was now return'd in vain BEhold my Birth-day for why was I borne Doth vainly unto me again teturne Hard-hearted day why dost thou still extend My years to which thou shouldst have put an end If thou hadst any care of me or shame Thou wouldst not thus have followed me in vain But in that place have given me my death Where in my childe-hood first I drew my breath And with my friends that now at Rome do dwell Thou mightst at once have took thy last farewel What 's Pontus unto thee or art thou sent By Caesars wrath with me to banishment Dost thou expect thy wonted honour here While I a white robe on my shoulders wear Or that fair Garlands should environ round The smoaking Altar with sweet incense crown'd Offering such gifts as may befit the day While for thy prosperous return I pray But now I do not live in such a time That when thou com'st I should to mirth incline A funeral Altar doth become me now That may be stuck round with the Cypress bough Now incense to the Gods were cast away While in my depth of grief I cannot pray Yet one request upon this day I 'le name That to this place thou ne're return again Whilst in the farthest Pontick shore I live Which falsely some the name of Euxine give ELEGIE XIV Here he writes unto his Friend That he would his books defend THou chief of Learned men what maketh thee A friend unto my idle vein to be When I was safe then thou my lines didst praise And being absent thou my fame dost raise And all my verses thou dost entertain Except the Art of Love which I did frame Since then thou lovest the new Poets strain Within the City still keep up my Name For I and not my books am banisht thence Which they could not deserve by my offence The Father oft is banished we see While as his Children in the City be My verses now are like to Pallas borne Without a Mother and being so forlorne I send them unto thee for they bereft Of Father now unto thy charge are left Three sons of mine by me destroyed were But of the rest see that thou have a care And fifteen books of changed shapes there lyes Being ravisht from their Masters obsequies That work I had unto perfection brought If that I had not my own mine wrought Which uncorrected now the people have If any thing of mine the people crave Let this among my other books now stand Being sent unto thee from a foraign Land Which whoso reads let him but weigh again The time and place wherein I did it frame He will pardon me when he shall understand That I was banisht in a barbarous Land And will admire that in my adverse time With a sad hand I could draw forth a line Mis-fortunes have depriv'd me of my strain Although before I ne're had a rich vein Yet whatsoe're it was even now it lies Dried up for want of any exercise Here are no books to feed me with delight But in stead of books the bows do me affright Here 's none to whom I may my lines rehearse That can both hear and understand my verse I have no place where I may walk alone But with the Getes shut up in walls of stone Somtimes I ask for such a places name But there is none can answer me again And when I fain would speak I must confess I want fit words my mind for to express The Seythian language doth my ear affright So that the Getick tongue I sure could write I fear lest you within this book should see That Pontick words with Latin mingled be Yet read it and thereto a pardon give When thou considerest in what state I live LIB 4. ELEGIE I. To excuse his Books he doth begin And shews how his Muse did comfort him IF any faults are in these books of mine Have them excused Reader by their time I sought no fame but only some relief That so my mind might not think on her grief Even as the ditcher bound with fetters strong Will lighten heavy labour with a song And he will sing that with a bended side Doth draw the slow boat up against the Tide And he that at the Oar doth tug with pain Doth sing while he puts back his Oar again The weary shepherd sitting on a hill Doth please his sheep with piping on his quill And every Maid within the Country bred Will sing while she is drawing forth her thread Achilles being sad for Briseis loss The Haemonian Harp did soften that same cross While Orpheus for his wife much grief did shew With his sweet tunes the woods and stones he drew So did my muse delight me as I went And bore me company in my banishment She fear'd no treachery not the souldiers hand Nor yet the wind or sea or barbarous land She knew what errour first my ruin brought And that there was no wickedness in my thought And since from her my fault did first proceed She is made guilty with me of that deed Yet still the fear of harm me so affrights I scarce dare touch the Muses holy rites But now a sudden fury doth me move And being hurt by verse yet verse I love Even as Ulisses took delight to taste The Lote-tree which did hurt him at the last The Lover feels