 | Ouids elegies |  |
ELEGIA 7. Ad pacandam amicam, quam verberauerat.
Binde fast my hands, they haue deserued chaines,While rage is absent, take some friend the paines.
For rage against my wench mou'd my rash arme,
My mistresse weepes whom my mad hand did harme.
I might haue then my parents deare misus'd,
Or holy Gods with cruell stroakes abus'd.
Butcher'd the flocks he found in spatious field.
And he who on his mother veng'd his fire,
Against the destinies durst, sharp darts require.
Could I therefore her comely tresses teare?
Yet was she graced with her ruffled hayre.
So faire she was, Atalanta she resembled,
Before whose bow th' Arcadian wild beasts trembled.
Such Ariadne was, when she bewayles,
Her periur'd Theseus flying vowes and sayles.
So chast Minerua did Cassandra fall,
Deflowr'd except, within thy Temple wall.
That I was mad, and barbarous all men cryed,
She nothing said, pale feare her tongue had tyed.
But secretly her lookes with checks did trounce me,
Her teares, she silent, guilty did pronounce me.
Would of mine armes, my shoulders had beene scanted,
Better I could part of my selfe haue wanted.
To mine owne selfe haue I had strength so furious?
And to my selfe could I be so iniurious?
Slaughter and mischiefes instruments, no better,
Deserued chaines these cursed hands shall fetter.
Punisht I am, if I a Romaine beat,
Ouer my Mistris is my right more great.
Tydides left worst signes of villanie,
He first a Goddesse strooke; another I.
Yet he harm'd lesse, whom I profess'd to loue,
I harm'd: a foe did Diomedes anger moue.
Go now thou Conqueror, glorious triumphs raise,
Pay vowes to Ioue: engirt thy haires with baies.
And let the troupes which shall thy Chariot follow,
Io, a strong man conquer'd this wench, hollow.
On her white neck but for hurt cheekes ke led.
Meeter it were her lips were blew with kissing,
And on her neck a wanton marke not missing.
But though I like a swelling flood was driuen,
And as a pray vnto blinde anger giuen.
Wa'st not enough the fearefull wench to chide?
Nor thunder in rough threatings haughty pride?
Nor shamefully her coate pull ore her crowne,
Which to her wast her girdle still kept downe,
But cruelly her tresses hauing rent,
My nayles to scratch her louely cheekes I bent.
Sighing she stood, her blood-lesse white lookes shewed,
Like marble from the Parian Mountaines hewed.
Her halfe dead ioynts, and trembling limmes I saw,
Like Popler leaues blowne with a stormy flaw.
Or slender eares, with gentle Zephire shaken,
Or waters tops with the warme south-winde taken.
And downe her cheekes, the trickling teares did flow,
Like water gushing from consuming snow.
Then first I did perceiue I had offended,
My blood, the teares were that from her descended.
Before her feete thrice prostrate downe I fell,
My feared hands thrice back she did repell.
But doubt thou not (reuenge doth griefe appease,)
With thy sharp nayles vpon my face to seaze.
Bescrath mine eyes, spare not my lockes to breake,
(Anger will help thy hands though nere so weake.)
And least the sad signes of my crime remaine,
Put in their place thy keembed haires againe.
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