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The Works of Christopher Marlowe, Vol. 3 (of 3)
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Elegia VII
Quod ab amica receptus, cum ea coire non potuit, conqueriturEither she was foul, or her attire was bad,Or she was not the wench I wished to have had.Idly I lay with her, as if I loved not,And like a burden grieved the bed that moved not.Though both of us performed our true intent,Yet could I not cast anchor where I meant.She on my neck her ivory arms did throw,Her381 arms far whiter than the Scythian snow.And eagerly she kissed me with her tongue,And under mine her wanton thigh she flung,Yea, and she soothed me up, and called me "Sir,"382And used all speech that might provoke and stir.Yet like as if cold hemlock I had drunk,It mockèd me, hung down the head and sunk.Like a dull cipher, or rude block I lay,Or shade, or body was I, who can say?What will my age do, age I cannot shun,Seeing383 in my prime my force is spent and done?I blush, that being youthful, hot, and lusty,I prove neither youth nor man, but old and rusty.Pure rose she, like a nun to sacrifice,Or one that with her tender brother lies.Yet boarded I the golden Chie384 twice,And Libas, and the white-cheeked Pitho thrice.Corinna craved it in a summer's night,And nine sweet bouts had we385 before daylight.What, waste my limbs through some Thessalian charms?May spells and drugs do silly souls such harms?With virgin wax hath some imbast386 my joints?And pierced my liver with sharp needle-points?387Charms change corn to grass and make it die:By charms are running springs and fountains dry.By charms mast drops from oaks, from vines grapes fall,And fruit from trees when there's no wind at all.Why might not then my sinews be enchanted?And I grow faint as with some spirit haunted?To this, add shame: shame to perform it quailed me,And was the second cause why vigour failed me.My idle thoughts delighted her no more,Than did the robe or garment which she wore.Yet might her touch make youthful Pylius fire,And Tithon livelier than his years require.Even her I had, and she had me in vain,What might I crave more, if I ask again?I think the great gods grieved they had bestowed,This388 benefit: which lewdly389 I foreslowed.390I wished to be received in, in391 I get me.To kiss, I kiss;392 to lie with her, she let me.Why was I blest? why made king to refuse393 it?Chuff-like had I not gold and could not use it?So in a spring thrives he that told so much,394And looks upon the fruits he cannot touch.Hath any rose so from a fresh young maid,As she might straight have gone to church and prayed?Well, I believe, she kissed not as she should,Nor used the sleight and395 cunning which she could.Huge oaks, hard adamants might she have moved,And with sweet words caus[ed] deaf rocks to have loved.Worthy she was to move both gods and men,But neither was I man nor livèd then.Can deaf ears396 take delight when Phæmius sings?Or Thamyris in curious painted things?What sweet thought is there but I had the same?And one gave place still as another came.Yet notwithstanding, like one dead it lay,Drooping more than a rose pulled yesterday.Now, when he should not jet, he bolts upright,And craves his task, and seeks to be at fight.Lie down with shame, and see thou stir no more.Seeing thou397 would'st deceive me as before.Thou cozenest me: by thee surprised am I,And bide sore loss398 with endless infamy.Nay more, the wench did not disdain a whitTo take it in her hand, and play with it.But when she saw it would by no means stand,But still drooped down, regarding not her hand,"Why mock'st thou me," she cried, "or being ill,Who bade thee lie down here against thy will?Either thou art witched with blood of frogs399 new dead,Or jaded cam'st thou from some other's bed."With that, her loose gown on, from me she cast her;In skipping out her naked feet much graced her.And lest her maid should know of this disgrace,To cover it, spilt water in the place.Elegia VIII. 400
