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But when she comes, your swelling mounts sink down, And falling vallies be the smooth ways crown.

Elec 1A 17.

Quod Corinnae soli sit serviturus. To serve a wench if any think it shame, He being judge, I am convinc'd of blame. Let me be slandered, while my fire she hides, That Paphos, and the flood-beat Cithera guides. Would I had been my mistress' gentle prey, Since some fair one I should of force obey. Beauty gives heart, Corinna's looks excel, Ayme, why is it known to her so well? But by her glass disdainful pride she learns, Nor she herself, but first trim'd up, discerns. Not though thy face in all things make thee reign, (O face, most cunning mine eyes to detain :) Thou ought'st therefore to scorn me for thy mate. Small things with greater may be copulate. Love-snar'd Calypso is suppos'd to pray A mortal nymph's refusing lord to stay. Who doubts, with Peleus Thetis did consort, Egeria with just Numa had good sport. Venus with Vulcan, though smiths' tools laid by, With his stump foot he halts ill-favouredly. This kind of verse is not alike, yet fit, With shorter numbers the heroic sit. And thou, my light, accept me howsoever, Lay in the mid bed, there be my lawgiver. My stay no crime, my flight no joy shall breed,

Nor of our love, to be asham'd we need.
For great revenues I good verses have,
And many by me to get glory crave.
I know a wench reports herself Corinne,
What would not she give that fair name to win?
But sundry floods in one bank never go,
Eurotas cold, and poplar-bearing Po.
Nor in my books shall one but thou be writ,
Thou dost alone give matter to my wit.

ELEG 1 A 18.

Ad Macrum, quod de amoribus scribat. To tragic verse while thou Achilles train'st, And new sworn soldiers' maiden arms restrain'st. We, Macer, sit in Venus' slothful shade, And tender love hath great things hateful made. Often at length, my wench depart, I bid, She in my lap sits still as erst she did. I said it irks me, half to weeping fram’d, Ay me! she cries, to love, why art ashamed ! Then wreathes about my neck her winding arms, And thousand kisses gives, that work my harms: I yield, and back my wit from battles bring, Domestic acts, and mine own wars to sing. Yet tragedies, and sceptres fill'd my lines, But though I apt were for such high designs, Love laugh'd at my cloak, and buskins painted, And rule, so soon with private hands acquainted. My mistress' deity also drew me from it, And love triumpheth o'er his busking poet.

What lawful is, or we profess love's art:
(Alas my precepts turn myself to smart.)
We write, or what Penelope sends Ulysses,
Or Phillis' tears that her Demophoon misses.
What thankless Jason, Macareus, and Paris,
Phedra, and Hippolite may read, my care is.

And what poor Dido, with her drawn sword sharp,

Doth say, with her that lov'd the Aonian harp.
As soon as from strange lands Sabinus came,
And writings did from divers places frame.
White-cheek’d Penelope knew Ulysses' sign,
The step-dame read Hippolites' lustless line.
AEneas to Elisa answer gives,
And Phillis hath to read; if now she lives.
Jason's sad letter doth Hypsipile greet;
Sappho her vow'd harp lays at Phoebus' feet.
Nor of thee, Macer, that resound'st forth arms,
Is golden love hid in Mars' mid alarms.
There Paris is, and Helen's crimes record,
With Laodamia, mate to her dear lord.
Unless I err to these thou more incline,
Than wars, and from thy tents wilt come to mine.

Ad rivalem cui uxor curae non erat.
Fool, if to keep thy wife thou hast no need,
Keep her from me, my more desire to breed:
We scorn things lawful, stol'n sweets we affect;
Cruel is he that loves whom none protect.

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Let us, both lovers, hope and fear alike, And may repulse, place, for our wishes strike. What should I do with fortune that ne'er fails me? Nothing I love, that at all times avails me. Wily Corinna saw this blemish in me, And craftily knows by what means to win me. Ah, often, that her whole head ach'd, she lying, Will'd me, whose slow feet sought delay by flying; Ah, oft, how much she might, she feign'd offence; And doing wrong made shew of innocence. So having vex'd she nourish'd my warm fire, And was again most apt to my desire. To please me, what fair terms and sweet words has she, Great gods ! what kisses, and how many gave she Thou also that late took'st mine eyes away, Oft cozen me, oft being wood, say nay. And on thy threshold let me lie dispread, Suff'ring much cold by hoary night's frost bred. So shall my love continue many years; This doth delight me, this my courage cheers. Fat love, and too much fulsome me annoys, Even as sweet meat a glutted stomach cloys. In brazen tower had not Danaae dwelt, A mother's joy by Jove she had not felt. While Juno Io keeps, when horns she wore, Jove lik'd her better than he did before. Who covets lawful things takes leaves from woods, And drinks stol'n waters in surrounding floods.

Her lover let her mock, that long will reign,
Aye me, let not my warnings cause my pain,
Whatever haps, by suffrance harm is done,
What flies, I follow, what follows me I shun.
But thou, of thy fair damsel too secure,
Begin to shut thy house, at evening, sure.
Search at the door who knocks oft in the dark,
In night's deep silence why the ban-dogs bark.
Whether the subtle maid lines brings and carries,
Why she alone in empty bed oft tarries.
Let this care sometimes bite thee to the quick,
That to deceits it may me forward prick.
To steal sands from the shore he loves a life,
That can affect a foolish wittal's wife.
Now I forewarn, unless to keep her stronger
Thou dost begin, she shall be mine no longer.
Long have I borne much, hoping time would beat
To guard her well, that well I might intreat thee.
Thou suffer'st what no husband can endure,
But of my love an end it will procure.
Shall I, poor soul, be never interdicted 2
Nor never with night's sharp revenge afflicted?
In sleeping shall I fearless draw my breath?
Will't nothing do, why I should wish thy death?
Can I but loath a husband grown a bawd?
By thy default thou dost our joys defraud.
Some other seek that may in patience strive will
To pleasure me, forbid me to connive with thee.

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