The thre first bookes of Ouids De Tristibvs translated into Englishe [by Thomas Churchyard] |
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He desyreth to see his frendes and countrye.
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 | The thre first bookes of Ouids De Tristibvs |  |
He desyreth to see his frendes and countrye.
Elegia. 8.
Nowe would I wishe I might assende, on Triptolemus carte,Who first wyth seedes on earth to sow, hath taught the skilful arte,
Now would I tame the monsters fell, the which Medea sad,
Then flying from the lofty tower, of the Corinthea had.
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The which thou Parseus whilom had, or Dedalus didst make.
That flickering wysh these wighty wings, aloft in futill skye,
I might forthwyth by meane thereof, my natiue ground espye.
My sorry house and faithful frends, should so to sight appeare,
And chiefely eke my louing wyfe, whom I accompt most deare.
But why with childishe wishing words, thou fondlye these do craue?
Which neuer thou before time had, nor yet shal after haue.
But if thou wyshing prayers make, on Cæsar them bestowe,
Who is the mightye God in deede, thy selfe by proofe do knowe.
He may to the these speedye wynges, and wheeled chariots lende,
That wyth the flying foules thou maye, in thy returne contende.
If these I aske (nor greater gifts) may none requyred bee,
So shall my prayers seeme more large, then reason graunts to mee.
In time to come perhaps, although, and anger all remoued,
Wyth careful mind requyred then, to mercy be behoued.
The whilst this smaller simple sute, I craue wyth humble hart,
That from this land els where I may, by lycence free depart.
The ayre foule and water could, my nature still doth hate,
And land it selfe my bodye binds, in deepe diseased state.
For eyther doth my troubled minde, the body fore molest,
Or els the countrye breeds the griefe, where wyth it is distrest.
So sone as I to Pontus came, wyth dreames I was agreeued,
My flesh from boones it fled forthwyth, which meate hath not releeued.
And loke what couler pale and wanne, vpon the leaues do showe,
When winter frost beginneth first, and Borias blasts to blowe.
Such old and wythered ceared hue, my members do pertake,
Nor cause of loude complayning griefe, my painful minde forsake.
Nor in more sound estate my minde, then body to remaine,
But both at once diseased be, wyth fits of sickenes paine:
Before my eyes me thinks I see, an Image stand in sight,
Which representes my sickely shape, and minde wyth care affright.
Such loue of death my brest assaults, my selfe by force to kill,
Syth Cæsar seeketh not wyth sworde, on mee to worke his wyll.
And sith not force but gentle hate, thus long hath wrought our griefe,
Through chaunged place God graunt we may, of him obtayne reliefe.
| The thre first bookes of Ouids De Tristibvs | |