Far off be force, no fire to them may reach, Thy very hairs will the hot bodkin teach." Lost are the goodly locks, which from their crown,

Phoebus and Bacchus wished were hanging down.

Such were they as Diana painted stands,
All naked holding in her wave-moist hands.
Why dost thy ill-combed tresses' loss lament?
Why in thy glass dost look, being discon-
tent?

Be not to see with wonted eyes inclined;
To please thyself, thyself put out of mind.
No charmed herbs of any harlot scathed
thee,

No faithless witch in Thessal waters bathed thee.

No sickness harmed thee (far be that away!) No envious tongue wrought thy thick locks' decay.

By thine own hand and fault thy hurt doth grow,

Thou mad'st thy head with compound poison flow.

Now Germany shall captive hair-tires send thee,

And vanquished people curious dressings lend thee.

With some admiring, O thou oft wilt blush! And say, 'He likes me for my borrowed

bush. Praising for me some unknown Guelder dame,

But I remember when it was my fame." Alas she almost weeps, and her white cheeks,

Dyed red with shame to hide from shame she seeks.

She holds, and views her old locks in her lap;

Ah me! rare gifts unworthy such a hap. Cheer up thyself, thy loss thou may'st repair,

And be hereafter seen with native hair.

ELEGIA XV.

Ad invidos, quod fama poetarum sit perennis. Envy, why carp'st thou my time's spent so ill?

And term'st my works fruits of an idle quill?
Or that unlike the line from whence I sprung,
War's dusty honours are refused being young?
Nor that I study not the brawling laws,
Nor set my voice to sale in every cause?
Thy scope is mortal; mine, eternal fame.
That all the world may ever chant my

name.

Homer shall live while Tenedos stands and Ide,

Or to the sea swift Simois doth slide. Ascræus lives while grapes with new wine swell,

Or men with crooked sickles corn down fell. The world shall of Callimachus ever speak, His art excelled, although his wit was weak. For ever lasts high Sophocles' proud vein, With sun and moon Aratus shall remain. While bondmen cheat, fathers [be] hard, bawds whorish,

And strumpets flatter, shall Menander flou

rish.

Rude Ennius, and Plautus full of wit,
Are both in Fame's eternal legend writ.
What age of Varro's name shall not be told,
And Jason's Argo, and the fleece of gold?
Lofty Lucretius shall live that hour,
That nature shall dissolve this earthly
bower.

Æneas' war and Tityrus shall be read, While Rome of all the conquered world is head.

Till Cupid's bow, and fiery shafts be broken,
Thy verses sweet Tibullus shall be spoken.
And Gallus shall be known from East to
West,

So shall Lycoris whom he loved best.
Therefore when flint and iron wear away,
Verse is immortal and shall ne'er decay.
To verse let kings give place and kingly
shows,

And banks o'er which gold-bearing Tagus flows.

Let base conceited wits admire vile things,
Fair Phoebus lead me to the Muses' springs.
About my head be quivering myrtle wound,
And in sad lovers' heads let me be found.
The living, not the dead, can envy bite,
For after death all men receive their right.
Then though death rakes my bones in
funeral fire,

I'll live, and as he pulls me down mount higher.

omer will live, whilst Tenedos stands, and Ide,

to the sea, fleet Symois doth slide:

d so shall Hesiod too, while vines do bear,

crooked sickles crop the ripened ear; llimachus, though in invention low, all still be sung, since he in art doth flow.

o less shall come to Sophocles' proud vein; ith sun and moon Aratus shall remain. hile slaves be false, fathers hard, and bawds be whorish,

hile harlots flatter, shall Menander flourish.

nius, though rude, and Accius' highreared strain,

fresh applause in every age shall gain. Varro's name, what ear shall not be told?

Jason's Argo, and the fleece of gold? en, shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die, Then earth, and seas in fire and flames shall fry.

tyrus, Tillage, Æney shall be read,

Till Cupid's fires be out, and his bow broken,

Thy verses, neat Tibullus, shall be spoken. Our Gallus shall be known from East to West,

So shall Lycoris, whom he now loves best.