his loss yet does delight In it and seeks to feed his appetite So books delight me which did me confound Loving the Dart which gave me this same wound Perhaps this study may a fury seem And yet to many it hath use full been It makes the mind that it cannot retain Her grief in sight but doth forget the same As she ne're selt the wound which Bacchus gave But wildly on the Idean hills did rave So when a sacred fire my breast doth warme My higher fancy doth all sorrow scorne It feels no banishment or Pontick shore Nor thinks the Gods are angry any more And as if I should drink dull Lethes water I have no sense of any sorrow after Needs must those Goddesses then honour'd be Who from their Helicon did come with me And for to follow me they still did please Either by foot by shipping or by seas And may they gracious unto me abide Since that the Gods are all on Craesar's side While those griefs which they heap on me are more Then fish in seas or sands upon the shore The flowers in spring-time thou maiest sooner tell Or Autumns apples or the snow that fell Then all my griefs being tossed too and fro While I unto the Euxine shore do go Where come I found no change of misery As if ill-fortune still did follow me My thred of life in one course here doth run Of black and dismal wooll this thread is spun Though I omit my dangers and my grief I 've seen such miseries as are past belief Amongst the barbarous Getes how can he live To whom the people once such praise did give How
Love to a Lapwing chang'd the Thracian King And fitted Progne with a Swallows wing And 't was a brothers love that did affright The Sun and made him for to hide his light Never should Scylla on the stage appear But that love made her clip her fathers hair And whoso reads Orestes frantick fears Of murthered Pyrrhas and Aegisthus heares What name I him did the Chimaera tame Whose treacheous hostess sought his life in vain What of Hermione or the Arcadian Maid Phoebe whose course the Latmian lover staid Or what of Danae by Jove a mother grown And Hercules got in two nights joyn'd in one To these adde Yo le Pyrrhus and that Boy Sweet Hylas with Paris fire-brand unto Troy And should I here recite loves tragick flames My book would scarce contain their very names Thus tragedies to wanton laughter bend And many shameful words in them they blend Some blameless have Achilles acts defac'd And by soft measures have his deeds disgrac'd Though Aristides his own faults compil'd Yet Aristides was not straight exil'd Eubius did write an impure history And does describe unwholsom venery Nor he that Sybarin luxuries composed Nor he that his own sinful acts disclosed These in the libraries by some bounteous hand To publick use do there devoted stand By strangers pens I need not seek defence Our own books with such liberty dispence For though grave Ennius of wars tumults writ Whose artless works do shew an able wit The cause of fire Lucretius doth explain And shews how three causes did this world frame Wanton Catullus yet his Muse did task To praise his Mistress whom he then did mask Under the name of Lesbia and so strove In verse to publish his own wanton love And with like licence Calvus too assaies For to set forth his pleasure divers waies Why should I mention Memnons wanton vein Who to each filthy act doth give a name And Cinna striving by his verse to please Cornificus may well be rank'd with these And he that did commend to after fame His love disguised by Metellus name And he that sailed for the fleece of gold His secret thefts of love doth oft unfold Hortensius too and Servius writ as bad who 'd think my fault so great examples had Sisenna Aristides works translates And oft in wanton jests expatiates For praising Lycoris none doth Gallus blame If that his tounge in wine he could contain Tibullus writes that womens oathes are wind Who can with outward shews their husbands blind Teaching them how their keepers to beguile While he himself is consen'd by that wise That he would take occasion for to try Her ring that he might touch her hand thereby By private tokens he would talk sometime And on the table draw a wanton sign Teaching what oyles that blewness shall expel Which by much kissing on their lips doth dwell And unto husbands do strict rules commend If they be honest wives will not offend And when the dog doth barke to know before That 't is their Lover that stands at the door And many notes of Love-thefts he doth leave And teacheth wives their husbands to deceive Yet is Tibullus read and famous grown And unto thee great Caesar he was known And though Propertiue did like precepts give Yet his clear fame doth still unstained live To these did I succeed for I 'le suppress Their names who live and faulty are no less I fear'd not where so many ships had past That my poor bark should shipwrackt be at last For some do shew