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- Herausgeber: Strelbytskyy Multimedia Publishing
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
A Roman poet known to the English-speaking world as Ovid, wrote on topics of love, abandoned women, and mythological transformations. Ranked alongside Virgil and Horace as one of the three canonical poets of Latin literature, Ovid was generally considered the greatest master of the elegiac couplet. His poetry, much imitated during Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, had a decisive influence on European art and literature for centuries. The Imperial scholar Quintilian considered him the last of the Latin love elegists. Although Ovid enjoyed enormous popularity during his lifetime, the emperor Augustus banished him to Tomis, a Dacian province on the Black Sea, where he remained a decade until his death. Contents: AMOURS (VERSE) AMOURS (PROSE) HEROIDES WOMEN'S COSMETICS TO ART OF LOVE LOVE'S CURE METAMORPHOSES (VERSE) METAMORPHOSES (PROSE) FASTI IBIS TRISTIA EPISTULAE EX PONTO
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The Complete Works
of OVID
(43BC — AD 17/18)
A Roman poet known to the English-speaking world as Ovid, wrote on topics of love, abandoned women, and mythological transformations. Ranked alongside Virgil and Horace as one of the three canonical poets of Latin literature, Ovid was generally considered the greatest master of the elegiac couplet. His poetry, much imitated during Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, had a decisive influence on European art and literature for centuries.
The Imperial scholar Quintilian considered him the last of the Latin love elegists. Although Ovid enjoyed enormous popularity during his lifetime, the emperor Augustus banished him to Tomis, a Dacian province on the Black Sea, where he remained a decade until his death.
Strelbytskyy Multimedia Publishing © Ukraine — Kyiv 2023
Contents
AMOURS (VERSE)
AMOURS (PROSE)
HEROIDES
WOMEN’S COSMETICS
TO ART OF LOVE
LOVE’S CURE
METAMORPHOSES (VERSE)
METAMORPHOSES (PROSE)
FASTI
IBIS
TRISTIA
EPISTULAE EX PONTO
AMOURS (VERSE)
Translated by Christopher Marlowe
This is Ovid’s first completed book of poetry, written in elegiac couplets and published in 16 BC in five books, which were later edited to three books. It is formed of the popular model of the erotic elegy, established by poets such as Tibullus and Propertius, though Ovid’s poems are more subversive and humorous, exaggerating common themes and traditional devices of love poetry, revealing an imaginative and more ‘modern’ approach to the genre, compared to the older poets.
Amores describe many aspects of love, as well as focussing on the poet’s relationship with a mistress called ‘Corinna’. Several of the poems describe events in their relationship, presenting a loose narrative. Comprised of 15 poems, Book I announces Ovid’s intention to write epic poetry, which is thwarted when Cupid steals a metrical foot from him, changing his work into love elegy.
In this edition of Ovid’s works, Christopher Marlowe’s translation of the Amours is available in verse, followed by a more literal 1930 translation in prose.
A medieval depiction of Ovid as a young man
BOOK I
ELEGIA 1
Quemadmodum a Cupidine, pro bellis amores scribere coactus sit
We which were Ovids five books, now are three,
For these before the rest preferreth he:
If reading five thou plainst of tediousnesse,
Two tane away, thy labor will be lesse:
With Muse upreard I meant to sing of armes,
Choosing a subject fit for feirse alarmes:
Both verses were alike till Love (men say)
Began to smile and tooke one foote away.
Rash boy, who gave thee power to change a line?
We are the Muses prophets, none of thine.
What if thy Mother take Dianas bowe,
Shall Dian fanne when love begins to glowe?
In wooddie groves ist meete that Ceres Raigne,
And quiver bearing Dian till the plaine:
Who’le set the faire treste sunne in battell ray,
While Mars doth take the Aonian harpe to play?
Great are thy kingdomes, over strong and large,
Ambitious Imp, why seekst thou further charge?
Are all things thine? the Muses Tempe thine?
Then scarse can Phoebus say, this harpe is mine.
When in this workes first verse I trod aloft,
Love slackt my Muse, and made my numbers soft.
I have no mistris, nor no favorit,
Being fittest matter for a wanton wit,
Thus I complaind, but Love unlockt his quiver,
Tooke out the shaft, ordaind my hart to shiver:
And bent his sinewy bow upon his knee,
Saying, Poet heers a worke beseeming thee.
Oh woe is me, he never shootes but hits,
I burne, love in my idle bosome sits.
Let my first verse be sixe, my last five feete,
Fare well sterne warre, for blunter Poets meete.
Elegian Muse, that warblest amorous laies,
Girt my shine browe with sea banke mirtle praise.
ELEGIA 2
Quodprimo Amore correptus, in triumphum duci se a Cupidine patiatur
What makes my bed seem hard seeing it is soft?
Or why slips downe the Coverlet so oft?
Although the nights be long, I sleepe not tho,
My sides are sore with tumbling to and fro.
Were Love the cause, it’s like I shoulde descry him,
Or lies he close, and shoots where none can spie him?
T’was so, he stroke me with a slender dart,
Tis cruell love turmoyles my captive hart.
Yeelding or striving doe we give him might,
Lets yeeld, a burden easly borne is light.
I saw a brandisht fire increase in strength,
Which being not shakt, I saw it die at length.
Yong oxen newly yokt are beaten more,
Then oxen which have drawne the plow before.
And rough jades mouths with stubburn bits are tome,
But managde horses heads are lightly borne,
Unwilling Lovers, love doth more torment,
Then such as in their bondage feele content.
Loe I confesse, I am thy captive I,
And hold my conquered hands for thee to tie.
What needes thou warre, I sue to thee for grace,
With armes to conquer armlesse men is base,
Yoke VenusDoves, put Mirtle on thy haire,
Vulcan will give thee Chariots rich and faire.
The people thee applauding thou shalte stand,
Guiding the harmelesse Pigeons with thy hand.
