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A14498
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Virgil's Bucolicks Engished [sic]. VVhereunto is added the translation of the two first satyrs of Iuvenal. By Iohn Bidle; Bucolica. English
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Virgil.; Biddle, John, 1615-1662.; Juvenal. Satura 1-2. English.
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1634
(1634)
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STC 24821; ESTC S119265
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26,646
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64
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VIRGIL'S BVCOLICKS ENGISHED Whereunto is added the Translation of the two first Satyrs of IVVENAL By IOHN BIDLE Baccare frontem Cingite ne vati noceat mala lingua futuro LONDON Printed by I. L. 1634. TO THE WORSHIPFVLL HIS MOST WORTHY PAtron Iohn Smith of Nibly Esquier Mecaenas of the Wottonian Muses SIth when you daigned to restore Our Schoole deflowr'd defac'd before Your Favorite hee did commence And hansell your Munificence That of his Muse he well may call You the maine Base and Pedestall And a bad Debtor 't is they say That never can resolve to pay He sir for his lanke Fortunes poore Affords him now no better store In tender of his Service due This Moity presents to you The firstlings of his Fruits that will Remaine Your gratefull Hench-man still Iohn Bidle TO THE READERS INgenuous Readers question you may with what front I enlisted I confesse among the Rable of home-bread versifiers dare thrust upon the world this abortive pamphlet shall I tell you I dreamt nothing lesse but was entasked to undertake this unwilling willing labour But not to goe about the bush if you reake not of this Apologie I pray you sith every capricious brain-sicke Rimer so pestersthe world with the uncouth Chimaeraes of his owne fancy why should not I disvellop the flag of my Muse which though shee bee home-spun and savors of Rusticity yet fearing to rove at random after selfe-plotted and new-fangled trickes in which respect shee may extort though not praise yet pardon hath chosen to confine her-selfe within the precincts of Translation and here presents you with these Pastoralls which were first coated by the Prince of Latin Poets in a Roman Garb now shifted into an English habit As for the worke it selfe I could wish I had performed it throughout with such Dexterity as might have indeered and ingaged your liking But sith as I mistrust I have not in some places upon just admonition none shall bee more ready to agnize his errors and amend them than my selfe Iohn Bidle VIRGIL'S BVCOLICKS THE FIRST ECLOGVE OR TITYRVS THE ARGVMENT Blest Tityrus his Fautor God doth stile Whilst Melibie deplores his hard Exile MELIBOEVS TITYRVS THou Tityrus in shroud of Beech dost play On slender Oaten-pipe a Sylvan lay Our Native Confines We abandon We Our pleasant Granges our Country flee Thou Tityrus i' th' shade reposing still Learn'st the woods to resound faire Amarill Tit. God is the Source of this our happy Rest O Melibaeus Him I will invest Ay with that Name A tender Lambling ta'n From our Cotes oft his Altars shall distain My Neat to freely graze thou seest and me On Reed to play my Fill permitted He. Me. Sure I Envie not but Admire thy State Through all our Countrey ev'ry where of Late We by the Souldier are embroiled so Far-off I sickly drive my Goatlings lo And Tityrus can scarce This lug along For earst she eaning th' Hazels thicke among Her twins the Flock's Hope on a bare Flint letr Oft this Disaster had we not been rest Dull Sots of Sence the Lightning-blasted Okes By sure Ostents portended and the Rook's Ill-boading Notes from th' hollow Holmen Tree But tell me Tit'rus who that God should bee Ti. With that Vast City which they Rome doe call I Foole did parallel our Mantua Small Where oft We Shep-heards sell our tender Lambs Now I haue known Thus kidlings like their Dams Whelps like their Bitches Thus compare I did Great things with small But Her cloud-threatning Head As much 'bove other Cities towreth up As Cypresses the Dwarfe Shrubs over top Me. And what such great cause hadst Thou Rome to see Ti. Sweet Liberty which re-saluted mee With Later but with Better Visits farre After my downy Beard I first did sheare She re-saluted Me and came agen Long after since that Galataea when Me Amarillis had deserted me For for I will confesse of Libertie No Hope no Care of my Estate I had While I with Rustick Galataea staid Though many a Victim from my Sheepe folds went And fat Cheese to that thank-lesse Towne I sent Yet ne'r my Fist well-monied did returne Me. I mus'd why Thou the Gods didst call and mourne And for whose Sake Thou sufferd'st Amarill The Ripe Fruit on the Trees to dangle still 'T was Tityrus went Hence The Pine-Trees tall Thee Tityrus the Founts and Groves did call Ti. What should I doe Me from the servile Yoke I neither could loose nor else-where invoke The like propitious Gods Here Melibie I did that vn-corrivald Stripling see For whose sole Sake twice sixe dayes ev'ry yeere Our Altars smoak He First my Wishes Here Sing'd with these Answerrs Boys as earst ye did Yoke your vn-wilded Buls your Oxen feed Me. Blest Old-Man therefore shall thy Country Grange Remaine and big enough for Thee to range Though It an over-peering Hill doth bound And a thick muddy Plash bemoat It round Tn'vn-wonted Clover shall not hurt thy stocke Of Pregnant Ewes Nor shall thy Neighbour's Flock Infect Them with the Scab Old happy Man Here shalt Thou ' mongst the wel known Rivers than And sacred springs be with coole Brieses fand On this side th' Hedge that parts thy Neighbors Land From Thine which for the blooming willow-Trees Is alwaies haunted by Hyblaean Bees Thee shall invite with gentle buzzing Noise To take sweet Naps oft With exalted voice Sing shall on t' other Side the Loppers shrill Downe at the Bases of a lofty Hill Nor shall hoarse Ring-doves thy care cease to woo Nor Turtle from the airy Elme to coo Ti. The light Stags therefore shall feed in the Sky And Seas leave on the shore their Fishes dry Deserting Both their Native Country's Blis The exild Parthian shall drinke Araris The german Tyâ—â—is From his Countenance 'Fore I my minâ—â—ull Hearts eyes will askance Me. But We some to the thirsty Africans Hence quick will poast some to the Scythians To Cretan swift Oaxis some confin'd And Britons quite from the whole World disjoin'd Lo I shall I wretched Exile kenning e're My Native Confines after many a yeare And Turf thatcht Contect of my Cottage poore My Petty Kingdome It admire therefore Shall th' impious Souldier be possest of These So-well tild Earshes The Barbarian seaze These Crops Lo Neighbours to what Miserie Discord hath brought Vs Lo for Whom have we Sown our manured Acres Pear-Trees now Grafe Melihoeus into Ranges bow Thy Vines ye bounding Goats avant avant Ye sometime Happy Goats Far-off I sha'n't In a greene Cave imbowl'd Hereafter You From a Thorn-bristled Mountaine hanging view To You no war bling Ditties shall I sing The flowring Cythisse I you pasturing Nor then the bitter Willowes shall you brouz Ti. But yet vouchsafe my shed thy Rendez-vouz This Night and on green Leaves repose with Me We for thy Supper mellow Apples We Fresh-gathered Chest nuts have at Home and store Of new-made Cheese And now bemisted o're With dusky Smoake are th' Hamlets Summits all And greater