the Art to play at dice Which was in former times esteem'd a vice And how to make the dice still higher run And so the little loosing Ace to shun Or how to cast and strike a Dye again To run that chance which any one shall name And how at Drafts a crowned King to make And play your man where none the same can take To know to chase and to retire and then In flying how to back your man again And some the game of three-stones likewise show Where he does win that brings them on a row Others in sundry games like pains do take Wherein we lose our time to win a stake And some of Tennis-play do also sing And do instruct us how by art to swim Here one the secrets of face-drugs discloses Another laws of crowned feasts composes And the best day he likewise doth assign And what Cups do become the sparkling wine And in December merry ryhmes ate sung By which the Winter doth sustain no wrong So I to write some merry verses meant Which straight were punisht with sad banishment Of all these former writers there was none Whose Muse did ruine him but I alone If I had jested in some Mimick vein Which wanton Sceanes of love doth still contain In which the Lover does come forth to wooe And wanton wives do cheat their husbands too Yet these Maids Matrons and old men delight And 'fore the Senate acted are by night Whose wanton language doth the ear prophane Making loose offers at those acts of shame When husbands are beguil'd by pretty waies They applaud the Poet and do give him bayes He gains by being punish'd for his crimes And makes the Praetor pay more for his lines And when great Caesar thou dost set forth playes The Poet 's pay'd that did the plot first raise Which thou beholdest and hast set out to view Whereby thou dost thy gracious mildness shew And with those eyes which make the world to fear Thou saw'st the Scenes of love that acted were If Mimicks may write in a wanton strain Why should my verse such punishment obtain Are they by licence of the stage protected Which makes the Mimicks bawdy jests affected My poems too have made the people rise To help attention with their greedy eyes Though in your house the lively pictures stand Of Noblemen drawn by the painters hand Yet have you wanton tables hanging by Which shew the divers shapes of venery Though you have Ajax picture full of ire And fierce Medea with her eyes like fire Yet Venus seems to dry her moystned hairs As if from sea she newly did repair Let others of wars bloudy tumults write And of thy acts which learned pens invite Nature hath scanted me and doth restrain To meaner subjects this my humble vein Yet Virgil who is read with much delight Doth of the acts of brave Aeneas write And no part is with greater favour read Then where he brings him to Queen Dido's bed Yet in his youth he did commend fair Phillis And sports himself in praising Amarillis And though I formerly in that same vein Offended yet I now do bear the blame I had writ verses when before thee I Amongst the other horse-men passed by And now my age doth even bear the blame Of those things which my younger years did frame My faulty books are now reveng'd at last And I am punish'd for a fault that 's past Yet all my works are not so light and vain
Sometimes I lanch'd into the deeper main And in six books Romes holidaies have shew'd Where with the Month each Volume doth conclude And to thy sacred name did dedicate That work though left unperfect by my fate Besides I stately Tragedies have writ And with high words the Tragick stile did fit Besides of changed shapes my muse did chant Though they my last life-giving hand did want And would thy anger were but so appeas'd As that to read my verse thou wouldst be pleas'd My verse where from the infant birth of things My Muse her work unto thy own time brings Thou shouldst behold the strength of every line Wherein I strive to praise both thee and thine Nor are my verses mingled so with gall As that my lines should be Satyrical Amongst the vulger people none yet found Themselves once touch'd my Muse my self doth wound Therefore each generous mind I do believe Will not rejoyce but at my ill fare grieve Nor yet will triumph o're my wretched state Who ne're was proud even in my better fate O therefore let these reasons change thy mind That in distress I may thy favour find Not to return though that perhaps may be When thou in time at last maist pardon me But I intreat thee to remove me hence To safer exile fitting my offence LIB 3. The Book doth to the Reader shew That he it loath to come to view And tels how he was entertain'd By some while others him disdain'd I Am that Book who fearfully do come Even from a banisht man to visit Rome And coming weary from a foraign land Good Reader let me rest within thy hand Do not thou fear or be asham'd of me Since no love verses in this paper be My Master now by fortune is opprest