 | Ouids elegies |  |
ELEGIA. 1. Deliberatio poetæ, vtrum elegos pergat scribere an potius tragœdias.
An old wood, stands vncut of long yeares space,T'is credible some good head haunts the place.
In midst thereof a stone-pau'd sacred spring,
Where round about small birdes most sweetely sing.
Here while I walke hid close in shadie groue,
To finde, what worke, my muse might moue, I stroue.
Elegia came with haires perfumed sweete,
And one, I thinke, was longer, of her feete.
A decent forme, thinne robe, a louers looke,
By her footes blemish greater grace she tooke,
Then with huge steps came violent Tragedie,
Sterne was her front, her looke on ground did lie.
Her left hand held abroad a regal scepter,
The Lydian buskin fit places kept her.
And fitst he said, when will thy loue be spent?
O Poet carelesse of thy argument.
Wyne-bibbing banquets tell thy naughtinesse,
Each crosse waies corner doth as much expresse.
Oft some points at the prophet passing by,
And this is he whom fierce loue burnes, they cry,
A laughing stock thou art to all the citty,
While without shame thou sing'st thy lewdnesse ditty.
Long hast thou loyterd, greater workes compile.
The subiect hides thy wit, mens acts resound,
This thou wilt say to be a worthy ground.
Thy muse hath played what may mild girles content,
And by those numbers is thy first youth spent,
Now giue the Roman Tragedy a name,
To fill my lawes thy wanton spirit frame,
This saied, she mou'd her buskins gaily varnisht,
And seauen time shook her head with thick locks garnisht
The other smilde, (I wot) with wanton eyes,
Erre I? or mirtele in her right hand lyes
With lofty wordes stout Tragedy (she said)
Why treadst me downe? art thou aye grauely played?
Thou dignest vnequall lines should thee rehearse,
Thou fightst against me vsing mine owne verse.
Thy lofty stile with mine I not compare,
Small doores vnfitting for large houses are.
Light am I, and with thee, my care, light loue,
Not stronger am I, then the things I moue.
Venus without me should be rusticall,
This goddesse company doth to me befall.
What gate thy stately words cannot vnlocke,
My flatt'ring speeches soone wide open knocke.
And I deserue more then thou canst in verity,
By suffering much not borne by thy seuerity.
By me Corinna learnes, cousening her guard,
To get the dore with little noyse vnbard.
And slipt from bed, cloth'd in a loose nightgown
To moue her feet vnheard in siting down,
Ah how oft on hard doores hung I engrau'd,,
From no mans reading fearing to be sau'd.
The maide to hide me in her bosome let not.
What gift with me was on her birth day sent,
But cruelly by her was drown'd and rent.
First of thy minde the happy seedes I knew,
Thou hast my gift, which she would from thee sue.
She left; I say'd, you both I must beseech,
To empty aire may go my fearfull speech.
With scepters, & high buskins th' one would dresse me,
So through the world should bright renowne expresse me.
The other giues my loue a conquering name,
Come therefore, and to long verse shorter frame.
Grant Tragedy thy Poet times least title,
Thy labour euer lasts, she askes but little.
She gaue me leaue, soft loues in time make hast.
Some greater worke will vrge me on at last.
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