The suffering ploughshare or the flint may

wear,

But heavenly poesy no death can fear. Kings shall give place to it, and kingly shows,

The banks o'er which gold-bearing Tagus flows.

Kneel hinds 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 I'll be often read.

Envy the living, not the dead doth bite, For after death all men receive their right.

Then when this body falls in funeral fire,

aspire.

Quod pro gigantomachia amores scribere
sit coactus.

I, Ovid, poet, of my wantonness,
Born at Peligny, to write more address.
So Cupid wills. Far hence be the severe !
You are unapt my looser lines to hear.
Let maids whom hot desire to husbands
lead,

And rude boys, touched with unknown love, me read:

That some youth hurt, as I am, with Love's bow,

His own flame's best acquainted signs may know.

And long admiring say, "By what means learned,

Hath this same poet my sad chance discern'd ?"

I durst the great celestial battles tell, Hundred-hand Gyges, and had done it well;

With Earth's revenge, and how Olympus top

High Ossa bore, Mount Pelion up to prop; Jove and Jove's thunderbolts I had in hand, Which for his heaven fell on the giants' band.

My wench her door shut, Jove's affairs I left,

Even Jove himself out of my wit was reft. Pardon me, Jove! thy weapons aid me nought,

Her shut gates greater lightning than thine brought.

Toys and light elegies my darts I took, Quickly soft words hard doors wide-open strook.

Verses reduce the horned bloody moon, And call the sun's white horses back at

noon.

Snakes leap by verse from caves of broken mountains,

And turned streams run backward to their fountains.

Verses ope doors; and locks put in the post,

Although of oak, to yield to verses boast; What helps it me of fierce Achill to sing? What good to me will either Ajax bring?

Or he who warred and wandered twenty year?

Or woful Hector whom wild horses tear?
But when I praise a pretty wench's face,
She in requital doth me oft embrace.
A great reward! Heroes of famous names
Farewell! your favour naught my mind in-
flames.

Wenches apply your fair looks to my verse,
Which golden Love doth unto me rehearse.

Her trembling hand writ back she might not do.

And asking why, this answer she redoubled, Because thy care too much thy mistress troubled.

Keeper, if thou be wise, cease hate to cherish,

Believe me, whom we fear, we wish to perish.

Nor is her husband wise: what needs de fence,

When unprotected there is no expense?
But furiously he follow his love's fire,
And thinks her chaste whom many do
desire:

Stolen liberty she may by thee obtain,
Which giving her, she may give thee again:
Wilt thou her fault learn? she may make
thee tremble.

Fear to be guilty, then thou may'st dissemble.

Think when she reads, her mother letters sent her:

Let him go forth known, that unknown dd

enter.

Let him go see her though she do not languish,

And then report her sick and full of anguish.

If long she stays, to think the time more short,

Lay down thy forehead in thy lap to snort. Enquire not what with Isis may be done, Nor fear lest she to the theatres run. Knowing her scapes, thine honour shall increase;

And what less labour than to hold thy peace?

Let him please, haunt the house, be kindly used,

Enjoy the wench; let all else be refused. Vain causes feign of him, the true to hide, And what she likes, let both hold ratified. When most her husband bends the brows and frowns,

His fawning wench with her desire he

crowns.

But yet sometimes to chide thee let her fall Counterfeit tears: and thee lewd hangman call.

Object thou then, what she may well excuse, To stain all faith in truth, by false crimes'

use.

Of wealth and honour so shall grow thy heap:

Do this, and soon thou shalt thy freedom reap.

The filthy prison faithless breasts restrains.
Water in waters, and fruit flying touch
Tantalus seeks, his long tongue's gain is
such.

While Juno's watchman lö too much eyed,
Him timeless death took, she was deified.
I saw one's legs with fetters black and blue,
By whom the husband his wife's incest
knew:

More he deserved; to both great harm he framed,

The man did grieve, the woman was defamed.

Trust me all husbands for such faults are sad, Nor make they any man that hears them glad.

