem to mean a two-seated bicycle.)

de parvis. Here we have the Latin preposition de, meaning from, along with the plural form of parvum. The result is a prepositional phrase: de parvis, from small things.

grandis. This Latin adjective means big, great, grand. It is in the nominative case, agreeing with the subject of the statement - but we need to keep on reading to find both our subject and our verb.

acérvus erit. The Latin noun acérvus means a heap, a pile; the form is nominative, giving us the subject of the statement. The verb erit is the future tense form of the verb esse, to be (compare the English word essentia). So, acérvus erit, there will be a heap. More specifically: de parvis, from little things, grandis acérvus erit, there will be a great heap!

So, that is the whole poem: gather up the fruits of your labors bit by bit, and you will have a great harvest! Lots of little things add up to something big:

Adde parum parvo, parvo superádde pusíllum,
Tandem de parvis grandis acérvus erit.

There is a famous edition of Rollenhagen's emblems in English by the 17th-century English poet, George Wither. Here is how he renders this distich in English:

Of Little-Gaines, let Care be had;
For, of small Eares, great Mowes are made.

For more of Rollenhagen's poems in Latin, you can visit the Rollenhagen stream in my Latin distichs blog, and here is a link to the blog post for this specific poem. Meanwhile, As I add new English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog. The next essay is about a less happy harvest: Fructus Veritus.

Latin Without Latin: Herus, Servus; Filia, Mater; Pater, Filius

This is my forty-seventh "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. I chose today's poem (from Anton Moker's Decalogus metricus et paraenetica disticha, published in 1573) in honor of Father's Day. To get ready, just ponder the English proverb "Like father, like son." Here is Moker's poem, which explores that same idea, along with some variations:

Est herus ut servus; séquitur quoque fília matrem;
Ut pater est, talis fílius esse solet.

Here is how the poem works:

Est herus. Here we have the Latin word for master, herus, along with est, is, from the verb esse, to be (compare the English word essential). So, we have the beginning of a sentence: Est herus… The master is… something. We need to keep reading.

ut servus. The Latin word ut means as, just as, so; servus is the word for a servant or slave (compare the English word servile). That gives us a complete statement: Est herus ut servus, The master is as his servant. Or, for our more modern society: like boss, like employee. If you see good-natured employees, there is probably a good-natured boss in charge - but if you see bad-natured employees, there is probably a bad-natured boss in charge.

séquitur. To start off our next statement we have a form of the Latin verb sequi, to follow; the form is third-person singular: séquitur, he/she/it follows (compare the use in English of the Latin phrase, non sequitur; literally. it doesn't follow).

quoque. This Latin word means also. So, the statement we have here is one that matches the meaning of the first sentence.

fília. This is the Latin word for daughter (while the word for son is fílius; compare the English word filial). The form is nominative, so she is the subject of the verb: séquitur quoque fília, the daughter also follows… what? We need an object for the verb.

matrem. This is from the Latin word mater, meaning mother (compare the use of the Latin phrase alma mater in English). The form matrem is accusative, giving us the object of the verb: séquitur quoque fília matrem, the daughter also follows her mother.

The word quoque, also, provides the link between the two parts of this first line: Est herus ut servus, The master is as his servant; séquitur quoque fília matrem; the daughter also follows her mother. The second line explores this same idea in terms of father and son:

Ut pater est. Here we have the Latin word for father, pater (compare the English word paternal), along with ut and est, words we saw in the first line: Ut pater est, As the father is...

talis fílius. Here we have fílius, the word for son, and the adjective talis, meaning such. The forms are nominative, so we are looking for a verb with fílius as the subject.

esse solet. This is from the Latin verb solere, meaning to be usual, to be accustomed; the form is third-person singular: solet, he is accustomed. The verb esse, to be, provides the complementary infinitive: esse solet, is accustomed to be. This is the verb we needed for our subject: talis fílius esse solet, such is the son accustomed to be. Put it all together and you have: Ut pater est, as the father is, talis fílius esse solet, such is the son accustomed to be. In other words: like father, like son.

So, in the space of two lines, we have three parallel comparisons: like boss, like employee; like mother, like daughter; and like father, like son!

Est herus ut servus; séquitur quoque fília matrem;
Ut pater est, talis fílius esse solet.

On that note: Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there! For more poems by Moker, see the Moker stream at the blog, and here is a link to the post for this particular poem. As I add more English essays like this one, you will be able to find them in the English stream of the blog likewise. The next poem is about harvests, literal or metaphorical: De Parvis.

