And fir'st his cleyes.

Why art thou thus enrag'd?

Kind Jupiter hath low declined himself;
Venus is faint; swift Hermes retrograde;

Mars only rules the heaven; why do the planets
Alter their course, and vainly dim their virtue?
Sword-girt Orion's side glisters too bright.

War's rage draws near; and to the sword's strong hand
Let all laws yield, sin bear the name of virtue;
Many a year these furious broils let last!

Why should we wish the gods should ever end them?
War only gives us peace: O Rome continue,
The course of mischief, and stretch out the date
Of slaughter! only cruel broils make peace."
These sad presages were enough to scar

The quivering Romans, but worse things affright them;
As Mænas full of wine on Pindus raves,

So runs a matron through th' amazed streets,
Disclosing Phoebus' fury in this sort:

"Pean whither am I hail'd? where shall I fall?
Thus borne aloft I see Pangeus' hill,

With hoary top, and under Hemus' mount,
Philippi plains; Phoebus! what rage is this?

Why grapples Rome, and makes war, having no foes?
Whither turn I now? thou lead'st me toward th' east,
Where Nile augmenteth the Pelusian sea;
This headless trunk that lies on Nilus' sand

I know; now throughout the air I fly,

To doubtful Sirtes and dire Afric, where

A fury leads the Emathian bands; from thence

• Claws.

To the pine-bearing hills, thence to the mounts
Pirene, and so back to Rome again.

See impious war defiles the senate-house!
New factions rise; now through the world again
I go; O Phœbus shew me Neptune's shore,
And other regions! I have seen Philippi:"
This said being tir'd with fury she sunk down

VOL. III.

32

Ovids Elegies: Three Bookes, by C. M. Epigrammes, by I. D. at Middlebourgh.

The reprint of another, and different edition of Marlowe's translation of the Elegies of Ovid in this place, requires some explanation. The fact is, that a reprint of Marlowe's translations did not originally form a part of the design of this publication, and it was not until the whole of his original works had been printed that it was determined to include the former in the present collection. Having been favoured with the loan of a copy of the recent edition mentioned in the note preceding the "Certaine Elegies," we immediately adopted it, not having the opportunity at the time of collating it with any of the older editions, which, as our readers may suppose are sufficiently scarce. On the eve of publication however, we found that there was another edition, bearing the same imprint, but containing the whole of the elegies of the first three books, and differing from the other in some other particulars, but of less importance. This determined us to reprint the present edition entire. We learn that there is also a third edition bearing an imprint similar to the others but with the title of All Ovids Elegies,' differing however from the second only in the title. That Marlowe originally intended to translate three books is manifest from the commencement of the first elegy,

"We which were Ovid's five books now are three," but whether he actually did so, and whether the " Certaine Elegies" or the above edition was first published, and whether either of them was published in his life-time, it is, from the absence of dates, impossible to determine with accuracy. At the same time it is worthy of remark that the order for burning the translations was not made until 1599-a circumstance which leads us to suppose that it was not published until after Marlowe's death, and probably not long before the order. The Epigrams printed in the preceding pages are the same as those contained in the above edition, in which, however, the lines entitled 'Ignoto' are omitted. In this Edition it will be observed, the Epigrams are ascribed wholly to Davies.

Those elegies included in the copy first reprinted are distinguished by asterisks.

P. OVIDII NASONIS AMORUM,

LIBER PRIMA.

ELEGIA 1.*

Quemadmodum a Cupidine, pro bellis amoris scribere coactus sit.

WE which were Ovid's five books, now are three,
For these before the rest preferreth he:

If reading five thou 'plain'st of tediousness,
Two ta'en away, the labour will be less;
With muse prepar'd, I meant to sing of arms,
Choosing a subject fit for fierce alarms :
Both verses were alike till Love (men say)
Began to smile and took one foot away.

Rash boy, who gave thee power to change a line?
We are the Muses' prophets, none of thine.
What, if thy mother take Diana's bow,
Shall Dian fan when love begins to glow?
In woody groves is't meet that Ceres reign,
And quiver bearing Dian till the plain?
Who'll set the fair tress'd son in battle 'ray,
While Mars doth take the Aonion harp to play?
Great are thy kingdoms, over strong and large,
Ambitious imp! why seek'st thou further charge?
Are all things thine? the Muses' Tempe thine?
Then scarce can Phoebus say, this harp is mine.

When in this work's first verse I trod aloft,
I slack'd my muse, and made my number soft:
I have no mistress nor no favorite,

Being fittest matter for a wanton wit.

Thus I complain'd, but love unlock'd his quiver,
Took out the shaft, ordain'd my heart to shiver,
And bent his sinewy bow upon his knee,
Saying, Poet here's a work beseeming thee.
Oh, woe is me! he never shoots but hits,
I burn, love in my idle bosom sits:
Let my first verse be six, my last five feet;
Farewell stern war, for blunter poets meet!
Elegian muse, that warblest amorous lays,
Girt my shine brow, with seabank myrtle praise!

ELEGIA 2.*

Quod primo amore correptus, in triumphum duci se a
Cupidine patiatur.

WHAT makes my bed seem hard seeing it is so soft?
Or why slips down the coverlet so oft?

Although the nights be long I sleep not through,
My sides are sore with tumbling to and fro.

Were love the cause it's like I should descry him,
Or lies he close and shoots where none can spy him?
'Twas so he struck me with a tender dart,
"Tis cruel love turmoils my captive heart.
Yielding or struggling do we give him might,
Let's yield, a burden easily borne is light.
I saw a brandish'd fire increase in strength,
Which being not slak'd, I saw it die at length.