It is no time for him to write in jest Though in his youth he had a wanton vein Yet now he doth condemn that work again Behold here 's nothing but sad mourning lines So that my verse agreeth with his times And that my second verse is lame in strength Short feet do cause it or the journies length Nor are my rough leaves cover'd o're with yellow For I my authors fortune mean to follow And though some blots my clearer letters stain Know that my authors toars did make the same If thou my language scarcely understand Know that he writ me in a barbarous land Therefore good Reader teach me where to go Some place of rest unto a strange book show This having said with words which grief made slow One ready was the way to me to show I thankt him and did pray the Gods that he Might like my Master never banisht be Lead on and I will follow by thy hand Though I am tir'd with passing sea and land He did consent and as we went quoth he This is the holy street which thou dost see Here 's Vestaes Temple that keeps holy fire Here Numa's lofty pallace doth aspire Here is Evanders gate and now you come Unto that place where they first builded Rome And then quoth I this is the house of Jove This oaken crown doth my conjecture prove He told me it was Caesars nay then quoth I I see great Jove dwels here in Majesty Yet why doth Bayes upon the gates appear And thus incircle Caesars statue here In it because his house doth merit praise And is beloved of the God of Bayes Or doth it now denote a Festival In token of that peace he gives to all Or as the Lawrel evermore is green So still his house most flourishing hath been Or do those letters on the wreath engrav'd Shew that that City by his power was sav'd Oh Caesar save one Citizen at last Who now into the utmost world is cast Where he sad punishment doth still sustain Which he by errour only did obtain Alass while I view Caesars pallace here My letters seem to quake with trembling fear Dost thou not see my paper does look pale And how my trembling feet begin to fail I pray that this same house which now I see May to my master reconciled be From thence we to Apollo's Temple went To which by steps there is a fair ascent Where stand the signes in fair outlandish stone Of Belus and of Palamed the sonne There ancient books and those that are more new Do all lye open to the readers view I sought my brethren there excepting them Whose hapless birth my father doth condemn And as I sought the chief man of that place Bid me be gone out of that holy space I went to Temples to the Theater-joyn'd But here no entertainment could I finde Nor could I come unto the outward yard Which unto learned books is not debar'd We are heirs unto mis-fortune by descent And we his children suffer banishment Perhaps when time doth Caesar's wrath subdue He will to him and us some favour shew Since for the peoples help I do not care O Caesar hearken to my earnest prayer Since publick stalls are unto me deny'd In private corners I my self may hide And you Plebeians take in hand again My verses which you once repuls'd with shame ELEGIE II. In Swan-like tunes he doth deplore His exile and knocks at the door Of death desiring hasty fare His wretched life would terminate WAs it my fate that I should Scythia see And the land whose Zenith is the Axle-tree And would not you sweet Muses nor Apollo Help me who did your holy rites still follow Could not my hamless verses me excuse And life more serious then jesting Muse But that I must when I the seas had past Unto the Pontick land be brought at last And I that still my self from care with-drew Loving soft ease and no rough labour knew Having past great dangers both by sea and land Here worst of miseries is by me sustain'd Yet I endure these evils for I find My body doth receive strength from my mind And in my passage to my sad exile I with my studie did my cares beguile But when I did my journies end attain And that unto the hated shore I came Then from mine eyes a shower of tears did flow Like water runing from the melted snow And then my house and Rome comes in my mind And every thing that I had left behind Alass that I should knock still at the grave To be let in yet can no entrance have Why have I still escaped from the sword Could not the sea to me a death afford You Gods who constant are in your just ire And do with Caesar in revenge conspire I do beseech you hasten on my fate And bid death open unto me the gate ELEGIE III. He lets his wise here understand Of his sickness in a forraign land Then writes his Epitaph with intent To make his Books his monument THat this my Letter by a strangers hand Is writ the cause my sickness understand For in the worlds remotest part I lye Sick and uncertain of recovery What comfort can within that climate shine
