 | Ouids elegies |  |
ELEGIA. 6. In mortem psittaci.
The parrat from East-India to me sent,Is dead, al-fowles her exequies frequent.
Go goodly birdes, striking your breasts bewaile,
And with rough clawes your tender cheekes assaile.
For wofull haires let piece-torne plumes abound,
For long shrild trumpets let your notes resound.
Why Phylomele doest Tereus leudnesse mourn?
All wasting yeares haue that complaint not worne?
Thy tunes let this rare birdes sad funerall borrow,
It is as great, but auncient cause of sorrow.
All you whose pineons in the cleare aire sore,
But most thou friendly turtle-doue deplore.
Full concord all your liues was you betwixt,
And to the end your constant faith stood fixt.
What Pylades did to Orestes proue,
Such to the parrat was the turtle-doue.
But what auailde this faith? her rarest hew?
Or voyce that how to change the wilde notes knew?
What helpes it thou wert giuen to please my wench,
Birdes haples glory, death thy life doth quench.
Thou with thy quilles mightst make greene Emeralds darke,
And passe our scarlet of red saffrons marke.
No such voyce-feigning bird was on the ground,
Thou spokest thy words so well with stammering sound.
Enuy hath rapt thee, no fierce warres thou mouedst,
Vaine babling speach, and pleasant peace thou louedst.
Which do perchance old age vnto them giue.
A little fild thee, and for loue of talke,
Thy mouth to tast of many meats did balke.
Nuts were thy foode, and Poppie caus'd thee sleepe,
Pure waters moysture thirst away did keepe.
The rauenous vulture liues, the Puttock houers
Around the aire, the Cadesse raine discouers.
And Crowes suruiues armes-bearing Pallas hate,
Whose life nine ages scarce bring out of date.
Dead is that speaking image of mans voice,
The Parrat giuen me, the farre wordes best choice.
The greedy spirits take the best things first,
Supplying their voyd places with the worst.
Thersites did Protesilaus suruiue;
And Hector dyed his brothers yet aliue.
My wenches vowes for thee what should I show,
Which stormy South-windes into sea did blow?
The seuenth day came, none following mightst thou see,
And the fates distaffe empty stood to thee:
Yet words in thy benummed pallat rung,
Farewell Corinna cryed thy dying tongue.
Elisium hath a wood of holme trees black,
Whose earth doth not perpetuall greene-grasse lacke,
There good birds rest (if we beleeue things hidden)
Whence vncleane foules are sayd to be forbidden.
There harmelesse Swans feed all abroad the riuer,
There liues the Phænix one alone bird euer.
There Iunoes bird displayes his gorgious feather:
And louing Doues kisse egerly together.
The Parrat into wood receiu'd with these,
Turnes all the goodly birdes to what she please.
The little stones these little verses haue.
This tombe approues, I pleasd my mistresse well,
My mouth in speaking did all birds excell.
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