Quod ad amica non recipiatur, doletWhat man will now take liberal arts in hand,Or think soft verse in any stead to stand?Wit was sometimes more precious than gold;Now poverty great barbarism we hold.When our books did my mistress fair content,I might not go whither my papers went.She praised me, yet the gate shut fast upon her,I here and there go, witty with dishonour.See a rich chuff, whose wounds great wealth inferred,For bloodshed knighted, before me preferred.Fool, can'st thou him in thy white arms embrace?Fool, can'st thou lie in his enfolding space?Know'st not this head401 a helm was wont to bear?This side that serves thee, a sharp sword did wear.His left hand, whereon gold doth ill alight,A target bore: blood-sprinkled was his right.Can'st touch that hand wherewith some one lies dead?Ah, whither is thy breast's soft nature fled?Behold the signs of ancient fight, his scars!Whate'er he hath, his body gained in wars.Perhaps he'll tell how oft he slew a man,Confessing this, why dost thou touch him than?402I, the pure priest of Phœbus and the Muses,At thy deaf doors in verse sing my abuses.Not what we slothful know,403 let wise men learn,But follow trembling camps and battles stern.And for a good verse draw the first dart forth:404Homer without this shall be nothing worth.Jove, being admonished gold had sovereign power,To win the maid came in a golden shower.Till then, rough was her father, she severe,The posts of brass, the walls of iron were.But when in gifts the wise adulterer came,She held her lap ope to receive the same.Yet when old Saturn heaven's rule possest,All gain in darkness the deep earth supprest.Gold, silver, iron's heavy weight, and brass,In hell were harboured; here was found no mass.But better things it gave, corn without ploughs,Apples, and honey in oaks' hollow boughs.With strong ploughshares no man the earth did cleave,The ditcher no marks on the ground did leave.Nor hanging oars the troubled seas did sweep,Men kept the shore and sailed not into deep.Against thyself, man's nature, thou wert cunning,And to thine own loss was thy wit swift running.Why gird'st thy cities with a towerèd wall,Why let'st discordant hands to armour fall?What dost with seas? with th' earth thou wert content;Why seek'st not heaven, the third realm, to frequent?Heaven thou affects: with Romulus, temples brave,Bacchus, Alcides, and now Cæsar have.Gold from the earth instead of fruits we pluck;Soldiers by blood to be enriched have luck.Courts shut the poor out; wealth gives estimation.Thence grows the judge, and knight of reputation.All,405 they possess: they govern fields and laws,They manage peace and raw war's bloody jaws.Only our loves let not such rich churls gain:'Tis well if some wench for the poor remain.Now, Sabine-like, though chaste she seems to live,One her406 commands, who many things can give.For me, she doth keeper407 and husband fear,If I should give, both would the house forbear.If of scorned lovers god be venger just,O let him change goods so ill-got to dust.Elegia IX. 408
Tibulli mortem defletIf Thetis and the Morn their sons did wail,And envious Fates great goddesses assail;Sad Elegy,409 thy woful hairs unbind:Ah, now a name too true thou hast I find.Tibullus, thy work's poet, and thy fame,Burns his dead body in the funeral flame.Lo, Cupid brings his quiver spoilèd quite,His broken bow, his firebrand without light!How piteously with drooping wings he stands,And knocks his bare breast with self-angry hands.The locks spread on his neck receive his tears,And shaking sobs his mouth for speeches bears.So410 at Æneas' burial, men report,Fair-faced Iülus, he went forth thy court.And Venus grieves, Tibullus' life being spent,As when the wild boar Adon's groin had rent.The gods' care we are called, and men of piety,And some there be that think we have a deity.Outrageous death profanes all holy things,And on all creatures obscure darkness brings.To Thracian Orpheus what did parents good?Or songs amazing wild beasts of the wood?Where411 Linus by his father Phœbus laid,To sing with his unequalled harp is said.See Homer from whose fountain ever filledPierian dew to poets is distilled:Him the last day in black Avern hath drowned:Verses alone are with continuance crowned.The work of poets lasts: Troy's labour's fame,And that slow web night's falsehood did unframe.So Nemesis, so Delia famous are,The one his first love, th' other his new care.What profit to us hath our pure life bred?What to have lain alone in empty bed?When bad Fates take good men, I am forbodBy secret thoughts to think there is a God.Live godly, thou shalt die; though honour heaven,Yet shall thy life be forcibly bereaven.Trust in good verse, Tibullus feels death's pains,Scarce rests of all what a small urn contains.Thee, sacred poet, could sad flames destroy?Nor fearèd they thy body to annoy?The holy gods' gilt temples they might fire,That durst to so great wickedness aspire.Eryx' bright empress turned her looks aside,And some, that she refrained tears, have denied.Yet better is't, than if Corcyra's Isle,Had