 | Favnvs and Melliflora |  |
The first Satyre of Iuuenall.
Still shall I then an hearer only bee,
And ne're put forth my hidden poesie?
With the bigge Theseods so often cumbred
Of whuling Codrus, and vnpunished:
Shall one recite alow'd his histories
To me, another his sadde Elegies?
Huge Telephus, ought he t'haue spent the day
Scotfree, or on a ful-writ Margent stay?
Of all the booke with audience euer tended,
Orestes, not as yet behind him ended.
And ne're put forth my hidden poesie?
With the bigge Theseods so often cumbred
Of whuling Codrus, and vnpunished:
Shall one recite alow'd his histories
To me, another his sadde Elegies?
Huge Telephus, ought he t'haue spent the day
Scotfree, or on a ful-writ Margent stay?
Of all the booke with audience euer tended,
Orestes, not as yet behind him ended.
Venus (to whome it is daungerous denying any reasonable request) hearing glowming Inuenall threaten so great a punishment, entreates my Muse, that for a while she would leaue him in his English tongue vnperfect yet to Venus she makes a vow, that Iuuenal, Horace, and Persius shall hereafter all be translated.
Loues Queene faire Venus all this while attended,
Wishing they would their criticke stile haue ended:
Hearing them thus maligne, snarle, raile, and bite,
Spewing the rancor of their enuious spight:
Her Godhead being most of all abused,
All possible meanes she for reuengement vsed:
Abhorring more their spightfull action,
That they exposde her to detraction:
Because she sau'd from Iunoes tyrannie,
Eneas sometimes prince of Italie:
Preseruing then Ascanius his bratte,
By sea and land from her malignant hate:
Thus much by much entreatie she obtainde:
Or by her owne powre she thus much then gainde,
I know not whether, that (for Satyres spight)
Italians should in fond loues take delight.
In stranger sinnes, sinnes which she was ashamed,
Among th' Italians rightly should be named.
Sinnes, scarlet sinnes, sinnes who delights to vse,
In other regions, thus we him abuse
(For through the world her wrath's inueterate)
In odious termes, Yon's one Italionate:
And (to be breefe) that lustfull venerie,
Should be the downfall of all Italie:
This is the cause Italians to this day,
Are euer readie, apt, and prone that way.
Not hauing fully quencht the flaming fire
Of vengeance, with th' Italians. Now in ire
She mounts her Charriot swifter then the wind,
Or subtile comprehension of the mind.
Which by two nimble Cocksparrowes was drawne,
Caparisond but lightly, with the lawne
Tooke from the Flowerdeluces inner skin,
Trapt and embost with marigolds: within
Sits Uenus naked, holding in her hand,
A tumbling shel-fish, with a mirtle wand,
Wearing a garland on her wimpled head,
Compacted of the white rose and the red:
None but the blinde boy Cupid durst approach,
For to be whurried with her in the coach.
The snow-white Graces running by their sides,
Were through the heauens their waggoners and guides,
Lashing the sparrowes vnder quiuering wings,
With whips of twisted gold, and siluer strings:
A Beuie of white Doues still flickering ouer,
From the Sunnes sight such beautie seemde to couer.
And thus she rode in triumph in her throne,
Whose radiant lustre like the Sunne beames shone.
Darting her raies into the heauens aboue,
As halfe dismaide the maiestie of Ioue:
All heauens beautie seemed farre the lesse,
Her naked beautie striuing to suppresse:
And shrunke aside, not daring once come nie her,
Iealouse of Ioue, least he by chance should spie her:
Knowing he would their glorious beautie scorne,
When one more faire appeared him beforne.
The presence alway of the greater light,
Doth make the lesser shine not halfe so bright.
Take heede faire Ladies, standing in the place
With one more faire, you lose your former grace.
Her iourney tended to our English clime.
And here she houered, and remaind a time.
Hearing before the Satyres enmitie,
Gainst her proceedings and her deitie,
Vsing all mischiefe gainst her enemies,
Thrusting her selfe in baudy elegies,
Polluting with her damned luxury,
All eares which vowd were vnto chastity,
And euermore thus on fel mischiefe bent,
Vntil she found (she neuer was content:)
Some of her Saints (belike) who euery day,
Vnto her shrine their orizons did say:
Which fore she askt, this boone to her was giuing.