Yong men and women, shalt thou lead as thrall,
So will thy triumph seeme magnificall.
I lately cought, will have a new made wound,
And captive like be manacled and bound.
Good meaning, shame, and such as seeke loves wrack
Shall follow thee, their hands tied at their backe.
Thee all shall feare and worship as a King,
Jo, triumphing shall thy people sing.
Smooth speeches, feare and rage shall by thee ride,
Which troopes hath alwayes bin on Cupids side:
Thou with these souldiers conquerest gods and men,
Take these away, where is thy honor then?
Thy mother shall from heaven applaud this show,
And on their faces heapes of Roses strow.
With beautie of thy wings, thy faire haire guilded,
Ride golden Love in Chariots richly builded.
Unlesse I erre, full many shalt thou burne,
And give woundes infinite at everie turne.
In spite of thee, forth will thy arrowes flie,
A scorching flame burnes all the standers by.
So having conquerd Inde, was Bacchus hew,
Thee Pompous birds and him two tygres drew.
Then seeing I grace thy show in following thee,
Forbeare to hurt thy selfe in spoyling mee.
Beholde thy kinsmans Caesars prosperous bandes,
Who gardes the conquered with his conquering hands.
ELEGIA 3
Ad amicam
I aske but right: let hir that cought me late,
Either love, or cause that I may never hate:
I aske too much, would she but let me love hir,
Love knowes with such like praiers, I dayly move hir:
Accept him that will serve thee all his youth,
Accept him that will love with spotlesse truth:
If loftie titles cannot make me thine,
That am descended but of knightly line,
Soone may you plow the little lands I have,
I gladly graunt my parents given to save,
Apollo, Bacchus, and the Muses may,
And Cupide who hath markt me for thy pray,
My spotlesse life, which but to Gods gives place,
Naked simplicitie, and modest grace.
I love but one, and hir I love change never,
If men have Faith, lie live with thee for ever.
The yeares that fatall destenie shall give,
lie live with thee, and die, or thou shalt grieve.
Be thou the happie subject of my Bookes,
That I may write things worthy thy faire lookes:
By verses horned Jo got hir name,
And she to whom in shape of Swanne Jove came.
And she that on a faind Bull swamme to land,
Griping his false homes with hir virgin hand:
So likewise we will through the world be rung,
And with my name shall thine be alwaies sung.
ELEGIA 4
Amicam, qua arte, quibusve nutibus in coena, proesente viro uti debeat, admonet
Thy husband to a banquet goes with me,
Pray God it may his latest supper be,
Shall I sit gazing as a bashfull guest,
While others touch the damsell I love best?
Wilt lying under him his bosome clippe?
About thy neck shall he at pleasure skippe?
Marveile not though the faire Bride did incite
The drunken Centaures to a sodaine fight.
I am no halfe horse, nor in woods I dwell,
Yet scarse my hands from thee containe I well.
But how thou shouldst behave thy selfe now know;
Nor let the windes away my warnings blowe.
Before thy husband come, though I not see
What may be done, yet there before him bee.
Lie with him gently, when his limbes he spread
Upon the bed, but on my foote first tread.
View me, my becks, and speaking countenance:
Take, and receive each secret amorous glaunce.
Words without voyce shall on my eye browes sit,
Lines thou shalt read in wine by my hand writ.
When our lascivious toyes come in thy minde,
Thy Rosie cheekes be to thy thombe inclinde.
If ought of me thou speak’st in inward thought,
Let thy soft finger to thy eare be brought.
When I (my light) do or say ought that please thee,
Turne round thy gold-ring, ass it were to ease thee.
Strike on the boord like them that pray for evill,
When thou doest wish thy husband at the devill.
What wine he fills thee, wisely will him drinke,
Aske thou the boy, what thou enough doest thinke.
When thou hast tasted, I will take the cup,
And where thou drinkst, on that part I will sup.
If hee gives thee what first himselfe did tast,
Even in his face his offered Gobbets cast.
Let not thy necke by his vile armes be prest,
Nor leane thy soft head on his boistrous brest.
Thy bosomes Roseat buds let him not finger,
Chiefely on thy lips let not his lips linger.
If thou givest kisses, I shall all disclose,
Say they are mine, and hands on thee impose.
Yet this Ile see, but if thy gowne ought cover,
Suspitious feare in all my veines will hover,
Mingle not thighes, nor to his legge joyne thine,
Nor thy soft foote with his hard foote combine.
I have beene wanton, therefore am perplext,
And with mistrust of the like measure vext.
I and my wench oft under clothes did lurke,
When pleasure mov’d us to our sweetest worke.
Do not thou so, but throw thy mantle hence,
Least I should thinke thee guilty of offence.
Entreat thy husband drinke, but do not kisse,
And while he drinkes, to adde more do not misse,
If hee lyes downe with Wine and sleepe opprest,
The thing and place shall counsell us the rest.
When to go homewards we rise all along,
Have care to walke in middle of the throng.
There will I finde thee, or be found by thee,
There touch what ever thou canst touch of mee.
Aye me I warne what profits some few howers,
But we must part, when heav’n with black night lowers.
At night thy husband clippes thee, I will weepe
And to the dores sight of thy selfe will keepe:
Then will he kisse thee, and not onely kisse
But force thee give him my stolne honey blisse.
Constrain’d against thy will give it the pezant,
Forbeare sweet wordes, and be your sport unpleasant.
To him I pray it no delight may bring,
Or if it do, to thee no joy thence spring:
But though this night thy fortune be to trie it,
To me to morrow constantly deny it.
ELEGIA 5
Corinnae concubitus
In summers heate, and midtime of the day,
To rest my limbes, uppon a bedde I lay,
One window shut, the other open stood,
Which gave such light, as twincles in a wood,
Like twilight glimps at setting of the sunne,
Or night being past, and yet not day begunne.