OVIDS TRISTIA Containinge fiue Bookes of mournfull Elegies which hee sweetly composed in the midst of his aduersitie while hee liu'd in Tomos a Cittie of Pontus where hee dyed after seauen yeares Banishment from Rome Translated into English by W. S. Veniam pro laude peto LONDON Printed by Andrew Clark T. Cecill sculp The Explantion of the Frontispiece AUgustus Caesar in the front doth stand Who banish'd Ovid to the Pontick land One side shews Rome the other doth present The Ship which carried him to banishment A happy Pyramid ' its self doth raise Built on those Books from whence he got his praise The sable Pyramid doth likewise show That his ruine from the Art of Love did grow Bâ—neath poor Ovid rests his weary head Upon his Coffin when all hope was fled And thereupon his wreath of Bayes doth lye To shew he did in Pontus banish'd dye But yet his Muse new life to him doth give And by his lines sweet Ovid still doth live Vade Liber mundo Dominus fuit exuâ—… inde Disce pati á Domino fer mala vade Liber OVID's TRISTIA CONTAINING Five Books of mournful ELEGIES Which he sweetly composed in the midst of his Adversity while he liv'd in Tomos a City of PONTVS Where he died after Seven Years Banishment from ROME Translated into English by W. S. Veniam pro laude peto The fourth Edition Corrected LONDON Printed by Andrew Clark and are to be sold by Thomas Williams at the Golden Ball in Hosier-Lane 1672. TO THE Honourable and worthy of Honour by Desert Sr. Kenelme Digby K t. SIR YOur generous mind framed by nature to vertue and vertuous actions is so well known to Souldiers and Scholars that as Mars gives you Bayes so the Muses do give you Books Quis ergo generosus Ad virtutem bene à natura coÌ„positus Sen. l. 5. p. 44. The consideration whereof hath emboldned me though a stranger to offer to your protection this translation of Ovids Elegys who I think was even rocked in his cradle by the Muses and fed with sugar and Heliconian water which made him have so sweet a vein of Poetry So that the name of Ovid is a sufficient commendation for any work of his if my English can but like the Eccho send back the soft Musick of his lines And indeed if he write best of love that hath been in love and that there is a certain 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or efficacy in his words that feels the affection I doubt not but my own sorrow hath learn'd me how to translate Ovids sorrow For I confess I was never in Fortunes books and therefore am not much indebted to her neither do I care for her frowns but I am grieved for one who is my brother in mis-fortune who is exul in Patria being enforced to let that skill and experience which he hath gotten abroad in Marine affairs and which hath been approved of both by the English and Dutch Nations in several long voyages lie dead in him for want of employment which is the life of practical knowledge And though he must be compelled by his present fates to accept of the imployment of foraign Nations yet if a way might be opened unto him he is more willing as he is bound by duty to serve his native King and Country which desire of his I know your generous disposition cannot but cherish and approve of my love towards him This book Ovid sent to the City of Rome a appears by die first verse Parve nec invideo c. and I am now to send it forth into a City abounding with Criticks and therefore it desires your worthy patronage and defence for which if Ovid lived he would make his fluent Muse express his thankfulness But I for any favour which you shall shew unto this translation must acknowledge my self bound unto your vertue which I wish may shine forth in prosperous actions until your fame be equal to Caesars who banished Ovid. The servant of your Vertues W. SALTONSTAL To the Reader IT is now grown a common custome to seek thy good will by an Epistle and therein to move thy affection to be favourable to the present work wherein I need not bestow any great pains for this is a translation of Ovids last book which he writ in banishment and therefore if you would set before your eyes the present estate wherein he then lived it would exceedingly move your pitty towards him Imagine that you saw Ovid in the Land of Pontus where he whose company was so much desired was now banish'd from all company he that was once the Darling of the Muses now made the subject of misery he that drank choise wines now drinks spring water he that wore a wreath of Bayes now wears a wreath of Cypress and to conclude he that was once so famous was now as much unfortunate and all this was most unworthily inflicted on him for some offence committed against Caesar and also for writing that unhappy Book which he called the Art of Love for these two he accuses as the causers of his banishment during which time he writ this last Book entituling it his Tristium because it contained his sorrow And lastly consider that after he had written this book having divers