That all the Satyres then in England liuing
Should sacrifisde be in the burning fire,
To pacifie so great a goddesse ire,
And from their Cyndars should a Satyre rise,
Which their Satyricke snarling should despise.
All which perform'd, she left our English shore,
Neuer I hope to trouble vs any more.
If trauailers this yeare of Iubilie,
Bring her not o're againe from Italie:
VVhich if they do, no sooner see her floate,
But Satyres pinch her spangled Petticoate:
You know her malice plainely, as you see
Your true discent, and lineall Pedigree.
Wishing they would their criticke stile haue ended:
Hearing them thus maligne, snarle, raile, and bite,
Spewing the rancor of their enuious spight:
Her Godhead being most of all abused,
All possible meanes she for reuengement vsed:
Abhorring more their spightfull action,
That they exposde her to detraction:
Because she sau'd from Iunoes tyrannie,
Eneas sometimes prince of Italie:
Preseruing then Ascanius his bratte,
By sea and land from her malignant hate:
Thus much by much entreatie she obtainde:
Or by her owne powre she thus much then gainde,
I know not whether, that (for Satyres spight)
Italians should in fond loues take delight.
In stranger sinnes, sinnes which she was ashamed,
Among th' Italians rightly should be named.
Sinnes, scarlet sinnes, sinnes who delights to vse,
In other regions, thus we him abuse
(For through the world her wrath's inueterate)
In odious termes, Yon's one Italionate:
And (to be breefe) that lustfull venerie,
Should be the downfall of all Italie:
This is the cause Italians to this day,
Are euer readie, apt, and prone that way.
Not hauing fully quencht the flaming fire
Of vengeance, with th' Italians. Now in ire
She mounts her Charriot swifter then the wind,
Or subtile comprehension of the mind.
Caparisond but lightly, with the lawne
Tooke from the Flowerdeluces inner skin,
Trapt and embost with marigolds: within
Sits Uenus naked, holding in her hand,
A tumbling shel-fish, with a mirtle wand,
Wearing a garland on her wimpled head,
Compacted of the white rose and the red:
None but the blinde boy Cupid durst approach,
For to be whurried with her in the coach.
The snow-white Graces running by their sides,
Were through the heauens their waggoners and guides,
Lashing the sparrowes vnder quiuering wings,
With whips of twisted gold, and siluer strings:
A Beuie of white Doues still flickering ouer,
From the Sunnes sight such beautie seemde to couer.
And thus she rode in triumph in her throne,
Whose radiant lustre like the Sunne beames shone.
Darting her raies into the heauens aboue,
As halfe dismaide the maiestie of Ioue:
All heauens beautie seemed farre the lesse,
Her naked beautie striuing to suppresse:
And shrunke aside, not daring once come nie her,
Iealouse of Ioue, least he by chance should spie her:
Knowing he would their glorious beautie scorne,
When one more faire appeared him beforne.
The presence alway of the greater light,
Doth make the lesser shine not halfe so bright.
Take heede faire Ladies, standing in the place
With one more faire, you lose your former grace.
And here she houered, and remaind a time.
Hearing before the Satyres enmitie,
Gainst her proceedings and her deitie,
Vsing all mischiefe gainst her enemies,
Thrusting her selfe in baudy elegies,
Polluting with her damned luxury,
All eares which vowd were vnto chastity,
And euermore thus on fel mischiefe bent,
Vntil she found (she neuer was content:)
Some of her Saints (belike) who euery day,
Vnto her shrine their orizons did say:
Which fore she askt, this boone to her was giuing.
That all the Satyres then in England liuing
Should sacrifisde be in the burning fire,
To pacifie so great a goddesse ire,
And from their Cyndars should a Satyre rise,
Which their Satyricke snarling should despise.
All which perform'd, she left our English shore,
Neuer I hope to trouble vs any more.
If trauailers this yeare of Iubilie,
Bring her not o're againe from Italie:
VVhich if they do, no sooner see her floate,
But Satyres pinch her spangled Petticoate:
You know her malice plainely, as you see
Your true discent, and lineall Pedigree.
FINIS.
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