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And justly for her praise why did I tell?
The wench by my fault is set forth to sell.
The bawd I play, lovers to her I guide:
Her gate by my hands is set open wide.
"Tis doubtful whether verse avail or harm,

Against my good they were an envious charm.

When Thebes, when Troy, when Cæsar should be


Alone Corinna moves my wanton wit.
With muse oppos'd, would I my lines had done,
And Phoebus had forsook my work begun.

Nor, as use will not poets record hear,
Would I my words would any credit bear.
Scylla by us her father's rich hair steals,
And Scylla's womb mad raging dogs conceals.
We cause feet fly, we mingle hares with snakes,
Victorious Perseus a wing'd steed's back takes.
Our verse great Tityus, a huge space outspreads,
And gives the viper-curled dog three heads.
We make Enceladus use a thousand arms,
And men inthrall'd by mermaid's singing charms.
The east winds in Ulysses' bags we shut,
And babbing Tantalus in mid-waters put.
Niobe flint, Callist we make a bear,
Bird-changed Progne doth her Itys tear.
Jove turns himself into a swan, or gold,

Or his bull's horns Europa's hand doth hold.

Proteus what should I name? teeth, Thebes' first


Oxen in whose mouths burning flames did breed;

Heav'n-starr'd Electra, that bewail'd her sisters?
The ships, whose godhead in the sea now glisters?
The sun turn'd back from Atreus' cursed table?
And sweet touch'd harp that to move stones was able?
Poets' large power is boundless, and immense,
Nor have their words true history's pretence.

And my wench ought to have seem'd falsely prais'd,
Now your credulity harm to me hath rais'd.


De Junonis festo.

WHEN fruit-fill'd Tuscia should a wife give me,
We touch'd the walls, Camillus won by thee.
The priests to Juno did prepare chaste feasts,
With famous pageants, and their home-bred beasts.
To know their rites, well recompenc'd my stay,
Though thither leads a rough steep hilly way.
There stands an old wood with thick trees dark clouded:
Who sees it grants some deity there is shrowded.
An altar takes men's incense and oblation,

An altar made after the ancient fashion.
Here, when the pipe with solemn tunes doth sound,
The annual pomp goes on the cover'd ground.
White heifers by glad people forth are led,
Which with the grass of Tuscan fields are fed.
And calves from whose fear'd front no threatning flies,
And little pigs, base hogsties' sacrifice,

And rams with horns their hard heads wreathed back,
Only the goddess-hated goat did lack.

By whom disclos'd, she in the high woods took,

Is said to have attempted flight forsook.

Now is the goat brought through the boys with dirts,

And give to him that the first wound imparts.
Where Juno comes, each youth and pretty maid,
Shew large ways, with their garments there displayed.
Jewels, and gold their virgin tresses crown,

And stately robes to their gilt feet hang down.

As is the use, the nuns in white veils clad,
Upon their heads the holy mysteries had.
When the chief pomp comes, loud the people hollow
And she her vestal, virgin priests doth follow.
Such was the Greek pomp, Agamemnon dead,
Which fact, and country wealth, Halesus fled.
And having wandered now through sea and land,
Built walls high towered with a prosperous hand.
He to th' Etrurians, Juno's feast commended,
Let me, and them by it be aye


Ad amicam, si peccatura est, ut occulte peccet.
SEEING thou art fair, I barr not thyself playing,
But let not me poor soul know of thy straying.
Nor do I give thee counsel to live chaste,
But that thou would'st dissemble, when 'tis past.
She hath not trod awry, that doth deny it.
Such as confess have lost their good names by it.
What madness is't to tell night's pranks by day?
And hidden secrets openly to betray?

The strumpet with the stranger will not do,
Before the room be clear, and door put-to.
Will you make shipwreck of your honest name,
And let the world be witness of the same ?
Be more advised, walk as a puritan,

And I shall think you chaste, do what you can.
Slip still, only deny it when 'tis done,
And, before folk, immodest speeches shun.
The bed is for lascivious toyings meet,

There use all tricks, 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, your's ever mine to bear.
There in your rosy lips my tongue entomb,
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 blush, and seem as you were full of grace.
Deceive all, let me err, and think I'm right,
And like a wittal 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 tost and displaced,
And with a wanton's tooth your neck new rased.
Grant this, that what you do I may not see;
If you weigh not ill 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 most love, I hate in vain,
And would be dead, but dead with thee remain.
I'll not sift much, but hold thee soon excus'd,
Say but thou wert injuriously accus'd.
Though while the deed be doing you be took,
And I see when you ope the two-leaved book,

Swear I was blind; deny if you be wise,
And I will trust your words more than mine eyes.
From him that yields, the palm 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 Venerem, quod elegis finem imponat. TENDER love's mother a new poet get, This last end to my elegies is set. Which I Pelignis' foster-child have fram'd. (Nor am I by such wanton toys defam'd.) Heir of an ancient house, if help that can, Not only by war's rage made gentleman. In Virgil Mantua joys: in Catul Verone, Of me Pelignis' nation boasts alone; Whom liberty to honest arms compell'd, When careful Rome in doubt their prowess held. And some guest viewing watery Sulmo's walls, Where little grounds to be inclos'd befalls; How such a poet could you bring forth, says: How small soee'r, I'll you for greatest praise. Both loves, to whom my heart long time did yield, Your golden ensigns pluck'd out of the field, Horn'd Bacchus graver fury doth distil, A greater ground with great horse is to till. Weak elegies, delightful muse farewell; A work, that after my death, here shall dwell.


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