Such light to shamefaste maidens must be showne,
Where they may sport, and seeme to be unknowne.
Then came Corinna in a long loose gowne,
Her white necke hid with tresses hanging downe,
Resembling faire Semiramis going to bed,
Or Layis of a thousand lovers sped.
I snatcht her gowne: being thin, the harme was small,
Yet strivde she to be covered therewithall,
And striving thus as one that would be cast,
Betrayde her selfe, and yeelded at the last.
Starke naked as she stood before mine eie,
Not one wen in her bodie could I spie,
What armes and shoulders did I touch and see,
How apt her breasts were to be prest by me,
How smoothe a bellie, under her waste sawe I,
How large a legge, and what a lustie thigh?
To leave the rest, all likt me passing well,
I clinged her naked bodie, downe she fell,
Judge you the rest, being tyrde she bad me kisse.
Jove send me more such afternoones as this.
ELEGIA 6
Ad Janitorem, ut fores sibi aperiat
Unworthy porter, bound in chaines full sore,
On mooved hookes set ope the churlish dore.
Little I aske, a little entrance make,
The gate halfe ope my bent side in will take.
Long Love my body to such use makes slender
And to get out doth like apt members render.
He shewes me how unheard to passe the watch,
And guides my feete least stumbling falles they catch.
But in times past I fear’d vaine shades, and night,
Wondring if any walked without light.
Love hearing it laugh’d with his tender mother
And smiling sayed, be thou as bold as other.
Forth-with Love came, no darke night-flying spright
Nor hands prepar’d to slaughter, me affright.
Thee feare I too much: only thee I flatter,
Thy lightning can my life in pieces batter.
Why enviest me, this hostile denne unbarre,
See how the gates with my teares wat’red are.
When thou stood’st naked ready to be beate,
For thee I did thy mistris faire entreate.
But what entreates for thee some-times tooke place,
(O mischiefe) now for me obtaine small grace.
Gratis thou maiest be free, give like for like,
Night goes away: the dores barre backeward strike.
Strike, so againe hard chaines shall binde thee never,
Nor servile water shalt thou drinke for ever.
Hard-hearted Porter doest and wilt not heare?
With stiffe oake propt the gate doth still appeare.
Such rampierd gates beseiged Cittyes ayde,
In midst of peace why art of armes afraide?
Excludst a lover, how wouldst use a foe?
Strike backe the barre, night fast away doth goe.
With armes or armed men I come not guarded,
I am alone, were furious Love discarded.
Although I would, I cannot him cashiere
Before I be divided from my geere.
See Love with me, wine moderate in my braine,
And on my haires a crowne of flowers remaine.
Who feares these armes? who wil not go to meete them?
Night runnes away; with open entrance greete them.
Art carelesse? or ist sleepe forbids thee heare,
Giving the windes my words running in thine eare?
Well I remember when I first did hire thee,
Watching till after mid-night did not tire thee.
But now perchaunce thy wench with thee doth rest,
Ah howe thy lot is above my lot blest:
Though it be so, shut me not out therefore,
Night goes away: I pray thee ope the dore.
Erre we? or do the turned hinges sound,
And opening dores with creaking noyse abound?
We erre: a strong blast seem’d the gates to ope:
Aie me how high that gale did lift my hope!
If Boreas beares Orithyas rape in minde,
Come breake these deafe dores with thy boysterous wind.
Silent the Cittie is: nights deawie hoast
March fast away: the barre strike from the poast.
Or I more sterne then fire or sword will turne,
And with my brand these gorgeous houses burne.
Night, Love, and wine to all extreames perswade:
Night shamelesse, wine and Love are fearelesse made.
All have I spent: no threats or prayers move thee,
O harder then the dores thou gardest I prove thee.
No pritty wenches keeper maist thou bee:
The carefull prison is more meete for thee.
Now frosty night her flight beginnes to take,
And crowing Cocks poore soules to worke awake.
But thou my crowne, from sad haires tane away,
On this hard threshold till the morning lay.
That when my mistresse there beholds thee cast,
She may perceive how we the time did wast:
What ere thou art, farewell, be like me paind,
Carelesse, farewell, with my falt not distaind.
And farewell cruell posts, rough thresholds block,
And dores conjoynd with an hard iron lock.
ELEGIA 7
Ad pacandam amicam, quam verberaverat
Binde fast my hands, they have deserved chaines,
While rage is absent, take some friend the paynes.
For rage against my wench mov’d my rash arrne,
My Mistresse weepes whom my mad hand did harme.
I might have then my parents deare misus’d,
Or holy gods with cruell strokes abus’d.
Why? Ajax, maister of the seven-fould shield,
Butcherd the flocks he found in spatious field,
And he who on his mother veng’d his sire,
Against the destinies durst sharpe darts require.
Could I therefore her comely tresses teare?
Yet was she graced with her ruffled hayre.
So fayre she was, she resembled,
Before whose bow th’Arcadian wild beasts trembled.
Such Ariadne was, when she bewayles
Her perjur’d Theseus flying vowes and sayles,
So chast Minerva did Cassandra fall,
Deflowr’d except, within thy Temple wall.
That I was mad, and barbarous all men cried,
She nothing said, pale feare her tongue had tyed.
But secretlie her lookes with checks did trounce mee,
Her teares, she silent, guilty did pronounce me.
Would of mine armes, my shoulders had beene scanted,
Better I could part of my selfe have wanted.
To mine owne selfe have I had strength so furious?
And to my selfe could I be so injurious?
Slaughter and mischiefs instruments, no better,
Deserved chaines these cursed hands shall fetter,
Punisht I am, if I a Romaine beat,
Over my Mistris is my right more great?
Tydides left worst signes of villanie,
He first a Goddesse strooke; an other I.
Yet he harrn’d lesse, whom I profess’d to love,
I harm’d: a foe did Diomedes anger move.
