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The Lusiad, or, Portugals Historicall Poem

Written In the Portingall Language By Luis de Camoens; And Now newly put into English by Richard Fanshaw

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Out of the Satyr of Petronius Arbiter, pag 48.
  
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Out of the Satyr of Petronius Arbiter, pag 48.

Now conquering Rome did all the world controle,
From East to West from one to th'other pole:
Yet was not satisfied. The plough'd-up Sea
With brazen keels, was made her commom way.
If any nook were hid, if any Land
(Which yellow Gold afforded) lay beyand,
It was a foe, and covetous anger seiz'd
Whatever wealth. No vulgar pleasure pleas'd:
No worn plebeian joy. The Soldiers disht
Their meat in Silver: and (from Rivers fisht)
The Purple of the Land rivall'd the Sea's.
Here Lybian stones, there silks (the new disease)
And their perfumed fields, Arabians fleece.
Lo other spoils and wounds of injur'd Peace!
In woods is sought the Mauritanian beast,
And Affricks farthest Hammon hunted, least


That Monster should be wanting, which is slain
Because his tooth sells deare, instead of Graine.
Armenian Tigers our Corn-fleets import,
To be led stalking in a gilded Court:
And quaffe (the people clapping) humane blood.
I blush to speak, and broach Fates violent flood.
In Persian guize (yeares ripening to their harm)
They grub man up, and with a knife disarme
The apt for Venus wars: and, whiles this checks
Time's horse in his full speed, lost nature seeks
And cannot find her self: so all approve
Male Concubines, and which, like Geldings move
Broke to a pace: Love-locks and Cloaths which speak
All Countreys, and no man. Behold they break
Numidian ground! a Citrian board comes out
On painted Carpets plac'd, and round about
A Troop of waiters stand: and, drown'd in wine,
Upon the floore wallows an herd of Swine.
A Tree which did a Patrimony cost,
Fetcht (for the ruine of a Land) to boast
A new Nobility, did counterfeit
With spots the cheaper gold: On which were set
By the Earth-rounding-Soldier (that now hurl'd
His Arms aside) the spoyls of all the world.
His throat had wit. A Terbot, that did dive
In Corsick Seas, rose at his Board alive;
There Oysters pull'd out of the Lucrine lake,
Onely for Sawce to lure his hunger back.
Now Phasian waves are of their birds bereft:
And the dumb banks (save winds) have nothing left
To sing amongst the widowed leaves. As dire
Is the field's fury: The base Romans hire
Their votes out for the chime, and touch of Gold:
A venal people: venal Senate sold
Favour: even Age let her free vertue fall,
And right by bribes was just led to the wall?
And Majesty lay flat, with gold sought out,
Cato himself repuls'd was by the rout.
He that o'recame more sad, who blusht to see
That Cato should have fewer votes than he.
For 'twas the people's, and the time's disgrace:
'Twas not a man, but virtue lost the place,
And the old Roman honor: here then lyes
Rome her own Merchant, and own merchandise:
Besides now use on use, mens principals
So swell'd, it overwhelm'd them. No man calls
His house his own. None uningag'd: but debt
Like to a lingering disease, doth fret
Into their barking bowels, being pain'd
They cry to Arms: and wealth with ryot drayn'd
Must heal with wounds: safe Want sets on fire.


