Ovid · Complete work
The Python
The Python of 11. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
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Illa quidem nollet, sed te quoque, maxime Python,tum genuit, populisque novis, incognita serpens,terror eras: tantum spatii de monte tenebas.hunc deus arcitenens, numquam letalibus armisante nisi in dammis capreisque fugacibus usus,mille gravem telis exhausta paene pharetraperdidit effuso per vulnera nigra veneno.neve operis famam posset delere vetustas,instituit sacros celebri certamine ludos,Pythia de domitae serpentis nomine dictos.hic iuvenum quicumque manu pedibusve rotavevicerat, aesculeae capiebat frondis honorem.nondum laurus erat, longoque decentia crinetempora cingebat de qualibet arbore Phoebus.
Mouseia
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from all 780 hexameter lines of Book I for fidelity, Ovidian wit, narrative speed, and cadence.
Then Python, serpent of the open vale, unknown to the new peoples, filled them with terror, so vast a stretch of mountain ground he held. The archer god, who never before had used his deadly arms but on fleeing does and roes, destroyed him, heavy with a thousand shafts, his quiver well-nigh emptied, pouring through his wounds a black poison. And that the fame of the deed might not be blotted out by time, he founded sacred games in solemn contest, called Pythian, from the name of the slain serpent. There, whoever conquered with hand, or foot, or wheel, took the honor of the oak's green leaves. As yet no laurel stood, and Phoebus girt his brows, fair in their long hair, with any bough.
Mouseia
Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from all 780 hexameter lines of Book I.
Then Python, the serpent of the open vale, unknown to the new peoples, filled them with terror — so vast a stretch of mountain ground he held. The archer god, who had never before used his deadly arms except on fleeing does and roes, destroyed him with a thousand shafts, his quiver almost emptied, pouring black poison through his wounds. And so that the fame of the deed might not be lost with time, he founded sacred games in solemn contest, called Pythian, from the name of the serpent he had slain. There, whoever won with hand, or foot, or wheel, received the honor of the oak's green leaves. There was no laurel yet, and Phoebus girded his brows, fair in their long hair, with any bough he pleased.