times sought to be repealed from banishment and despairing of any mercy from Caesar he at last dyed in the seventh year of his Banishment from Rome the Muses together with Venus and a hundred little Cupids being mourners at his Funeral If therefore you ever loved the sweetness of Ovids veine or if the consideration of his sufferance in banishment his want his griefs his afflictions and lasty his death in a barbarous Land can move your pitty and compassion I doubt not but you will shew much love and affection to these Elegies even for Ovids sake whose compositions were so sweet and fluent that his verses did run like a smooth stream fed by the spring of the Muses so that he could hardly speak but in the manner of a verse for so he testifies of himself Quicquid conabor dicere versus erit Now for my self I have put these Elegies of Ovids into an English mourning habit with a frontispiece to give thee a clear view of Ovids misery and to make thy heart more apt to receive a deeper impression of his sorrow that seeing how unworthily he was dealt withal thou mayest both pitty Ovid and love this work of his which is all I desire Thine W. S. Angelus Politianus his Epigram on the banishment and death of Ovid. THe Roman Poet lies in the Euxine shore And barbarous earth the Poet covers o're Him that did write of love that land doth hide Through which the Isters colder streams do glide And were it not a shame to be O Rome More cruel then the Geles to such a son Oh Muses while he sick in Scyshia lay Who was there that his sickness could allay Or keep his cold limbs in the
Samos as she went along Upon the other side there stands a Wood Thus farre my ship did bring me through the flood Through the Bistonians fields on foot I went And then from Hellespont her course she bent For to Dardania she her course intended And Lampsace which Priapus defended So to the walls of Cyzicon she came Which the Maeonian people first did frame Thence to Constantinople was her way Whereas two Seas do meet within one bay Now may my other ship with a strong gale Pass by the moving Isles while she doth sail By the Thinnian bay while her course doth fall To come hard by Anchialus high wall Then to Messembria Odesson and the Tower Which is defended by God Bacchus power And to Megara which did first receive Alcathous who did his Country leave So to Miletus which is the place assign'd To which by Caesars wrath I am confin'd Where for an offering of a greater price A Lambe to Pallas I will sacrifice And you two Brothers that are stellifi'd I pray that you my ship may gently guide One ship to the Cyanean Isles is bound The other goes to the Bistonian ground And therefore grant the winde may fitly stand To bring them safely to a diverse land ELEGIE X. Unto the Reader here he showes That he this first Book did compose In his journey and so doth crave His pardon if some faults it have EAch letter that thou readest in this Book I did indite while I my journey took And while I writ the Sea did me enfold While I did tremble with December's cold Or when having past the Isthmus through the main We were enforced to take ship again I think it did amaze the Cyclades To see me writing verses on the Seas I wonder too that I with stormes of mind And waves opprest could such invention find For if that Poetry be nam'd a madness Yet it did ease my minde in mid'st of sadness Now by the stormy winds our ship was beaten Then Sterope did make the seas to threaten Arctophylax did cloud the day again And Southern windes did bring down showers of rain The Sea leak'd in a pace yet then I drew With trembling hand these verses here in view And now the winds did whistle in the shrowds The waves did seem to rise up to the clouds The Pilot lifting up his hands and heart Besought the Gods for help and left his Art Where e're I look deaths shape behold I may Which maketh me at once to fear and pray The Heavens sight would but encrease my fears The Land more fearful then the Sea appears The fear of cruel men my thoughts doth trouble The sword and seas do make my fears seem double For that would fain deprive me of my breath And this would have the glory of my death On the left hand a barbarous Nation stood Who do delight in slaughter warre and blood And while the waves do give the sea no rest The sea is not more troubled than my breast So that the Reader ought to pardon these Few lines of mine if that they do not please I writ them not within my garden Arbour Or while my bed my weary limbs did harbour But on our ship the angry waves did beat And the blew water did my paper wet Winter grew angry for to see me write While he in threatning stormes did shew his might I yield to him and may his stormy weather Here with my verse be ended both together LIB 2. Unto Caesar he excuses Himself and condemns his Muses And many Poets doth recite Who in