(image source)

Latin Without Latin: Pasiphae

This is my forty-sixth "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. After the happily married couple of yesterday's poem, I wanted to follow up with a very different mythological couple: Pasiphae and the bull, from a poem found in the Greek Anthology. Turning poems from the Greek Anthology into Latin verse is a challenge that has attracted many Latin scholars, including the great Hugo Grotius (1583-1645), who is the author of today's poem (you can see his edition of the Greek Anthology in Latin at Google Books).

The speaker is Pasiphae, asking Eros, the god of love, for assistance. Poor Pasiphae has fallen in love with a bull, and she needs help in winning the bull's affections. Legend tells us that Pasiphae asked the craftsman Daedalus to create a cow suit for her, but she needs additional advice from Eros, as you can see in today's poem:

Doctor, amatrícem qui me bovis esse docébas,
Et mugíre doce; tráhitur sic ille marítus.

Here is how the poem works:

Doctor. This is the Latin word for someone learned, a teacher, a professor. Pasiphae sees Eros, Love, as her teacher; she is addressing him as Doctor Love!

amatrícem qui. The Latin word qui introduces a relative clause, doctor qui, the teacher who… Meanwhile, we also have a form of amátrix, a female lover, a mistress (you can see the ama- root in the English words amatory, amateur, etc.); the form amatrícem is accusative, so it will be the object of our verb.

me. This is from the Latin first-person pronoun, ego. The form me is accusative, meaning me. It agrees with amatrícem, also in the accusative, but without a verb we cannot be sure yet how this all fits together.

bovis. This is from the Latin word bos, meaning bull, ox (compare the English word bovine). The form bovis is genitive singular: of a bull, of an ox. In Pasiphae's story, that would fit nicely with amatrícem, as she is amatrícem bovis, mistress of the bull. 

esse docébas. Here at last is the verb that puts this all together! We have a form here of docere, meaning to teach (as in the English words doctor, docent, etc.). The form is second-person singular, past tense: docébas, you taught. The verb esse means to be (as in the English word essential). So, Pasiphae is saying to Eros, Doctor, you are the one who taught me to be, qui me esse docébas, the ox's lover, amatrícem bovis.

So, in the first line, Pasiphae has addressed the god Eros and reminded him of the fact that he has made her fall in love with a bull. In the next line, she will tell Doctor Love what else she needs to learn:

Et. This Latin word means and, also, too. 

mugíre doce. Here we have the imperative form of docere: doce, teach me. The verb mugíre means to moo (it is onomatopoetic: mu-gire). So, Pasiphae demands, teach me also to moo, et mugíre doce.

tráhitur. This is from the Latin verb trahere, meaning to pull, to drag (from the participle, tractus, we get the English words tractor, traction, etc.). The form is third-person singular, passive: tráhitur, he is pulled, he is attracted.

sic. This Latin word means thus, in this way (you sometimes see the Latin word sic used in English to indicate something that has been quoted exactly thus as in the original, misspellings included). So we now know that in this way, sic, he can be pulled, he can be attracted, tráhitur - but we need a subject for the verb.

ille marítus. The Latin noun marítus means husband (compare the English word marital), and it can also be used to mean a potential husband, a lover, a suitor. The demonstrative adjective ille means that, that one. So, put it all together and we can see why Pasiphae wants to learn how to moo like a cow: in this way, sic, that bovine suitor can be attracted to her, tráhitur ille marítus.

So, Pasiphae's plea to Doctor Love is complete, Doctor, she says, you who taught me to be the bull's lover, amatrícem qui me bovis esse docébas, please teach me also how to moo, et mugíre doce, because in this way I can attract that bovine lover to me, tráhitur sic ille marítus.

Doctor, amatrícem qui me bovis esse docébas,
Et mugíre doce; tráhitur sic ille marítus.

Pasiphae's please to Doctor Love was successful: she and the bull became lovers and the offspring of their bizarre union was the Minotaur, half-man and half-bull, as you can see in the image below. You can read more about Pasiphae at Wikipedia, and here is the poem in Greek:

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

For more poems from the Greek anthology in Latin, you can visit the Greek stream in my Latin distichs blog, and as I add new English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog likewise. The next poem is about mothers and daughters, fathers and sons: Herus, Servus; Filia, Mater; Pater, Filius.

