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The bed is for lascivious toyings meet,
There use all toys, and tread shame under feet;
When you are up and dress'd, be sage and grave,
And in the bed hide all the faults you have.
Be not asham'd to strip you being there;
And mingle thighs, mine ever yours to bear,
There in your rosy lips my tongue intomb, ,
Practise a thousand sports when there you come,
Forbear no wanton words you there would speak,
And with your pastime, let the bedstead creak.
But with your robes, put on an honest face,
And blushes—and seem as you were full of grace.
Deceive all, let me err, and think I'm right,
And like a wittol, think thee void of slight.
Why see I lines so oft received and given;
This bed, and that by tumbling made uneven?
Like one start up, your hair, toss'd and displac'd,
And with a wanton's tooth, your neck new raz'd 2
Grant this, that what you do I may not see,
If you weigh notill speeches, yet weigh me.
My soul fleets when I think what you have done,
And through every vein doth cold blood run.
Then thee whom I must love I hate in vain,
And would be dead, but dying with thee remain.
I'll not sift much, but hold thee soon excus'd,
Say but thou wert injuriously accus’d ;
Though while the deeds be doing you be took
And I see when you ope the two-leav'd book:
Swear I was blind, yield not if you be wise,
And I will trust your words more than mine eyes.
From him that yields, the garland is quickly got,
Teach but your tongue to say, I did it not;
And being justified by two words think
The cause acquits you not, but I that wink.


Ad invidos, quod fama Poetarum sit perennis. Envy, why carpest thou my time is spent so ill ? And term'st our works fruits of an idle quill, Or that unlike the line from whence I come, War's dusty honors are refus'd 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 might ever chaunt my name. Homer shall live while Tenedos stands and Ide, Or to the sea swift Simois shall slide. Ascreus lives, while grapes with new wine swell, Or men with crooked sickles corn down fell. For ever lasts high Sophocles' proud vein With sun and moon Eratus shall remain. While bondmen cheat, fathers hoard, bawds whorish, And strumpets flatter, shall Menander flourish. 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 Argos, and the fleece of gold? Lofty Lucretius shall live that hour, That nature shall dissolve this earthly bower. - Enaeas' war and Tityrus shall be read, While Rome of all the conquering 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 [not] decay.
Let kings give place to verse and kingly shows,
The 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 rocks my bones in funeral fire,
I'll live, and as he pulls me down mount higher.

AMoRUM, Li B. I. ELEG IA 13.

Ad Aurorum, ne properet.

Now on the sea from her old love comes she
That draws the day from heaven's cold axletree.
Aurora whither slid'st thou down again 2
And birds from Memnon yearly shall be slain.
Now in her tender arms I sweetly bide,
If ever now well lies she by my side,
The air is cold, and sleep is sweetest now,
And birds send forth shrill notes from every bough.
Whither run'st thou, that men and women love not ?
Hold in thy rosy horses that they move not.
Ere thou rise, stars teach seamen where to sail,
But when thou com'st, they of their courses fail.

Poor travellers though tired, rise at thy sight,
And soldiers arm their ready hands for fight.
The painful hind by thee to field is sent;
Slow oxen early in the yoke are pent.
Thou cous'nest boys of sleep, and dost betray them
To pedants that with cruel lashes pay them.
Thou mak'st the surety to the lawyer run,
That with one word hath nigh himself undone.
The lawyer and the client both do hate thy view,
Both whom thou raisest up to toil anew.
By thy means women of their rest are barr'd,
Thou set'st their labouring hands to spin and card.
This could I bear, but that the wench should rise,
Who can endure, save him with whom none lies 2
How oft wish'd I night would not give thee place,
Nor morning stars shun thy uprising face.
How oft that either wind, would break thy coach,
Or steeds mightfall, forc'd with thick clouds approach.
Whither go'st thou, hateful nymph” Memnon the elf,
Receiv'd his cole-black colour from thyself.
Say that thy love with Cephalus were not known,
Then thinkest thou thy loose life is not shown.
Would Tithon might but talk of thee awhile,
Not one in heaven should be more base and vile.
Thou leav'st his bed, because he's faint through age,
And early mountest thy hateful carriage:
But had'st thou in thine arms some Cephalus,
Then would'st thou cry, stay night and run not thus.
Punish ye me, because years make him wane,
I did not bid thee wed an aged swain.

The moon sleeps with Endymion every day,
Thou art as fair as she, then kiss and play.
Jove that thou should'st not haste but wait his leisure,
Made two nights one to finish up his pleasure.
I chide no more, she blush'd, and therfore heard me,
Yet linger'd not the day, but morning scar'd me.


Quod amet mulieres, cujuscunque formae 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 burden 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 makes me ever love. If any eye me with a modest look, I blush, and by that blushful glass am took, And she that's coy I like, for being no clown, Methinks she should be quick when she is 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 be with her, if that I might:

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