Go now thou Conqueror, glorious triumphs raise,
Pay vowes to Jove, engirt thy hayres with baies,
And let the troupes which shall thy Chariot follow,
Jo, a strong man conquerd this Wench, hollow.
Let the sad captive formost with lockes spred
On her white necke but for hurt cheekes be led.
Meeter it were her lips were blewe with kissing
And on her necke a wantons marke not missing.
But though I like a swelling floud was driven,
And as a pray unto blinde anger given,
Wa’st not enough the fearefull Wench to chide?
Nor thunder in rough threatings haughty pride?
Nor shamefully her coate pull ore her crowne,
Which to her wast her girdle still kept downe.
But cruelly her tresses having rent,
My nayles to scratch her lovely cheekes I bent.
Sighing she stood, her bloodlesse white lookes shewed
Like marble from the ParianMountaines hewed.
Her halfe dead joynts, and trembling limmes I sawe,
Like Popler leaves blowne with a stormy flawe,
Or slender eares, with gentle Zephire shaken,
Or waters tops with the warme south-winde taken.
And downe her cheekes, the trickling teares did flow,
Like water gushing from consuming snowe.
Then first I did perceive I had offended,
My bloud, the teares were that from her descended.
Before her feete thrice prostrate downe I fell,
My feared hands thrice back she did repell.
But doubt thou not (revenge doth griefe appease)
With thy sharpe nayles upon my face to seaze.
Bescratch mine eyes, spare not my lockes to breake,
(Anger will helpe thy hands though nere so weake.)
And least the sad signes of my crime remaine,
Put in their place thy keembed haires againe.
ELEGIA 8
Exoecratur lenam, quae puellam suam meretricia arte instituebat
There is, who ere will knowe a bawde aright
Give eare, there is an old trot Dipsas hight.
Her name comes from the thing: she being wise,
Sees not the morne on rosie horses rise.
She magick arts and Thessale charmes doth know,
And makes large streams back to their fountaines flow,
She knows with gras, with thrids on wrong wheeles spun
And what with Mares ranck humour may be done.
When she will, cloudes the darckned heav’n obscure,
When she will, day shines every where most pure.
(If I have faith) I sawe the starres drop bloud,
The purple moone with sanguine visage stood.
Her I suspect among nights spirits to fly,
And her old body in birdes plumes to lie.
Fame saith as I suspect, and in her eyes
Two eye-balles shine, and double light thence flies.
Great grand-sires from their antient graves she chides
And with long charmes the solide earth divides.
She drawes chast women to incontinence,
Nor doth her tongue want harmefull eloquence.
By chaunce I heard her talke, these words she sayd
While closely hid betwixt two dores I layed.
Mistris thou knowest, thou hast a blest youth pleas’d,
He staide, and on thy lookes his gazes seaz’d.
And why shouldst not please? none thy face exceedes,
Aye me, thy body hath no worthy weedes.
As thou art faire, would thou wert fortunate,
Wert thou rich, poore should not be my state.
Th’opposed starre of Mars hath done thee harme,
Now Mars is gone: Venus thy side doth warme,
And brings good fortune, a rich lover plants
His love on thee, and can supply thy wants.
Such is his forme as may with thine compare,
Would he not buy thee thou for him shouldst care.
She blusht: red shame becomes white cheekes, but this
If feigned, doth well; if true it doth amisse.
When on thy lappe thine eyes thou dost deject,
Each one according to his gifts respect.
Perhaps theSabines rude, when Tatius raignde,
To yeeld their love to more then one disdainde.
NowMars doth rage abroad without all pitty,
AndVenus rules in her AeneasCitty.
Faire women play, shee’s chast whom none will have,
Or, but for bashfulnesse her selfe would crave.
Shake off these wrinckles that thy front assault,
Wrinckles in beauty is a grievous fault.
Penelope in bowes her youths strength tride,
Of horne the bowe was uthat approv’d their side.
Time flying slides hence closely, and deceaves us,
And with swift horses the swift yeare soone leaves us.
Brasse shines with use; good garments would be worne,
Houses not dwelt in, are with filth forlorne.
Beauty not exercisde with age is spent,
Nor one or two men are sufficient.
Many to rob is more sure, and lesse hateflill,
From dog-kept flocks come preys to woolves most gratefull.
Behold what gives the Poet but new verses?
And thereof many thousand he rehearses.
The Poets God arayed in robes of gold,
Of his gilt Harpe the well tun’d strings doth hold.
LetHomer yeeld to such as presents bring,
(Trust me) to give, it is a witty thing.
Nor, so thou maist obtaine a wealthy prize,
The vaine name of inferiour slaves despize.
Nor let the arrnes of antient lines beguile thee,
Poore lover with thy gransires I exile thee.
Who seekes, for being faire, a night to have,
What he will give, with greater instance crave.
Make a small price, while thou thy nets doest lay,
Least they should fly, being tane, the tirant play.
Dissemble so, as lov’d he may be thought,
And take heed least he gets that love for nought.
Deny him oft, feigne now thy head doth ake:
AndIsis now will shew what scuse to make.
Receive him soone, least patient use he gaine,
Or least his love oft beaten backe should waine.
To beggers shut, to bringers ope thy gate,
Let him within heare bard out lovers prate.
And as first wrongd the wronged some-times banish,
Thy fault with his fault so repuls’d will vanish.
But never give a spatious time to ire,
Anger delaide doth oft to hate retire.
And let thine eyes constrained learne to weepe,
That this, or that man may thy cheekes moist keepe.
Nor, if thou couzenst one, dread to for-sweare,
, Venus to mockt men lendes a sencelesse eare.
Servants fit for thy purpose thou must hire
To teach thy lover, what thy thoughts desire.
Let them aske some-what, many asking little,
Within a while great heapes grow of a tittle.