If he loves not, deaf ears thou dost importune,

Or if he loves, thy tale breeds his misfortune.
Nor is it casy proved though manifest,
She safe by favour of her judge doth rest.
Though himself see, he'll credit her denial,
Condemn his eyes, and say there is no trial.
Spying his mistress' tears, he will lament
And say
"This blab shall suffer punish-

ment." Why fight'st 'gainst odds? to thee, being cast, do hap

Sharp stripes; she sitteth in the judge's lap.

abhor,

If she discards thee, what use serv'st thou for?

Good form there is, years apt to play together:

Unmeet is beauty without use to wither. She may deceive thee, though thou her protect,

What two determine never wants effect.
Our prayers move thee to assist our drift,
While thou hast time yet to bestow that
gift.

ELEGIA IV.

Quod amet mulieres, cujuscunque formæ sint.
I mean not to defend the scapes of any,
Or justify my vices being many;
For I confess, if that might merit favour,
Here I display my lewd and loose behaviour.
I loathe, yet after that I loathe I run:
Oh, how the burthen irks, that we should
shun.

I cannot rule myself but where love please
And driven like a ship upon rough seas,
No one face likes me best, all faces move,
A hundred reasons make me ever love.
If any eye me with a modest look,

I blush, and by that blushful glance am took;

And she that's coy I like, for being no clown,

Methinks she would be nimble when she's down.

Though her sour looks a Sabine's brow resemble,

I think she'll do, but deeply can dissemble. If she be learned, then for her skill I crave her,

If not, because she's simple I would have her. Before Callimachus one prefers me far; Seeing she likes my books, why should we jar?

Another rails at me, and that I write,

Yet would I lie with her, if that I might: Trips she, it likes me well; plods she, what then?

She would be nimbler lying with a man. And when one sweetly sings, then straight I long,

To quaver on her lips even in her song; Or if one touch the lute with art and cunning,

Who would not love those hauds for their swift running?

And her I like that with a majesty,
Folds up her arms, and makes low courtesy.
To leave myself, that am in love with all,
Some one of these might make the chastest
fall.

If she be tall, she's like an Amazon,

And therefore fills the bed she lies upon:
If short, she lies the rounder, to say troth,
But short and long please me, for I love
both.

I think what one undecked would be, being drest;

Is she attired? then show her graces best. A white wench thralls me, so doth golden yellow;

And nut-brown girls in doing have no fellow.

If her white neck be shadowed with brown hair,

Why so was Leda's, yet was Leda fair. Amber-tress'd is she? then on the morn think I:

My love alludes to every history:

A young wench pleaseth, and an old is good,
This for her looks, that for her womanhood:
Nay what is she, that any Roman loves,
But my ambitious ranging mind approves?

ELEGIA V.

Ad amicam corruptam.

No love is so dear,-quivered Cupid fly !That my chief wish should be so oft to die.

Minding thy fault, with death I wish to revel;

Alas! a wench is a perpetual evil,
No intercepted lines thy deeds display,
No gifts given secretly thy crime bewray.
O would my proofs as vain might be with-
stood!

Ah me, poor soul, why is my cause so good?

He's happy, that his love dares boldly credit;

To whom his wench can say, "I never did it."

He's cruel, and too much his grief doth favour,

That seeks the conquest by her loose behaviour.

Poor wench, I saw when thou didst think I slumbered;

Not drunk, your faults on the spilt wine I numbered.

I saw your nodding eyebrows much to speak,

Even from your cheeks, part of a voice did break.

Not silent were thine eyes, the board with wine

Was scribbled, and thy fingers writ a line. I knew your speech (what do not lovers see?

And words that seemed for certain marks to be.

Now many guests were gone, the feast being done,

The youthful sort to divers pastimes run. I saw you then unlawful kisses join; (Such with my tongue it likes me to pur loin),

None such the sister gives her brother grave, But such kind wenches let their lovers have. Phoebus gave not Diana such, 'tis thought, But Venus often to her Mars such brought. "What dost?" I cried; "transport'st thou my delight?

My lordly hands I'll throw upon my right.
Such bliss is only common to us two,
In this sweet good why hath a third to do?"
This, and what grief enforced me say,
said:

A scarlet blush her guilty face arrayed;
Even such as by Aurora hath the sky,
Or maids that their betrothed husbands