Three passages are translated into English below — Ov. AA 2.216f-28, Fasti 2.298-358, and Heroides 9.53-130

Ovid Ars Amatoria, 2.216-28
Ovid counsels the would-be lover regarding the importance of being subservient to his mistress. The terms of this passage resemble those in Heroides 9, below.

"The hero famously outlasted his step-mother's putting monsters in his way and gained heaven, which he earlier held on his own shoulders. People believe that he joined Ionian girls, that he grasped the distaff and carded slubby wool. The hero of Tiryns obeyed the command of his mistress! Come, consider whether you wouldn't also endure what Heracles endured!
If you're bidden to be at her door earlier than the bidden time, see that you get there and do not leave until it's late. You may object to something she tells you: put all these things off. Run. Be sure your arrival is not delayed, even if begun in a rush. At night after dinner she will make her way back home: then, too, you must come to her as her slave, should she summon you."
—— trans by RTM

ille, fatigata praebendo monstra nouerca
    qui meruit caelum, quod prior ipse tulit,
inter Ioniacas calathum tenuisse puellas
    creditur et lanas excoluisse rudes.
paruit imperio dominae Tirynthius heros:
    i nunc et dubita ferre quod ille tulit.
iussus adesse foro iussa maturius hora
    fac semper uenias nec nisi serus abi.
occurras aliquo tibi dixerit: omnia differ;
    curre, nec inceptum turba moretur iter.
nocte domum repetens epulis perfuncta redibit:
    tunc quoque pro seruo, si vocat illa, veni.


Ovid Fasti 2.299-359
Ovid explains why the god Faunus eschews clothing. A ribald comic moment makes it clear.

"People used to work outdoors and go about without clothing, their bodies were accustomed to endure heavy rain and wintery winds. Even nowadays exposed officiants recall the rites of ancient custom and witness the comforts of antiquity. However, a humorous old tale explains why Faunus especially shuns clothing.
     "It so happened that Tirynthian Hercules was accompanying his mistress, and Faunus espied them both from a distant ridge. He looked and got hot. “Mountain sprites!” said he, “I’ve got nothing more to do with you. This is going to be my turn-on!” The Maeonian queen was walking along with her fragrant hair spilling down over her shoulders. Her gold-tanned breasts especially caught his eye. A golden parasol, which Hercules was holding in his hands, was keeping the hot sun off her. She was arriving at Bacchus’ sacred grove, even the vineyard of Tmolus, and dewy Evening was arriving on his dark-maned horse.
     "Faunus watched Omphale approach her cave panelled with tufa and living pumice where a brook babbled across the threshold. While her attendants prepared a nice meal and readied wine to drink she dressed Alcides in her clothing. She put on him gauzy negligées dyed in Gaetulian purple; she slipped off her curvaceous zoné and dressed him in it. The garment was too small for his waist. She loosened the straps of the clothing so as to get his big hands through them. He had already broken the bracelets that were not made for such big arms; and his big feet were breaking open her dainty sandals. She took up his heavy club and the Lion’s trophy, and his lesser weapons she stored in her own quiver.
     "Thus arrayed, they ate a ceremonial meal and lay down for sleep; and they took care to lie down on two beds set apart. The reason for this was that they were preparing for the rites of Bacchus' invention of wine, which they intended to celebrate untainted as soon as the next day dawned.
     "Night is now half passed. What does naughty Eros not dare to try? Faunus approaches the dewy cave under the cover of darkness. When Faunus sees the attendants relaxed in drunken slumber, he seizes the hope that the same slumber will be upon their masters. He enters. The horny god wanders about rather boldly, stretching out his hands and groping in the darkness. At length he had reached the chambers where the beds were arrayed. He was going to get lucky on his first try. But when he touched the yellow lion’s pelt all shaggy with bristles, he was horrified and yanked back his hand. He recoiled, stricken with fear, as quickly as a traveler is wont to when he sees a snake and pulls back his foot. Then, on the adjoining couch he touched the silky smooth garments and was taken in by the deceptive feel. He climbed on and stretched out on the mattress that was closer to himself. *He was especially ready for this. He pulled back the shift.* But, there were legs bristling with thick hairs. As he was feeling over the other parts nearby, the Tirynthian hero suddenly booted Faunus from the bed. Faunus plummeted from the top of the bed. There was a commotion. The Maeonian consort screamed and called for lights. The torches revealed all that had transpired. Faunus was groaning because he had been kicked from the high bed, and he could scarcely lift his member from the hard ground. Heracles and all who saw him lying there laughed out loud; and his Lydian girlfriend laughed at her lover. Thus, the god, deceived by clothing, despises clothing because it tricks the eye, and he summons celebrants to come to his rites naked." —— trans by RTM **tempering the naughtiest lines 346-47