And sister, Nurse, and mother spare him not,
By many hands great wealth is quickly got.
When causes fale thee to require a gift,
By keeping of thy birth make but a shift.
Beware least he unrival’d loves secure,
Take strife away, love doth not well endure.
On all the bed mens tumbling let him viewe
And thy neck with lascivious markes made blew.
Chiefely shew him the gifts, which others send:
If he gives nothing, let him from thee wend.
When thou hast so much as he gives no more,
Pray him to lend what thou maist nere restore.
Let thy tongue flatter, while thy minde harme-workes:
Under sweete hony deadly poison lurkes.
If this thou doest, to me by long use knowne,
Nor let my words be with the windes hence blowne,
Oft thou wilt say, live well, thou wilt pray oft,
That my dead bones may in their grave lie soft.
As thus she spake, my shadow me betraide,
With much a do my hands I scarsely staide.
But her bleare eyes, balde scalpes thin hoary flieces
And riveld cheekes I would have puld a pieces.
The gods send thee no house, a poore old age,
Perpetuall thirst, and winters lasting rage.
ELEGIA 9
Ad Atticum, amantem non oportere desidiosum esse, sicuti nec militem
All Lovers warre, and Cupid hath his tent,
Atticke all lovers are to warre farre sent.
What age fits Mars, with Venus doth agree,
Tis shame for eld in waive or love to be.
What yeares in souldiours Captaines do require,
Those in their lovers, pretty maydes desire.
Both of them watch: each on the hard earth sleepes:
His Mistris dores this; that his Captaines keepes.
Souldiers must travaile farre: the wench forth send,
Her valiant lover followes without end.
Mounts, and raine-doubled flouds he passeth over,
And treades the deserts snowy heapes do cover.
Going to sea, East windes he doth not chide
Nor to hoist saile attends fit time and tyde.
Who but a souldiour or a lover is bould
To suffer storlne mixt snowes with nights sharpe cold?
One as a spy doth to his enemies goe,
The other eyes his rivall as his foe.
He Citties greate, this thresholds lies before:
This breakes Towne gates, but he his Mistris dore.
oft to invade the sleeping foe tis good
And arm’d to shed unarmed peoples bloud.
So the fierce troupes of ThracianRhesus fell
And Captive horses bad their Lord fare-well.
Sooth Lovers watch till sleepe the hus-band charmes,
Who slumbring, they rise up in swelling armes.
The keepers hands and corps-dugard to passe
The souldiours, and poore lovers worke ere was.
Doubtfull is warre and love, the vanquisht rise
And who thou never think’st should fall downe lies.
Therefore who ere love sloathfiilnesse doth call,
Let him surcease: love tries wit best of all.
Achilles burnd Briseis being tane away:
Trojanes destroy the Greeke wealth, while you may.
Hector to armes went from his wives embraces,
And on Andromache his helmet laces.
Great Agamemnon was, men say, amazed,
On Priams loose-trest daughter when he gazed.
Mars in the deed the black-smithes net did stable,
In heaven was never more notorious fable.
My selfe was dull, and faint, to sloth inclinde,
Pleasure, and ease had mollifide my minde.
A faire maides care expeld this sluggishnesse,
And to her tentes wild me my selfe addresse.
Since maist thou see me watch and night warres move:
He that will not growe slothfull let him love.
ELEGIA 10
Ad puellam, ne pro amore proemia poscat
Such as the cause was of two husbands warre,
Whom Trojane ships fecht from Europa farre.
Such as was Leda, whom the God deluded
In snowe-white plumes of a false swanne included.
Such as Amimone through the drie fields strayed
When on her head a water pitcher lajed.
Such wert thou, and I fear’d the Bull and Eagle
And what ere love made Jove should thee invegle.
Now all feare with my mindes hot love abates,
No more this beauty mine eyes captivates.
Ask’st why I chaunge? because thou crav’st reward:
This cause hath thee from pleasing me debard.
While thou wert plaine, I lov’d thy minde and face:
Now inward faults thy outward forme disgrace.
Love is a naked boy, his yeares saunce staine,
And hath no cloathes, but open doth remaine.
Will you for gaine have Cupid sell himselfe?
He hath no bosome, where to hide base pelfe.
Love and Loves sonne are with fierce armes to oddes;
To serve for pay beseemes not wanton gods.
The whore stands to be bought for each mans mony
And seekes vild wealth by selling of her Cony,
Yet greedy Bauds command she curseth still,
And doth constraind, what you do of good will.
Take from irrationall beasts a president,
Tis shame their wits should be more excelent.
The Mare askes not the Horse, the Cowe the Bull,
Nor the milde Ewe gifts from the Ramme doth pull.
Only a Woman gets spoiles from a Man,
Farmes out her-self on nights for what she can.
And lets what both delight, what both desire,
Making her joy according to her hire.
The sport being such, as both alike sweete try it,
Why should one sell it, and the other buy it?
Why should I loose, and thou gaine by the pleasure
Which man and woman reape in equall measure?
Knights of the post of perjuries make saile,
The unjust Judge for bribes becomes a stale.
Tis shame sould tongues the guilty should defend
Or great wealth from a judgement seate ascend.
Tis shame to grow rich by bed merchandize,
Or prostitute thy beauty for bad prize.
Thankes worthely are due for things unbought,
For beds ill hyr’d we are indebted nought.
The hirer payeth al, his rent discharg’d
From firther duty he rests then inlarg’d.
Faire Dames for-beare rewards for nights to crave,
Ill gotten goods good end will never have.
The Sabine gauntlets were too dearely wunne
That unto death did presse the holy Nunne.
The sonne slew her, that forth to meete him went,
And a rich neck-lace caus’d that punnishment.
Yet thinke no scorne to aske a wealthy churle,
He wants no gifts into thy lap to hurle.
Take clustred grapes from an ore-laden vine,
May bounteous lome Alcinous fruite resigne.
