University of Virginia Library

ELEGIA. 18. Ad Macrum, quod de amoribus scribat.

To tragick verse while thou Achilles train'st,
And new sworne souldiours maiden armes retain'st,
We Macer sit in Venus slothfull shade,
And tender loue hath great things hatefull made.
Often at length, my wench depart, I bid,
Shee in my lap sits still as earst she did.
I said it irkes me, halfe to weeping framed,
Aye me she cries, to loue, why art ashamed?
Then wrethes about my neck her winding armes,
And thousand kisses giues, that worke my harmes:
I-yeeld, and back my wit from battels bring,
Domestick acts, and mine owne warres to sing.
Yet tragedies, and scepters fild my lines,
But though I apt were for such high deseignes.
Loue laughed at my cloak, and buskines painted,
And rule so soone with priuate hands acquainted.
My mistresse deity also drew me from it,
And loue triumpheth o're his busking Poet.
What lawfull is, or we professe loues art.
(Alas my precepts turne my selfe to smart)
We write, or what Penelope sends Vlysses,
Or Phillis teares that her Demophoon misses.
What thanklesse Iason, Macareus, and Paris,
Phedra, and Hipolite may read, my care is,
And what poore Dido, with her drawne sword sharp,
Doth say, with her that lou'd the Aonian harp.
As soone as from strange landes Sabinus came,
And writings did from diuerse places frame.
White-cheekt Penelope knew Vlysses signe,
The step-dame read Hyppolitus lustlesse line.
Æneas to Elisa aunswer giues,
And Phillis hath to reade; if now she liues.
Iasons sad letter doth Hipsipile greete,
Sappho her vowed harp laies at Phœbus feete.
Nor of thee Macer that resound'st forth armes,
Is golden loue hid in Mars mid alarmes.
There Paris is, and Helens crymes record,
With Laodemeia mate to her dead Lord.
Vnlesse I erre to these thou more incline,
Then warres, and from thy tents wilt come to mine.