 | Ouids elegies |  |
ELEGIA. 9. Ad Cererem, conquerens quod eius sacris cum amica concumbere non permittatur.
Come were the times of Ceres sacrifice,In emptie bed alone my mistresse lies.
Golden hair'd Ceres crown'd with eares of corne,
VVhy are our pleasures by thy meanes forborne?
Thee, goddesse, bountifull all nations iudge,
Nor lesse at mans prosperity any grudge.
Rude husband-men bak'd not their corne before,
Nor on the earth was knowne the name of floore.
On mast of oakes, first oracles, men fed,
This was their meate, the soft grasse was their bed.
First Ceres taught the seede in fields to swell,
And ripe-earde corne with sharp-edg-d sithes to fell.
She first constrain'd bulles necks to beare the yoke,
And vntil'd ground with crooked plough-shares broke.
VVho thinkes her to be glad at louers smart,
And worshipt by their paine, and lying apart?
Nor is she, though she loues the fertile fields,
A clowne, nor no loue from her warme brest yeelds;
Be witnesse Crete (nor Crete doth all things feigne)
There, he who rules the worlds starre-spangled towers,
A little boy drunke teate-distilling showers.
Faith to the witnesse Ioues praise doth apply,
Ceres, I thinke, no knowne fault will deny.
The goddesse saw Iasion on Candian Ide,
With strong hand striking wild-beasts brist'led hyde.
She saw, and as her marrow tooke the flame,
Was diuers wayes distract with loue and shame.
Loue conquer'd shame, the furrowes dry were burn'd,
And corne with least part of it selfe return'd.
When well-toss'd mattocks did the ground prepare,
Being fit broken with the crooked share.
And seedes were equally in large fields cast,
The plough-mans hopes were frustrate at the last.
The graine-rich goddesse in high woods did stray,
Her long haires eare-wrought garland fell away.
Onely was Crete fruitefull that plenteous yeare,
Where Ceres went each place was haruest there.
Ida the seate of groues did sing with corne,
VVhich by the wild boare in the woods was shorne.
Law-giuing Minos did such yeares desire,
And wisht the goddesse long might feele loues fire.
Ceres what sports to thee so grieuous were,
As in thy sacrifice we them forbeare?
VVhy am I sad, when Proserpine is found,
And Iuno like with Dis raignes vnder ground?
Festiuall dayes aske Venus, songs, and wine,
These gifts are meete to please the powers diuine.
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