Cast in this sleep, and rowling in this mire
What reasons can make Rome, but war and blood?
Which till th'are felt, are never understood.
Fortune had rais'd three Captains, all which feel
In several ways Enyo's mortal steel.
In Asia Crassus; Affrick Pompey slain:
Ungrateful Rome great Julius blood did stain
And Earth, to poize her load by portions just,
(Greatness found this respect) divides their dust.
A wide-mouth'd vault descends to Hell's black-hall,
'Twixt great Dicarchis fields, and Naples wall,
Lav'd with Cocytus streams, whence all the heath
About is blasted with a Sulph'rous breath:
Where Autumn is the mother of no fruits.
Out of the Summers Turf no glad herb shoots,
No tender sprigs, inspir'd by vernal songs,
Are heard to warble with melodious tongues:
But Chaos, and rocks sweating with black dew,
Delight in Canopies of fatal hue.
Here Pluto rose in funeral flames and smoke,
And with these words light Fortune did provoke;
Divine-and-humane-things-commanding-Power,
Fortune, that likest no height that's too secure,
That lov'st new things, and (gain'd) discard'st them straight,
Shrink'st thou not yet beneath the Roman weight,
Unable longer to support the Tower
Of Romes recoyling Greatness? Their own Power
The Roman youth abhor, nor bear the piles
Of wealth they rais'd. See their vast Lux of spoyles,
And riches curs'd into a punishment!
They build in Gold, and to the Firmament
Exalt their seats. Here Seas with stones expel,
There let them in with Sluces, and rebel
Against inverted Nature. Not I 'scape:
The earth delv'd through for their wild Heaps doth gape;
The Mountains shovell'd down: the caves now groan
There, whilst for several uses they dig stone.
Th'Infernal Ghosts are bid to hope for day:
Then Fortune turn thy smiles to dreadful fray:
Possess with rage the Roman breasts, and throng
Our Realms with funerals. Methinks 'tis long
Since these black jaws have been with Gore imbrew'd,
Since my Tisiphone hath bath'd in blood
Her thirsty limbs: since Sylla's sword was drunke,
And horrid Earth nurs'd fruits from humane trunke.
This said, and striving to give her his hand,
With reaching up he brake the cleaving Land:
Then Fortune thus from fickle bosome says,
O Sire, whom all on that side Styx obeys,
If without danger I the truth may tell,
Thy wish is granted thee: nor to rebel


Have I less mind then thou: or boyles thy womb
With a less rage. All I bestow'd on Rome
I hate, and am fallen out with my delight:
The God that rais'd these walls, the same shall slight.
The sweet of burning Towns, of sucking blood,
Is by me also fully understood.
I see Philippi with two Chiefs there slain:
Thessalian tombs: and funerals of Spain.
The clash of Arms now strikes my trembling eare:
The groans of Libya: and her Nile I heare:
And Actian waves: and Sol cry, on. Expand
The thirsty Kingdoms of thy silent Land:
And get more Furys help. A boat's too small
For Charon to waft o're his souls withal:
It asks a Fleet: and pale Tisiphone
With the great ruine do thou gorged be:
With ragged tushes chaw the tender wounds:
The mangled world descend, to Stygian sounds:
Scarce had she spoke, when (cleft with lightning sheen)
Trembles a cloud, and darts squeez'd, fire between.
The King of Shades into earth's bosome sunk:
And from his Brother's thunder frighted, shrunk.
Forthwith the fates of men, and ills to come
Heaven shows by signes: for the deformed Sun.
Veils with a mist his blushing face, as far
From giving count'nance to a civil war.
The Moon at full (to leave them groaping) pops
Her light out too. The palsey'd Mountain-tops
(Supported with weak necks) come thund ring down.
Nor wand'ring Rivers run in channels known,
To dye a natural death. Armies appeare
In th' Ayre, and Trumpets (even in his own spheare)
Alarum Mars. Now hotter Ætna burns,
And thunderbolts for thunderbolts returns.
Lo! 'Mongst the Tombs and disinterred bones,
The Gastly shadows send up baleful groans!
A blazing-Star draws an unusual train:
And a new Jove descends in bloody rain:
Heav'n soon these signes expounds: for Cæsar drove
With his own speed, and sweet revenges love,
Threw down the Gallick, Civil Arms took up.
On cloudy Alps, where, winding to the top,
The rocks made passable by Græcian hands,
A Temple sacred to Alcides stands.
'Tis thatch'd with crusted Snow, and blends its gray
Head to the Stars: how like the milky way!
It thaws not with the Sun's Meridian rayes,
Nor with the Spring's warm breath: but pav'd with lays
Of Ice and feathered Rain, the Heaven it beares:
For it both threatens and supports the spheares.
When He (the Soldier glad) these cliffs did tread,