thee unknown interred in ground most vile.Thy dying eyes here did thy mother close,Nor did thy ashes her last offerings lose.Part of her sorrow here thy sister bearing,Comes forth, her unkembed412 locks asunder tearing.Nemesis and thy first wench join their kissesWith thine, nor this last fire their presence misses.Delia departing, "Happier loved," she saith,"Was I: thou liv'dst, while thou esteem'dst my faith."Nemesis answers, "What's my loss to thee?His fainting hand in death engraspèd me."If aught remains of us but name and spirit,Tibullus doth Elysium's joy inherit.Their youthful brows with ivy girt to meet him,With Calvus learned Catullus comes, and greet him;And thou, if falsely charged to wrong thy friend,Callus, that car'dst413 not blood and life to spend,With these thy soul walks: souls if death release,The godly414 sweet Tibullus doth increase.Thy bones, I pray, may in the urn safe rest,And may th' earth's weight thy ashes naught molest.Elegia X. 415
Ad Cererem, conquerens quod ejus sacris cum amica concumbere non permittaturCome were the times of Ceres' sacrifice;In empty bed alone my mistress lies.Golden-haired Ceres crowned with ears of corn,Why are our pleasures by thy means forborne?Thee, goddess, bountiful all nations judge,Nor less at man's prosperity any grudge.Rude husbandmen baked not their corn before,Nor on the earth was known the name of floor.416On mast of oaks, first oracles, men fed;This was their meat, the soft grass was their bed.First Ceres taught the seed in fields to swell,And ripe-eared corn with sharp-edged scythes to fell.She first constrained bulls' necks to bear the yoke,And untilled ground with crooked ploughshares broke.Who thinks her to be glad at lovers' smart,And worshipped by their pain and lying apart?Nor is she, though she loves the fertile fields,A clown, nor no love from her warm breast yields:Be witness Crete (nor Crete doth all things feign)Crete proud that Jove her nursery maintain.There, he who rules the world's star-spangled towers,A little boy drunk teat-distilling showers.Faith to the witness Jove's praise doth apply;Ceres, I think, no known fault will deny.The goddess saw Iasion on Candian Ide,With strong hand striking wild beasts' bristled hide.She saw, and as her marrow took the flame,Was divers ways distract with love and shame.Love conquered shame, the furrows dry were burned,And corn with least part of itself returned.When well-tossed mattocks did the ground prepare,Being fit-broken with the crooked share,And seeds were equally in large fields cast,The ploughman's hopes were frustrate at the last.The grain-rich goddess in high woods did stray,Her long hair's ear-wrought garland fell away.Only was Crete fruitful that plenteous year;Where Ceres went, each place was harvest there.Ida, the seat of groves, did sing417 with corn,Which by the wild boar in the woods was shorn.Law-giving Minos did such years desire,And wished the goddess long might feel love's fire.Ceres, what sports418 to thee so grievous were,As in thy sacrifice we them forbear?Why am I sad, when Proserpine is found,And Juno-like with Dis reigns under ground?Festival days ask Venus, songs, and wine,These gifts are meet to please the powers divine.Elegia XI. 419
Ad amicam a cujus amore discedere non potestLong have I borne much, mad thy faults me make;Dishonest love, my wearied breast forsake!Now have I freed myself, and fled the chain,And what I have borne, shame to bear again.We vanquish, and tread tamed love under feet,Victorious wreaths420 at length my temples greet.Suffer, and harden: good grows by this grief,Oft bitter juice brings to the sick relief.I have sustained, so oft thrust from the door,To lay my body on the hard moist floor.I know not whom thou lewdly didst embrace,When I to watch supplied a servant's place.I saw when forth a tirèd lover went.His side past service, and his courage spent,Yet this is less than if he had seen me;May that shame fall mine enemies' chance to be.When have not I, fixed to thy side, close laid?I have thy husband, guard, and fellow played.The people by my company she pleased;My love was cause that more men's love she seized.What, should I tell her vain tongue's filthy lies,And, to my loss, god-wronging perjuries?What secret becks in banquets with her youths,With privy signs, and talk dissembling truths?Hearing her to be sick, I thither ran,But with my rival sick she was not than.These hardened me, with what I keep obscure:421Some other seek, who will these things endure.Now my ship in the wishèd