Let poore men show their service, faith, and care;
All for their Mistrisse, what they have, prepare.
In verse to praise kinde Wenches tis my part,
And whom I like eternize by mine art.
Garments do weare, jewells and gold do wast,
The fame that verse gives doth for ever last.
To give I love, but to be ask’t disdayne,
Leave asking, and lie give what I refraine.
ELEGIA 11
Napen alloquitur, ut paratas tabellas ad Corinnam perferat
In skilfull gathering ruffled haires in order,
Nape free-borne, whose cunning hath no border,
Thy service for nights scapes is knowne commodious
And to give signes dull wit to thee is odious.
Corinna clips me oft by thy perswasion,
Never to harme me made thy faith evasion.
Receive these lines, them to my Mistrisse carry,
Be sedulous, let no stay cause thee tarry.
Nor flint, nor iron, are in thy soft brest
But pure simplicity in thee doth rest.
And tis suppos’d Loves bowe hath wounded thee,
Defend the ensignes of thy warre in mee.
If, what I do, she askes, say hope for night,
The rest my hand doth in my letters write.
Time passeth while I speake, give her my writ
But see that forth-with shee peruseth it.
I charge thee marke her eyes and front in reading,
By speechiesse lookes we guesse at things succeeding.
Straight being read, will her to write much backe,
I hate faire Paper should writte matter lacke.
Let her make verses, and some blotted letter
On the last edge to stay mine eyes the better.
What neede she tyre her hand to hold the quill,
Let this word, come, alone the tables fill.
Then with triumphant laurell will I grace them
And in the midst of Venus temple place them.
Subscribing that to her I consecrate
My faithfull tables being vile maple late.
ELEGIA 12
Tabllas quas miserat execratur, quod amica noctem negabat
Bewaile my chaunce, the sad booke is returned,
This day denyall hath my sport adjourned.
Presages are not vaine, when she departed
Nape by stumbling on the thre-shold started.
Going out againe passe forth the dore more wisely
And som-what higher beare thy foote precisely.
Hence luck-lesse tables, funerall wood be flying
And thou the waxe stuft full with notes denying,
Which I thinke gather’d from cold hemlocks flower
Wherein bad hony CorsickeBees did power.
Yet as if mixt with red leade thou wert ruddy,
That colour rightly did appeare so bloudy.
As evill wood throwne in the high-waies lie,
Be broake with wheeles of chariots passing by.
And him that hew’d you out for needfull uses
Ile prove had hands impure with all abuses.
Poore wretches on the tree themselves did strangle,
There sat the hang-man for mens neckes to angle.
To hoarse scrich-owles foule shadowes it allowes,
Vultures and furies nestled in the boughes.
To these my love I foolishly committed
And then with sweete words to my Mistrisse fitted.
More fitly had they wrangling bondes contained
From barbarous lips of some Atturney strained.
Among day bookes and billes they had lame better
In which the Merchant wayles his banquerout debter.
Your name approves you made for such like things,
The number two no good divining bringes.
Angry, I pray that rotten age you wrackes
And sluttish white-mould overgrowe the waxe.
ELEGIA 13
Ad Auroram ne properet
Now on the sea from her old love comes shee,
That drawes the day from heavens cold axletree.
Aurora whither slidest thou? downe againe,
And birds for Memnon yearly shall be slaine.
Now in her tender armes I sweetly bide,
If ever, now well lies she by my side.
The aire is colde, and sleepe is sweetest now,
And birdes send forth shrill notes from everie bow.
Whither runst thou, that men, and women, love not?
Hold in thy rosie horses that they move not.
Ere thou rise starres teach seamen where to saile,
But when thou comest they of their courses faile.
Poore travailers though tierd, rise at thy sight,
And souldiours make them ready to the fight,
The painfull Hinde by thee to field is sent,
Slow oxen early in the yoake are pent.
Thou coosnest boyes of sleepe, and dost betray them
To Pedants, that with cruell lashes pay them.
Thou makste the suretie to the lawyer runne,
That with one worde hath nigh himselfe undone,
The lawier and the client hate thy view,
Both whom thou raisest up to toyle anew.
By thy meanes women of their rest are bard,
Thou setst their labouring hands to spin and card.
All could I beare, but that the wench should rise,
Who can indure, save him with whom none lies?
How oft wisht I night would not give thee place,
Nor morning starres shunne thy uprising face.
How oft, that either wind would breake thy coche,
Or steeds might fal forcd with thick clouds approch.
Whither gost thou hateflil nimph? Memnon the elfe
Received his cole-blacke colour from thy selfe.
Say that thy love with Coephalus were not knowne,
Then thinkest thou thy loose life is not showne?
Would Tithon might but talke of thee a while,
Not one in heaven should be more base and vile.
Thou leav’st his bed, because hees faint through age,
And early mountest thy hatefull carriage:
But heldst thou in thine armes some Coephalus,
Then wouldst thou cry, stay night and runne not thus.
Punish ye, because yeares make him waine?
I did not bid thee wed an aged swaine.
The Moone sleepes with Endemion everie day,
Thou art as faire as shee, then kisse and play.
Jove that thou shouldst not hast but wait his leasure,
Made two nights one to finish up his pleasure.
I chid no more, she blusht, and therefore heard me,
Yet lingered not the day, but morning scard me.
ELEGIA 14
Puellamconsolatur cui proe nimia cura comoe deciderant
Leave colouring thy tresses I did cry,
Now hast thou left no haires at all to die.
But what had beene more faire had they beene kept?
Beyond thy robes thy dangling lockes had sweept.
Feardst thou to dresse them? being fine and thinne
Like to the silke the curious Seres spinne,
Or thrids which spiders slender foote drawes out
Fastning her light web some old beame about.
Not black, nor golden were they to our viewe,
Yet although neither, mixt of eithers hue,
Such as in hilly Idas watry plaines,
The Cedar tall spoyld of his barke retaines.
