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
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
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