haven crowned,With joy hears Neptune's swelling waters sound.Leave thy once-powerful words, and flatteries,I am not as I was before, unwise.Now love and hate my light breast each way move,But victory, I think, will hap to love.I'll hate, if I can; if not, love 'gainst my will,Bulls hate the yoke, yet what they hate have still.I fly her lust, but follow beauty's creature,I loathe her manners, love her body's feature.Nor with thee, nor without thee can I live,And doubt to which desire the palm to give.Or less fair, or less lewd would thou might'st be:Beauty with lewdness doth right ill agree.Her deeds gain hate, her face entreateth love;Ah, she doth more worth than her vices prove!Spare me, oh, by our fellow bed, by allThe gods, who by thee, to be perjured fall.422And by thy face to me a power divine,And by thine eyes, whose radiance burns out mine!Whate'er thou art, mine art thou: choose this course,Wilt have me willing, or to love by force.Rather I'll hoist up sail, and use the wind,That I may love yet, though against my mind.Elegia XII. 423
Dolet amicam suam ita suis carminibus innotuisse ut rivales multos sibi pararitWhat day was that, which all sad haps to bring,White birds to lovers did not424 always sing?Or is I think my wish against the stars?Or shall I plain some god against me wars?Who mine was called, whom I loved more than any,I fear with me is common now to many.Err I? or by my books425 is she so known?'Tis so: by my wit her abuse is grown.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 writ,Alone Corinna moves my wanton wit.With Muse opposed, would I my lines had done,And Phœbus 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 winged steed's back takes.Our verse great Tityus a huge space outspreads,And gives the viper-curlèd dog three heads.We make Enceladus use a thousand arms,And men enthralled by mermaid's426 singing charms.The east winds in Ulysses' bags we shut,And blabbing Tantalus in mid-waters put.Niobe flint, Callist we make a bear,Bird-changèd Progne doth her Itys tear.427Jove 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 seed?Oxen in whose mouths burning flames did breed?Heaven-star, Electra,428 that bewailed her sisters?The ships, whose godhead in the sea now glisters?The sun turned back from Atreus' cursed table?And sweet-touched 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 seemed falsely praised,Now your credulity harm to me hath raised.Elegia XIII. 429
De Junonis festoWhen fruit-filled Tuscia should a wife give me,We touched 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 recompensed 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 shrouded.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 covered430 ground.White heifers by glad people forth are led,Which with the grass of Tuscan fields are fed,And calves from whose feared front no threatening flies,And little pigs, base hogsties' sacrifice,And rams with horns their hard heads wreathèd back;Only the goddess-hated goat did lack,By whom disclosed, she in the high woods took,Is said to have attempted flight forsook.Now431 is the goat brought through the boys with darts,And give[n] to him that the first wound imparts.Where Juno comes, each youth and pretty maid,Show432 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, loud433 the people hollow;And she her vestal virgin priests doth follow.Such was the Greek pomp, Agamemnon dead;Which fact434 and country wealth, Halesus fled.And having wandered now through sea and land,Built walls high towered with a prosperous hand.He to th' Hetrurians Juno's feast commended:Let me and them by it be aye befriended.Elegia XIV
Ad amicam, si peccatura est, ut occulte peccetSeeing thou art fair, I bar not thy false playing,But let not me, poor soul, know435 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-pranks436 by day?And437 hidden secrets openly to bewray?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,438 immodest speeches shun.The bed is for lascivious toyings meet,There use all tricks,439 and tread shame under feet.When you are up and dressed, be sage and grave,And in the bed hide all the faults you have.Be not ashamed to strip you, being there,And mingle thighs, yours ever mine to bear.440There 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 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 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 fleets441 when I think what you have done,And thorough442 every vein doth cold blood run.Then thee whom I must love, I hate in vain,And would be dead, but dead443 with thee remain.I'll not sift much, but hold thee soon excused.Say but thou wert injuriously accused.Though while the deed be doing you be took,And I see when you ope the two-leaved book,444Swear I was blind; deny445 if you be wise,And I will trust your words more than mine eyes.From him that yields, the palm446 is quickly got,Teach but your tongue to say, "I did it not,"And being justified by two words, thinkThe cause acquits you not, but I447 that wink.Elegia XV. 448