their times did loosely write Yet in that age were never sent Though like in fault to banishment WHat have I to do with you my unhappy book On whom as on my ruine I must look Why do I returne unto my Muse again Is' t not enough one punishment to obtain It was my verse that first did overthrow me And made both men and women wish to know me It was my verse did make great Caesar deem My life to be such as my verse did seem Amongst my chiefest faults I must rehearse My love of study and my looser verse In which while I my fruitless labour spent I gained nothing but sad banishment Those learned Sisters I should therefore hate Who their adorers still do ruinate Yet such my madnesse is that folly armes me To strike my foot against that stone that harmes me Even as some beaten Fencer after tries To reâ—gain honour by a second Prize Or as some torne ship that newly came To shore yet after stands to sea again Perhaps as Telephus was healed by a sword So that which hurt me shall like help afford And that my verse his mov'd wrath may appease Since verses have great power the Gods to please Caesar hath bidden each Italian Dame To sing some verses to great Opis name And unto Phoebus when he set forth plaies To him once seen within an age of daies So may my verse great Caesars now obtain By examples to appease thy wrath again Just is thy wrath which I will ne're deny Such shameful words from my mouth do not flie And this offence makes me for pardon crie Since faults are objects of thy clemencie Jove would be soon disarm'd if he should send His thunder-bolts as oft as men offend Now though his thunders make the world to fear It breaks the clouds and makes the aire more clear Whom therefore father of the Gods we name Than Jove none greater doth the world contain Thou Pater Patriae too art call'd then be Like to those Gods in name and clemencie And so thou art for no more moderate hand Could hold the reines of Empire and command Thy enemie once overcome in field Thou pardon'st which he victor would not yield And some thou did'st with honours dignifie That have attempted ' gainst thy majestie Thy warres on one day did begin and cease While both sides brought their offerings unto peace That as the Victor in the vanquisht Foe The vanquisht in the victor gloried so My case is better since I ne're did joyne With those who did in arms ' gainst thee combine By Sea by Earth and Stygian Gods I swear And by thy self whose God-like power I fear My thoughts though wanting means to be exprest As faithful were as those who most profest For I did joyne my frequent prayers with them That thou might'st here long wear thy Diadem And for thy safety made a poor expence To please the Gods with offered Frankincense Besides those faulty books of mine contain In many places thy most sacred name And if thou would'st that worke of mine peruse Of changed shapes snatcht from my banisht Muse In it thy name still mention'd thou shalt finde And many things which shew my humble minde For though my hapless Muse cannot aspire To raise thy fame and glory any higher Jove's pleas'd when we his glorious acts rehearse And make him be the subject of our verse And when we do the Giants
in thy Son While Caesars foes young Caesar doth o're-come And lastly through thy Empires large extention No part doth fall away through thy prevention The City and the Laws thou dost defend And by example dost thy subjects mend Nor with thy people dost thou live at ease When by thy wars thou settest them in peace ' Mongst such affairs I wounder thou hadst time For to peruse those Idle jests of mine Or if thou readst them with a quiet thought I wish that in my art thou hadst read no fault It was not for severer judgements writ And for thy princely view it was unfit Yet such as doth not ' gainst thy laws offend Or wanton rules to marryed Wives commend And least thou doubt to whom they written were In one book of the three these verses are Away all you whose fillets bind your hair And you that ankle-touching garments wear The lawfull scapes of love we here rehearse That so their may be no fault in my verse What though we banish from this Art all such As the robe and fillet bids us not to touch Yet may the Matron use another art And draw from thence what I did ne'r impart Let the Matron then not read for she may find Matter in all verse to corrupt her mind What e're she touches she that delights in ill Of vices knowledge she may learn the skill Let her the Annales take though most severe The fault of Ilia will thereby appear And in the Aeneads read as in the other How wanton Venus was Aeneas mother And I will shew beneath in every kind That there 's no verse but may corrupt the mind Yet every book is not for this to blame Since nothing profits but may hurt again Than sire what better yet he that doth desire To burne a house doth arm himself with