Ad they were apt to curle an hundred waies,
And did to thee no cause of dolour raise.
Nor hath the needle, or the combes teeth reft them,
The maide that kembd them ever safely left them.
Oft was she drest before mine eyes, yet never,
Snatching the combe, to beate the wench out drave her.
Oft in the morne her haires not yet digested,
Halfe sleeping on a purple bed she rested,
Yet seemely like a ThracianBacchinall
That tyr’d doth rashly on the greene grasse fall.
When they were slender, and like downy mosse,
Thy troubled haires, alas, endur’d great losse.
How patiently hot irons they did take
In crooked tramells crispy curles to make.
I cryed, tis sinne, tis sinne, these haires to burne,
They well become thee, then to spare them turne.
Farre off be force, no fire to them may reach,
Thy very haires will the hot bodkin teach.
Lost are the goodly lockes, which from their crowne
Phoebus and Bacchus wisht were hanging downe.
Such were they as Diana painted stands
All naked holding in her wave-moist hands.
Why doest thy ill kembd tresses losse lament?
Why in thy glasse doest looke being discontent?
Bee not to see with wonted eyes inclinde,
To please thy selfe, thy selfe put out of minde.
No charmed herbes of any harlot skathd thee,
No faithlesse witch in Thessale waters bath’d thee.
No sicknesse harm’d thee, farre be that a way,
No envious tongue wrought thy thicke lockes decay.
By thine owne hand and fault thy hurt doth growe,
Thou mad’st thy head with compound poyson flow.
Now Germany shall captive haire-tyers send thee,
And vanquisht people curious dressings lend thee,
Which some admiring, O thou oft wilt blush
And say he likes me for my borrowed bush,
Praysing for me some unknowne Guelder dame,
But I remember when it was my fame.
Alas she almost weepes, and her white cheekes,
Died red with shame, to hide from shame she seekes.
She holds, and viewes her old lockes in her lappe,
Aye me rare gifts unworthy such a happe.
Cheere up thy selfe, thy losse thou maiest repaire,
And be heereafter seene with native haire.
ELEGIA 15
Ad invidos, quod fama poetarum sit perennis
Envie, why carpest thou my time is spent so ill,
And tearmes my works fruits of an idle quill?
Or that unlike the line from whence I sprong,
Wars dustie honors are refused being yong,
Nor that I studie not the brawling lawes,
Nor set my voyce to sale in everie cause?
Thy scope is mortall, mine eternall fame,
That all the world may ever chaunt my name.
Homer shall live while Tenedos stands and Ide,
Or into sea swift Symois doth slide.
Ascreus lives, while grapes with new wine swell,
Or men with crooked sickles come downe fell.
The world shall of Callimachus ever speake,
His Arte excelld, although his witte was weake.
For ever lasts high Sophocles proud vaine,
With sunne and moone Aratus shall remaine.
While bond-men cheat, fathers be hard, bawds hoorish,
And strumpets flatter, shall Menander flourish.
Rude Ennius, and Plautus full of wit,
Are both in Fames etemall legend writ.
What age of Varroes name shall not be tolde,
And fasons Argos, and the fleece of golde?
Loftie Lucretius shall live that houre,
That Nature shall dissolve this earthly bowre.
Aeneas warre, and Titerus shall be read,
While Rome of all the conquered world is head.
Till Cupids bow, and flerie shafts be broken,
Thy verses sweet Tibullus shall be spoken.
And Gallus shall be knowne from East to West,
So shall Licoris whom he loved best:
Therefore when flint and yron weare away,
Verse is immortall, and shall nere decay.
Let Kings give place to verse, and kingly showes,
And banks ore which gold bearing Tagus flowes.
Let base conceited wits admire vilde things,
Faire Phoebus leade me to the Muses springs.
About my head be quivering Mirtle wound,
And in sad lovers heads let me be found.
The living, not the dead can envie bite,
For after death all men receive their right:
Then though death rackes my bones in funerall fler,
lie live, and as he puls me downe, mount higher
The same by B.J.
Envie, why twitst thou me, my Time’s spent ill?
And call’st my verse fruites of an idle quill?
Or that (unlike the line from whence I sprong)
Wars dustie honors I pursue not young?
Or that I studie not the tedious lawes;
And prostitute my voyce in every cause?
Thy scope is mortall; mine eternall Fame,
Which through the world shall ever chaunt my name.
Homer will live, whil’st Tenedos stands, and Ide,
Or to the sea, fleete Simois doth slide:
And so shall Hesiod too, while vines doe beare,
Or crooked sickles crop the ripened eare.
Callimachus, though in Invention lowe,
Shall still be sung, since he in Arte doth flowe.
No losse shall come to Sophocles proud vaine,
With Sunne and Moone Aratus shall remaine.
Whil’st Slaves be false, Fathers hard, and Bauds be whorish,
Whilst Harlots flatter, shall Menander florish.
Ennius, though rude, and Accius high-reard straine,
A fresh applause in every age shall gaine.
Of Varro’s name, what eare shall not be tolde?
Of JasonsArgo? and the Fleece of golde?
Then, shall Lucretius loftie numbers die,
When Earth, and Seas in fire and flames shall frie.
Titirus, Tillage, Aeney shall be read,
Whil’st Rome of all the conquer’d world is head.
Till Cupids fires be out, and his bowe broken,
Thy verses (neate Tibullus) shall be spoken.
Our Gallus shall be knowne from East to west:
So shall Licoris, whom he now loves best.
The suffering Plough-share or the flint may weare:
But heavenly Poesie no death can feare.
Kings shall give place to it, and Kingly showes,
The bankes ore which gold-bearing Tagus flowes.
Kneele hindes to trash: me let bright Phoebus swell,
With cups full flowing from the Muses well.