Ovid Heroides, "Deineira to Hercules", 9.53-118
Deinera , the bride of Hercules’ post-heroic career, grouses at length that her husband has been domesticated by the Lydian queen Omphale, who has reduced him to ridiculous cross-dressing.

"We have heard reports of a recent outrage, Hercules, a new extramarital affair — I have become the stepmother of the Lydian child Lamus. The river Meander which wanders through so many lands, which oxbows back so frequently upon its own slow-flowing stream, saw necklaces draped about that Herculean neck of yours, that very neck that once made light work of bearing up the vault of heaven.
    "Were you not ashamed to bind your powerful biceps with gold and to have bedazzle your powerful physique with gemstones? It’s hard to consider how shameful it is that the Nemean Bane gave its lifeforce beneath those arms, that since that moment your left shoulder bears as a covering. You dared to tie up your shaggy tresses in bonnet! A piece of white-birch bark is more fitting to hold the Herculean mane. Do you really think it could have been appropriate for you to have bound your body with a zoné like slut brought up in Maeonia? Didn’t the savage image of Diomedes come to your mind, him who brutally foddered his mares on human flesh? If Busiris had seen you in that get-up, do you think you ever would have been regarded as victor of that foe? Antaeus would rip from your brawny neck those bonnet-strings to keep from regretting that he lost to a puffter like you.
    "Meanwhile, people will be saying that you held the wool gathering basket among the girls of Ionia, that you feared the threats of a mistress. Don’t you cringe, Alcides, that she imposed a dainty wool-basket upon hands that conquered a thousand labors? Do you draw out a fat thread with your big thumb? Do you spin as much wool as your skilled mistress? Ah! How often your exceptionally strong hands fractured the spindle while you are spinning threads with your powerful fingers at your mistress’ feet! … You used to tell your feats that now should go unuttered — how your baby hand tied by the tails two gigantic watersnakes with flickering tongues, how the Tegeaean Boar slept beneath cypress-bearing Erymanthus brutalizing the ground with his enormous weight.
    "The trophy-heads affixed to your Thracian house do not cease to witness the murders you have perpetrated; the mares fattened upon the flesh of your foes do not cease to witness it. That three-fold monster, Geryones the potentate of Iberian livestock — one man in triplicate — witnesses it. Cerberus, branching from one body into three distinct dogs, having a menacing snake interwoven into his shaggy hair, witnesses it, as does also the fertile serpent that redoubled itself from the procreative wounding, made abundant from its own demise. As well, there’s that beast that hung as a ponderous weight between your left flank and your left arm, his jaws trapped shut. There’s that cavalry squadron so badly trusting in its feet and bi-morphic shape and beaten on the Thessalian hilltops. Can you say these trophies came because of your Sidonian nighties? What? Does your tongue bring no response because it’s tied up with your clothing?
    "In fact, the lithe daughter of Iardanus has garbed herself up in your weapons and bears them as a famous trophy over her vanquished husband. Get out of here! Take your heroic anger. Recount your heroic deeds. She has become the hero by a measure you would not be able to equate. You, the “greatest of all time”, are lesser than she by the same degree that it was a bigger accomplishment to vanquish you than for you to vanquish all your victims. She whooped you. The comparison of the accomplishments tips towards her; so, yield the prize; your little girlfriend is the heiress to all your praise. How shameful!! The rough lionskin you flayed from the flanks of the shaggy lion covers her soft shapeliness! You are so wrong. You are so unaware! That Lionskin was not the trophy over a lion; rather, it was the trophy over you, and you were the beast’s vanquisher. The woman who endured the darts blackened with the venom of Lerna, was scarcely able to hoist the spindle weighed down with wool. She fortified her hand with the club that subdued monsters and gazed in the mirror upon the weapons of MY husband." —— trans by RTM