(Pasiphae and the baby Minotaur)

Latin Without Latin: Manus Manum Lavat

This is my forty-fifth "Latin without Latin" essay. For background and a link to other essays, see this page: About the English Essays. I thought a poem about a happily married couple would be a good choice for today! So here is one of the emblems of Rollenhagen:


The emblem has a famous Latin proverb as its title, Manus Manum Lavat.

Manus. This is the Latin word for hand (compare the English word manual).

Manum. This is the word manus in the accusative form, manum, giving us the object of our verb. Now we just need a verb!

Lavat. This is from the Latin verb lavare, meaning to wash (compare the English word lavatory, i.e. the washroom). The form is third-person singular, with manus as the subject: manus lavat, the hand washes. Add the object: manus manum lavat, the hand washes the hand. Or, as we would say in English: one hand washes another.

Here is the poem:

Sic bene convéniunt caro cum cóniuge coniunx,
Cum manus una manum próluit altérius.

And here is how it works:

Sic. This Latin word means thus, in this way (you sometimes see the Latin word sic used in English to indicate something that has been quoted exactly thus as in the original, misspellings included).

bene. This Latin adverb means well, good (and you can see it in many English compounds such as benefactor, benediction, etc.). So, we have an adverb - now we just need a verb.

convéniunt. This is from the Latin verb conveníre, which is a compound: con-, together, and -veníre, to come (as in the English words convention, convenient, etc.). The form is third-person plural: convéniunt, they come together, they match, they fit. We also have an adverb: bene convéniunt, they come together well, they fit nicely. But we still need a subject for the verb!  

caro cum cóniuge. Here we have the Latin preposition cum, which means with, together with (the con- in conveníre is a variant spelling of cum, in fact). As often, the noun phrase that goes with the preposition is wrapped around it: caro…cóniuge. The noun cóniuge is from Latin coniunx, meaning spouse, partner (compare the English adjective conjugal), and the adjective caro is from Latin carus, meaning dear, precious (this is the origin of the English word caress and also cherish). Put it all together and you have a prepositional phrase: caro cum cóniuge, with a dear spouse. But we are still waiting on a subject for our verb. 

coniunx. And here is our subject: coniunx, the same word we just saw in the prepositional phrase. So it all fits together now: coniunx, spouse, caro cum cóniuge, with beloved spouse, thus fit nicely, sic bene convéniunt. … but just how or when do they fit so nicely? We need the second line of the poem to find out.

Cum. The Latin word cum, in addition to being a preposition that means with, is also a conjunction that means when. In the first line, you saw cum-with, and now in the second line we have cum-when.

manus una. Here we have the Latin word manus again, hand, along with the adjective unus, meaning one (compare the English words unity, unanimous, etc.). The word manus is a feminine noun, hence the feminine form, una, of the adjective: manus una, one hand. The case is nominative, so we know this is the subject of the verb.

manum. This is the accusative form of manus, giving us the object of the verb. Now we just need the verb.

próluit. This is from the Latin verb proluere, meaning to wet, moisten, wash off (you can see the lu- root in English words like dilution, ablution). The form is third-person singular: próluit, (he/she/it) washes. So, that gives us a complete statement: cum manus una, when one hand, manum próluit, washes the hand.

altérius. This is from the Latin word alter, meaning the other, another (compare the English word alteration). The form is genitive singular: altérius, belonging to another, the other's. So that fits perfectly with the two hands, which are now marked out as the hand of one person and the hand of another person: cum manus una, when one hand, manum próluit altérius, washes the other's hand. (For Latin students, you may have memorized the form alterīus, with a long -i- in the ending, but the form altérĭus is one you will also find in Latin poetry, as here.)

So, put it all together and you have a little poem in praise of married life: the two dear spouses (caro cum cóniuge coniunx) can make a perfect fit (sic bene convéniunt) when they take care of one another as one hand that washes the other (cum manus una manum próluit altérius) - just as you can see in Rollenhagen's illustration for the poem, with Cupid presiding!

Sic bene convéniunt caro cum cóniuge coniunx,
Cum manus una manum próluit altérius.

There is a famous edition of Rollenhagen's emblems in English by the 17th-century English poet, George Wither; here are his English lines of verse as inspired by this emblem:

A paire, so match'd; like Hands that wash each other,
As mutuall-helpes, will sweetly live together.

For more of Rollenhagen's poems in Latin, you can visit the Rollenhagen stream in my Latin distichs blog, and as I add new English essays, you will be able to find those in the English stream at the blog likewise. The next essay is about a quite different couple, Pasiphae and the bull: Pasiphae.