And touch'd his wishes, from the Mountains head
Stretching his voice, (the Latian fields survey'd)
And both his hands to Heav'n, thus Cæsar said.
All powerful Jove, and thou Saturnian Land
Triumphant oft, safe always by my hand,
Witness I come unwilling to this warre,
Unwilling Clash: but such my proud wrongs are,
Expuls'd my Country, whilst I paint with blood
The Rhine, whilst I the Galls the Alps exclude,
Threat'ning again the Capitoll. Exil'd
Farther by conquering more: the Germanes foyl'd,
And sixty triumphs are my crime. But who
Denounce this war? Blind with our beams a crew
Of trading Soules step-children to my Rome,
But they (I think) shall know too upon whom
Nor shall mechanick hands bind these with cords.
Go mine: Go victors: plead the Cause with Swords.
We all are in one fault: one shame threats all:
You conquer'd too. If punishment must fall
On them that beat, if this our triumph be,
Let the Dye fall, and Fortune judge for me.
Take up the war they throw you: try your force:
If overcome, my case can be no worse.
But arm'd, and with such men, that ne're can hap.
This said, the Delphick bird her wings did clap,
(An Omen good) and in a wood beside
A Bay-tree crackling in strange fire was 'spy'd.
Apollo's self shone brighter then he us'd,
And had a golden glory circumfus'd.
Stronger then Omens, Cæsar did advance,
And with unwonted pace first snatch'd a Lance.
First bound with ice, and candyed with the driffe
The earth was quiet with dull horror stiffe:
But when the Troops the clouds gives off, did take,
And trembling horses the waves fetters brake,
The heat snows melted; streight new rivers burst
Out of the hills: these also streight were forc't
To make a stand: whilst (lo) new ice appeares,
And liquid late make work for Pioneers.
Then first deceiv'd the feet the slipp'ry ground,
And tript them up, Men, Arms, and whole Ranks, (round,)
In heaps deplor'd? big clouds with tempest's stroke,
Their burthens threw. Nor blasts with whirle-winds broke,
Were wanting there, or vollyes of gross haile.
The concrete raine fell ratling on the Mayle,
Like showres of Arrows from a Parthian bow:
The Earth was overcome with a deep snow:
The Lamps of heaven o'recome; with Christal bit
The Rivers overcome; Cæsar not yet:
But leaning on his speare, that would not yield,
With secure steps he brake the horrid field:


As when Alcmena's son marched apace,
Down Caucasus: or with an angry face
When Jove descended the Olympian hill,
With Giants blood Phlegrean plains to fill.
'Mean while swift Fame is born with frighted wings,
And perching on the Capitol, sad things
Tells the affrighted Romans: that the Maine
Is swarm'd with ships: The Alps of a light flame
With Troops, yet reeking with Sicambrian gore,
Arms, Blood, Death, Fire, and War is drawn before
Their eyes from head to foot: which makes them erre,
And see their danger double through their feare.
This flyes by land, this by, and that to Sea,
So for no land his native changes he.
He's safest now, the Chance of war that tryes,
And follows fates instinct: He farthest flyes
Whose feare is longest winged: (A grief to say!)
The people led by wild amazement, stray
They know not whither: Rome delights in flight,
And scar'd Quirites their sad mansions quite;
At the bare rumour of approaching Arms,
Those clasp with trembling hand their tender barnes:
These in their bosomes hold their Houshould-Gods:
And hurry from their desolate aboads:
And in their prayers kill the absent Foe:
There are that to their wives sad bosomes grow,
And bedrid parents: youths impatient heat
Takes onely her, on whom his soul is set.
Some all, and to the war unwisely sweep
The prey, for which 'tis made.—
—As when the deep
Is plough'd up by Northwinds, and her roul'd hills
Are knock'd together: And the Seamen's skills
Avail not now, one binds the splitting mast,
Another to the quiet shore doth hast,
A third to Sea and and Fortune trusts with all.
What talk I of small things? the Generall
With both the Consuls The great Pompey, He
Terror of dire Hydaspes, and the Sea,
The Pyrates rock, whom (thrice triumphing late)
Jove trembled at, lest he should shake his state:
Whom Pontus (having crush'd it's watry braves)
And Bosphorus ador'd with crouching waves:
(Oh shame) deserting the State's rudder, fled:
That fickle Fortune might t'have seen be sed
Ev'n Pompey's back. A flight authoriz'd so,
Involv'd the Gods, and Heaven his back did show:
See a mild troop of Gods (loathing the rage
That regins in mortals) take a pilgrimage,
From a damn'd crew of Earthlings: And first Peace
(Beating her snowy Arms) her vanquish'd face