Ad Venerem, quod elegis finem imponatTender Loves' mother449 a new poet get,This last end to my Elegies is set.450Which I, Peligny's foster-child, have framed,Nor am I by such wanton toys defamed.Heir of an ancient house, if help that can,Not only by war's rage451 made gentleman.In Virgil Mantua joys: in Catull Verone;Of me Peligny's nation boasts alone;Whom liberty to honest arms compelled,When careful Rome in doubt their prowess held.452And some guest viewing watery Sulmo's walls,Where little ground to be enclosed befalls,"How such a poet could you bring forth?" says:"How small soe'er, I'll you for greatest praise."Both loves, to whom my heart long time did yield,453Your golden ensigns pluck454 out of my field.Horned 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.EPIGRAMS BY J[ohn] D[avies]
EPIGRAMS BY J[ohn] D[avies]. 455
AD MUSAM. I
Fly, merry Muse, unto that merry town,Where thou mayst plays, revels, and triumphs see;The house of fame, and theatre of renown,Where all good wits and spirits love to be.Fall in between their hands that praise and love thee,456And be to them a laughter and a jest:But as for them which scorning shall reprove457 thee,Disdain their wits, and think thine own the best.But if thou find any so gross and dull,That thinks I do to private taxing458 lean,Bid him go hang, for he is but a gull,And knows not what an epigram doth459 mean,Which taxeth,460 under a particular name,A general vice which merits public blame.OF A GULL. II
Oft in my laughing rhymes I name a gull;But this new term will many questions breed;Therefore at first I will express at full,Who is a true and perfect gull indeed.A gull is he who fears a velvet gown,And, when a wench is brave, dares not speak to her;A gull is he which traverseth the town,And is for marriage known a common wooer;A gull is he which, while he proudly wearsA silver-hilted rapier by his side,Endures the lie461 and knocks about the ears,Whilst in his sheath his sleeping sword doth bide;A gull is he which wears good handsome clothes,And stands in presence stroking up his hair,And fills up his unperfect speech with oaths,But speaks not one wise word throughout the year:But, to define a gull in terms precise,—A gull is he which seems and is not wise.462IN REFUM. III
Rufus the courtier, at the theatre,Leaving the best and most conspicuous place,Doth either to the stage463 himself transfer,Or through a grate464 doth show his double face,For that the clamorous fry of Inns of CourtFill up the private rooms of greater price,And such a place where all may have resortHe in his singularity doth despise.Yet doth not his particular humour shunThe common stews and brothels of the town,Though all the world in troops do thither run,Clean and unclean, the gentle and the clown:Then why should Rufus in his pride abhorA common seat, that loves a common whore?IN QUINTUM. IV
Quintus the dancer useth evermoreHis feet in measure and in rule to move:Yet on a time he call'd his mistress whore,And thought with that sweet word to win her love.O, had his tongue like to his feet been taught,It never would have utter'd such a thought!IN PLURIMOS. V. 465
Faustinus, Sextus, Cinna, Ponticus,With Gella, Lesbia, Thais, Rhodope,Rode all to Staines,466 for no cause serious,But for their mirth and for their lechery.Scarce were they settled in their lodging, whenWenches with wenches, men with men fell out,Men with their wenches, wenches with their men;Which straight dissolves467 this ill-assembled rout.But since the devil brought them thus together,To my discoursing thoughts it is a wonder,Why presently as soon as they came thither,The self-same devil did them part asunder.Doubtless, it seems, it was a foolish devil,That thus did part them ere they did some evil.IN TITUM. VI
Titus, the brave and valorous young gallant,Three years together in his town hath been;Yet my Lord Chancellor's468 tomb he hath not seen,Nor the new water-work,469 nor the elephant.I cannot tell the cause without a smile,—He hath been in the Counter all this while.