sire Health-giving physick health doth oft empair Some hearbs are wholesome and some poyson are The chief and traveller swords wear to th' end Th' one may assault the other may defend Though eloquence should plead the honest cause It may defend the guilty by the laws So if my verse be read with a good mind Thou shalt be sure in it no hurt to find He therefore erres who led by self-conceit Doth mis-interpret whatsoe're I write Why are there Cloisters wherein Maids do walk That with their Lovers they may meet and talk The Temple though most sacred let her shun That with an evil mind doth thither come For in Joves temple her thoughts will suggest How many Maids by Jove have been opprest And think in Junoe's temples when she s praying How Juno injur'd was by Joves oft straying And Pallas seen she thinks some faulty birth Made her to hide Ericthon born of earth If she come to Mars's temple o're the gate There standeth Venus with her cuning mate In Isis temple she revolveth how Poor Io was transform'd into a Cow And something then her wandring fancy moves To think of Venus and Anchises loves Jasus and Ceres next her thoughts encite And pale Endimion the Moons favourite For though those statues were for prayer assign'd Yet every thing corrupts an evil mind And my first leaf bids them not read that Art Which I to Harlots only did impart And since in maidens it is thought a crime For to press farther than the Priests assign Is she not faulty then who not forbears To read my verses prohibited chaste cares Matrons to view those pictures are content Which various shapes of venery present And Vestal Virgins do peruse the same For which the Author doth receive no blame Yet why did I that wanton vein approve Why doth my Book perswade them unto love It was my fault which I do hear confess My wit and judgement did therein transgress Why did not I of Troy's sad ruin tell That vexed theme which by the Graecians fell Or Thebes seven gates which severally kept Where by mutual wounds those brothers dy'd and slept An ample subject warlike Rome afforded Whose acts I might have piously recorded And though great Caesars deeds abroad are known Yet by my verse some part I might have shown For as the Suns bright rayes do draw the sight So might thy acts my willing Muse incite Yet 't was no fault to plough a little field Knowing that theme doth fertile matter yield For though the Cock-boat through the Lake do row She dare not venture unto sea to go This I did fear for though my lighter vein To frame some slender measures can attain Yet had I took to write the Gyants war That work for me had been to heavy far That happy wits of Caesars acts may tell Whose high strain'd lines his acts can parallel And though I once attempted such an act Me thought my verse did from thy worth detract Then to my Youthful Layes I went again And writ of love under a fained name The fates did draw me ' gainst my own intent By writing to obtain a banishment Why learnt I by my parents care or why Did tempting books detain my busie eye For this thou hat'st me since thou dost distrust I taught by art how to solicite lust When I to wives no theft of love did show How could I teach what I did never know For though some smooth soft verses I did frame No ill report could ever wound my fame Nor can some husband of the vulgar rank For being made a doubtful father thank My verse by which my thoughts are not exprest My life is modest though my muse love jest Besides my works are Fictions and do crave Some liberty which their Authour may not have Nor do books shew the mind whose chief intention Is to delight the ear with new invention Should Accius cruel be Terence delight In bankets and all warriours who do write Of wars and lastly some have love-layes fram'd Who though like faulty yet are not like blam'd What did the harping old man teach in rhyme But to steep Venus in the heat of Wine And Sappho doth instruct maids how to love Yet he nor Sappho no man doth reprove Who blames Battiades that abus'd his leasure In wanton verse to set forth his own pleasure Menanders pleasant merry tales of love The harmless thoughts of virgins do approve What do the Iliads shew but wars sad shape In the regaining an adulterous rape And how Achilles Chryses love enflam'd And how the Grecians Helen back regain'd The Odysses shew how in a wooing strife Those sutors vainly sought Ulysses wife And Homer tells how Mars and Venus ty'd In close embraces by the Gods were spy'd Whom but from Homer could we ever know How two fair Ladies lov'd a stranger so The tragedies in stateliness excel Yet those of loves affairs do often tell Hyppolitus was loved of his mother And fait Canace did affect her brother When Menelaus Helen bore away Cupid did drive the chariot on that day When in the Childrens bloud the mother dyes The sword this act from frantick love did rise