Hides with a cask, and flying from the light,
Seeks the husht mansions of eternal Night:
With Her pure Faith, and Justice, (her sword broke)
And Concord in a rent and mourning Cloak.
On th'other side where Hell's wide jaws respire,
Grim Pluto's train springs rise: Erinnys dire,
And fierce Bellona, and flame-girt Megeare,
And Death and Fraud, and multiplying Feare.
Amongst whom Rage, like Bacchus (his reines broke)
Runs headlong, and with bloody helm doth Cloake
A thousand ugly faces digg'd with wounds
With heavy shafts: a Martial Target sounds
Worn with his left, and from his right hand hurl'd
A blazing fire-brand terrifies the world.
The stars are pos'd: light-headed Atlas reels;
Wond'ring to miss the weight that poys'd heaven's wheels.
The factious Gods come down on earth to side.
And Venus first her Cæsar justify'de,
Pallas with her, and Mars that shakes a whole
Oak for a speare; and with his Sister, Sol:
And Atlas Grandson and Alcides (found
Like him in all his acts) The trumpets sound,
And Discord with torn hair, her Stygian head
Advances from a dell, her dim eyes shed
Instead of tears a blotted show'r of blood:
Two tire of brazen grinders rusty stood:
Her tongue o'reflows with gore: her snaky locks
Hang down over her face: and through her Frocks
Wide-gaping Rent, thrusting a bloody hand
About her head she tost a flaming brand.
She leaving Hell, and where sad rivers joyne,
Touch'd the high top of noble Appennine:
From whence each realm and sea she might command,
And view the Troops that roule on every Land:
Then burst into these words, with fury warm,
Arm all the world with fell intentions: arm:
Shoot flames in midst of Towns (who e're he be
That stands a Newter, is the Victor's fee.)
Fight Boys, fight Maids, fight Old men neer your end.
Quake Earth, and shattered stones rebel.—Defend
The laws Marcellus.—Do thou Curio preach
Up tumults.—Lentulus do not impeach
Thy Martial spirits working.—What mak'st thou
Julius the while freezing in Armour? now
Enter the gates, or scale the walls, and break
The Roman Fisk.—Pompey art thou too weak
To keep Rome's Towers? to Epidamnum pass
The Ominous Scene, and dye Thessalian grass
With Roman blood. To all that Discord said,
Earth cry'd 'Tis done: and her command obey'd.


The Translator's POSTSCRIPT.

Here Petronius breaks off abruptly, thereby as well as in many imperfect places of his own Copy, proving as good as his word, that he had not added thereto the last hand. In which thing alone I have translated him to the life, for neither have I added mine to the English: onely making so much use thereof, as to shew the Rule and Model, which (indubitably) guided our Camoens in the raising his Great Building, and which (except himself) that I know of, no Poet ever followed that wrought in great, whether ancient, or modern. For (to name no more) the Greek Homer, the Latin Virgil, our Spencer, and even the Italian Tasso (who had a true, a great, and no obsolete story, to work upon) are in effect wholly fabulous: and Lucan (though worthily admired) is as much censured by some on the other side, for sticking too close to truth. As Fabius for one;—Lucan full of flame and vigour, and most perspicuous in his Sentences: yet (that I may speak what I think) rather to be reckoned amongst the Orators then the Poets. And Servius for another, with less manners in his expression; That which I said, that the Art of Poetry is forbidden to set down a naked story, is certain: for Lucan deserved not to be in the number of Poets, because he seems to have compiled a History, rather then a Poem. Amounting to the same which is objected above in the Introduction to this Essay (which glanceth particularly at Lucan) and mended (as the Author thereof conceived) by the Essay it self, which is of a mixt nature between Fable and History.