Du Bartas His Divine Weekes And Workes with A Compleate Collectio[n] of all the other most delight-full Workes: Translated and written by yt famous Philomusus: Iosvah Sylvester |
 |
| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
| 4. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| 4. |
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
| 33. |
| 34. |
| 35. |
| 36. |
| 37. |
| 38. |
| 39. |
| 40. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
|
|
|
|
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
| 33. |
| 34. |
| 35. |
| 36. |
| 37. |
| 38. |
| 39. |
| 40. |
| 41. |
| 42. |
| 43. |
| 44. |
| 45. |
| 46. |
| 47. |
| 48. |
| 49. |
| 50. |
|
|
|
 | Du Bartas |  |
Bvt now (alas!) My Puisnès Me deride:
The meanest mock me; Yea, and Those (beside)
Whose ragged Fathers I refus'd, to keep
My Shepheards Curs (much more to cure my Sheep).
For, to say truth, what service could they doo?
So idle bred (both Young and Elder too)
Weakned with Sloath, and wicked Conversation;
And waxen old, in wretched Desolation:
For Cold and Hunger wandring heer and there,
With Mallowes fed, and roots of Iuniper:
Pursewd as Theeues, hunted from place to place
With Hue and Cries; and ever had in Chase;
And therefore fain, for Shelter's sake, to creep
In Clifts and Caues; in Rocks and Dungeons deep:
Among the Thorns and Thickets roaring rife;
Wilde Out-lawes, leading a most beastiall life:
The Breed of Fooles, the Fry of basest birth,
Of name-less Men: indeed the Scums of Earth.
The meanest mock me; Yea, and Those (beside)
Whose ragged Fathers I refus'd, to keep
My Shepheards Curs (much more to cure my Sheep).
For, to say truth, what service could they doo?
So idle bred (both Young and Elder too)
Weakned with Sloath, and wicked Conversation;
And waxen old, in wretched Desolation:
For Cold and Hunger wandring heer and there,
With Mallowes fed, and roots of Iuniper:
Pursewd as Theeues, hunted from place to place
With Hue and Cries; and ever had in Chase;
And therefore fain, for Shelter's sake, to creep
In Clifts and Caues; in Rocks and Dungeons deep:
Among the Thorns and Thickets roaring rife;
Wilde Out-lawes, leading a most beastiall life:
The Breed of Fooles, the Fry of basest birth,
Of name-less Men: indeed the Scums of Earth.
And yet, to Such am I now made a Song,
A Ballad and a By-word on their tongue:
Yea, These despise me, and despight me too,
Spet in my Face, and make no more adoo.
Because the Lord my Bowe-string hath vnbent,
And slackt my Cord, therefore these insolent
Insulters Now loose and let-go the Raines
Of all Respect, vnto their lewd Disdaigns.
A Ballad and a By-word on their tongue:
Yea, These despise me, and despight me too,
Spet in my Face, and make no more adoo.
Because the Lord my Bowe-string hath vnbent,
And slackt my Cord, therefore these insolent
Insulters Now loose and let-go the Raines
Of all Respect, vnto their lewd Disdaigns.
Now, very Boyes doe take the Wall of me,
Trip at my Feet; and (in their Iollitie)
Mis-iudge my Life, and of me Rumors raise,
After their owne cruell and cursed Waies:
They mar my Path that I haue walked in,
Further my Woes, and haue no help therein:
As a wide Flood-breach they haue rushed on-me,
And with the Ruines have roul'd-in vpon-me.
Terrors are turn'd vpon me, and pursew
My Life as Winde; my Weale; as Vapours flew:
Therefore my Soule, in sore Afflictions vext,
Is poured out, and inly deep perplext.
Trip at my Feet; and (in their Iollitie)
Mis-iudge my Life, and of me Rumors raise,
After their owne cruell and cursed Waies:
They mar my Path that I haue walked in,
Further my Woes, and haue no help therein:
932
And with the Ruines have roul'd-in vpon-me.
Terrors are turn'd vpon me, and pursew
My Life as Winde; my Weale; as Vapours flew:
Therefore my Soule, in sore Afflictions vext,
Is poured out, and inly deep perplext.
Dayes dark and irksom haue vpon me seaz'd:
And in the Night (when others most are eas'd)
My very Bones within me are opprest,
Nay, pearced through; my Sinnewes take no rest:
My strange Disease, with angry violence
Of th'hot Impostumes loathsom Virulence,
Hath staind my Garments: and, with straining Dolor,
About my Neck it gripes me as a Coller.
Laid in the Dust, I roule the Mire among,
Becomn, indeed, like Ashes, Durt, and Dung.
And in the Night (when others most are eas'd)
My very Bones within me are opprest,
Nay, pearced through; my Sinnewes take no rest:
My strange Disease, with angry violence
Of th'hot Impostumes loathsom Virulence,
Hath staind my Garments: and, with straining Dolor,
About my Neck it gripes me as a Coller.
Laid in the Dust, I roule the Mire among,
Becomn, indeed, like Ashes, Durt, and Dung.
To Thee I cry, to Thee the while I call;
But, Lord, Thou hear'st not, nor doost heed at all.
Nay, Thou art also Cruell turn'd, to me;
With hot Assaults, as on an Enemie:
Thou lift'st me vp, (as in a Storm, the Stubble)
To ride a Whirle-winde, while (with Fear and Trouble)
I faint, and fall (dissolved, as it were)
In deadly Swoun, hurry'd I wot not where:
But well I wot, Thou soon wilt bring me home
To death, the House where all that liue shall come;
Whither, thy Hand thou wilt no longer stretch;
And Whence, no Prayers boot, nor need, to fetch.
But, Lord, Thou hear'st not, nor doost heed at all.
Nay, Thou art also Cruell turn'd, to me;
With hot Assaults, as on an Enemie:
Thou lift'st me vp, (as in a Storm, the Stubble)
To ride a Whirle-winde, while (with Fear and Trouble)
I faint, and fall (dissolved, as it were)
In deadly Swoun, hurry'd I wot not where:
But well I wot, Thou soon wilt bring me home
To death, the House where all that liue shall come;
Whither, thy Hand thou wilt no longer stretch;
And Whence, no Prayers boot, nor need, to fetch.
Did not I weep, for Others Wofulness?
Was not my Soule griev'd at the Poores Distress?
When Good I lookt for, Evill came: when Light,
A dismall Darkness, worse then blackest Night.
My bowels boyled with continuall heat;
A troublous time vpon me sudden set:
Not with the Sun, but Sorrow, black I turn'd:
Amid th'Assembly lowd I cry'd and mourn'd,
With hideous Noyse (for horrid Anguishes)
As kin to Dragons and to Ostriges.
My Harp is tuned to a heauy Tone;
My Musick turned to the voyce of Mone.
Was not my Soule griev'd at the Poores Distress?
When Good I lookt for, Evill came: when Light,
A dismall Darkness, worse then blackest Night.
My bowels boyled with continuall heat;
A troublous time vpon me sudden set:
Not with the Sun, but Sorrow, black I turn'd:
Amid th'Assembly lowd I cry'd and mourn'd,
With hideous Noyse (for horrid Anguishes)
As kin to Dragons and to Ostriges.
My Harp is tuned to a heauy Tone;
My Musick turned to the voyce of Mone.
| Du Bartas | |