The frost-drad myrtle shall impale my head,
And of sad lovers Ile be often read.
,Enuy the living, not the dead, doth bite.
,For after death all men receive their right.
Then when this body falls in flineral fire,
My name shall live, and my best part aspire.
BOOK II
ELEGIA 1
Quodpro gigantomochia amores scribere sit coactus
I Ovid Poet of my wantonnesse,
Borne at Peligny, to write more addresse.
So Cupid wills, farre hence be the severe,
You are unapt my looser lines to heare.
Let Maydes whom hot desire to husbands leade,
And rude boyes toucht with unknowne love me reade,
That some youth hurt as I am with loves bowe
His owne flames best acquainted signes may knowe,
And long admiring say by what meanes learnd
Hath this same Poet my sad chaunce discernd?
I durst the great celestiall battells tell,
Hundred-hand Gyges, and had done it well,
With earthes revenge and how Olimpus toppe
High Ossa bore, mount Pelion up to proppe.
Jove and Joves thunderbolts I had in hand
Which for his heaven fell on the Gyants band.
My wench her dore shut, Joves affares I left,
Even Jove himselfe out off my wit was reft.
Pardon me Jove, thy weapons ayde me nought,
Her shut gates greater lightning then thyne brought.
Toyes, and light Elegies my darts I tooke,
Quickly soft words hard dores wide open strooke.
Verses deduce the horned bloudy moone
And call the sunnes white horses backe at noone.
Snakes leape by verse from caves of broken mountaines
And turned streames run back-ward to their fountaines.
Verses ope dores, and lockes put in the poast
Although of oake, to yeeld to verses boast.
What helpes it me of fierce Achill to sing?
What good to me wil either Ajax bring?
Or he who war’d and wand’red twenty yeare?
Or wofull Hector whom wilde jades did teare?
But when I praise a pretty wenches face
Shee in requitall doth me oft imbrace.
A great reward: Heroes of famous names
Farewel, your favour nought my minde inflames.
Wenches apply your faire lookes to my verse
Which golden love doth unto me rehearse.
ELEGIA 2
Ad Bagoum, ut custodiam puelloe sibi commissoe laxiorem habeat
Bagous whose care doth thy Mistrisse bridle,
While I speake some fewe, yet fit words be idle.
I sawe the damsell walking yesterday
There where the porch doth Danaus fact display.
Shee pleas’d me, soone I sent, and did her woo,
Her trembling hand writ back she might not doo.
And asking why, this answeare she redoubled,
Because thy care too much thy Mistresse troubled.
Keeper if thou be wise cease hate to cherish,
Beleeve me, whom we feare, we wish to perish.
Nor is her husband wise, what needes defence
When un-protected ther is no expence?
But fliriously he follow his loves fire
And thinke her chast whom many doe desire.
Stolne liberty she may by thee obtaine,
Which giving her, she may give thee againe.
Wilt thou her fault leame, she may make thee tremble,
Feare to be guilty, then thou maiest desemble.
Thinke when she reades, her mother letters sent her,
Let him goe forth knowne, that unknowne did enter,
Let him goe see her though she doe not languish
And then report her sicke and full of anguish.
If long she stayes, to thinke the time more short
Lay downe thy forehead in thy lap to snort.
Enquire not what with Isis may be done
Nor feare least she to th’ theater’s runne.
Knowing her scapes thine honour shall encrease,
And what lesse labour then to hold thy peace?
Let him please, haunt the house, be kindly usd,
Enjoy the wench, let all else be refusd.
Vaine causes fame of him the true to hide,
And what she likes, let both hold ratifide.
When most her husband bends the browes and frownes,
His fauning wench with her desire he crownes.
But yet sometimes to chide thee let her fall
Counterfet teares: and thee lewd hangman call.
Object thou then what she may well excuse,
To staine all faith in truth, by false crimes use.
Of wealth and honour so shall grow thy heape,
Do this and soone thou shalt thy freedome reape.
On tell-tales neckes thou seest the linke-knitt chaines,
The filthy prison faithlesse breasts restraines.
Water in waters, and fruite flying touch
Tantalus seekes, his long tongues game is such.
While Junos watch-man Io too much eyde,
Him timelesse death tooke, she was deifide.
I sawe ones legges with fetters blacke and blewe,
By whom the husband his wives incest knewe.
More he deserv’d, to both great harme he fram’d,
The man did grieve, the woman was defam’d.
Trust me all husbands for such faults are sad
Nor make they any man that heare them glad.
If he loves not, deafe eares thou doest importune,
Or if he loves, thy tale breedes his misfortune.
Nor is it easily prov’d though manifest,
She safe by favour of her judge doth rest.
Though himselfe see; heele credit her denyall,
Condemne his eyes, and say there is no tryall.
Spying his mistrisse teares, he will lament
And say this blabbe shall suffer punnishment.
Why fightst galust oddes? to thee being cast do happe
Sharpe stripes, she sitteth in the judges lappe.
To meete for poyson or vilde facts we crave not,
My hands an unsheath’d shyning weapon have not.
Wee seeke that through thee safely love we may,
What can be easier then the thing we pray?
ELEGIA 3
Ad Eunuchum servantem dominam
Aye me an Eunuch keepes my mistrisse chaste,
That cannot Venus mutuall pleasure taste.
Who first depriv’d yong boyes of their best part,
With selfe same woundes he gave, he ought to smart.
To kinde requests thou wouldst more gentle prove,
If ever wench had made luke-warme thy love:
Thou wert not borne to ride, or armes to beare,
Thy hands agree not with the warlike speare.
Men handle those, all manly hopes resigne,
Thy mistrisse enseignes must be likewise thine.
Please her, her hate makes others thee abhorre,
If she discardes thee, what use servest thou for?
Good forme there is, yeares apt to play togither,
Unmeete is beauty without use to wither.
Shee may deceive thee, though thou her protect,
