University of Virginia Library

The seconde booke

[To verses which in bookes discribe, to thee thine honor due]

To verses which in bookes discribe, to thee thine honor due,
From reader ought in iudgement iust, more fauor to ensue.
But if thou hap offended be, who then dare be my frend?
No skant vnto my selfe I should, my faithfull frendship lend.
When as a house decayed is, and setled on the syde,
Then all the massye waight thereof, to yelding parts do slyde.
Or els whereas by fortunes force, a chincke therein is maide,
Wyth paise thereof in tract of time, the fame is sone decaide.
The great enuye of men so we, by hurtful verse do finde,
And people be (as meete it is) to Cæsars syde enclinde.
When as my life and maners yet, were more alowde I knowe,
And by the horse the same I iudge, which then thou did bestowe.
The which although it profit nought, nor honest prayse I haue,
Yet from the name of cruell crime, my selfe I wyshe to saue.
Nor cause to mee committed was, of giltye men amis,
For Iudges ten times ten to looke, vppon whose office is.
And priuate plaints without offence, as Iudge I did decree,
With vpright minde the same I gaue, it will confessed bee.
And that (O wretch) if latest deedes, had not offended more,
Euen by thine owne assent I should, not once be saude before.
The latest actes do me destroy, my shippe which safely saild,
In depththy seas and swallowing waues, through sturdy storme is faild.
No litle part of whelming waues, oppresseth mee alone,
But all the flocke of flowing flouds, and Ocean seas in one.
Why sawe I ought? myne eyes why haue, I gilty causd to be?
Why is my fault vnweeting I, now knowing so well to mee?
The nackt Diana Acteon saw, vnwares as he did pas,
To hungrye houndes a present praye, no whit the lesse he was.
For mightye Gods do punish those, by chaunce that do offend,
Nor pardon ought where powers be hurt, to such mishappes do lend.
So in that daye wherein I was, wyth error thus begild,
Our litle house decayed is, wyth fault yet vndefild.
And litle though: yet of good fame, euen in my fathers dayes,
Nor vnto none inferiour now, for honours noble prayse.
Not for the wealth nor want thereof, it can so wel be knowen,
For neyther can because whereof, our knightly name is growen.
And be it by our byrth or rente, our house be litle namde,
My wits and painefull studyes causd, abroade it hath bene famde.
Which though percase I seeme to vse, as yong and wantonlye,
Yet by that meane through world so wyde, my famous name do flye.
Of Naso eke the name is knowne, amids the learned thronge,
Who dare of him the same recorde, no abiect men amonge.
This house therefore to muses grate, in great decay is fall,
By one offence and carefull cryme, yet not accompted small.
But so decayde as ryse it may, if that the raging ire,
Of greued Cæsar waxeth rype, to wonted vse retire.
Whose gracious mercy is so great, in iudgement of our paine,
That not so much as we did feare, we haue receyued plaine.
Our life is geeuen and not my death, his gentle wrath doth craue,
Wyth vsed power (O noble Prince) we pray therefore to saue.
I haue also with thine assent, my fathers liuings all,
As though my life thou did accompt, a gift that were to small.
My doolefull deedes hast not condemde, by Senates close assent.
Nor by decree of them opprest, in wretched exile sent.
Wyth thretning woords rebuking vice (as best a prince be seeme)
Offences all thou doest reuenge, and mercy so esteeme.
And those decrees which were pronounce, in sterne and asper wyse,
Yet in the name of lighter fault, thou wild it should suffise.
Thus as dischargd and sent away, no exiles name I haue,
My happye dayes depryuing so, and life thereby to saue.
No paine or griefe so greeuous is, no trouble such of minde,
As to displease so great a Prince, his vengeance therto finde.
But Gods which whilom moued were, sometimes appeased bee,
And skowling cloudes once driuen asyde, a day full fayre we see.
The Elme which lately blasted was, depryued of his greene,
The clustred vynes eftsones to beare, full oftentimes is seene.
And though thou do forbid to hope, we hope assuredlye,
This one thing yet may come to passe, though thou therto denye.
My hope encrease (O gentle Prince) when thee I do behould,
And eke decrease when I respect, my faults so manyfould.
The roring rage of swelling seas, is not alike alwaye,
Nor furyes fearce doth euer last, in tossing streames to staye.
But sometimes be more calme and cleare, and cease their vsed toyle,
To make vs thincke the force were lost, of billowes boistrous broyle.
So do my feares both ryse and fall, sometime in doubt remayne,
In hope and dreade of thy good will, to passe or proue my payne,
For loue of Gods therefore which geeue, the long and happye dayes,
(If they of noble Romaynes do) esteeme the name and prayse)
For countrye eke which thou do keepe, as gyde and father deare,
Whereof my selfe a part I was, and thence now passed cleare.
To thee the stately towne so shall, wyth honours due resound,
Who doost for wit and famous factes, in wonderous wyse abound.
So Liuia wyth thee remayne, and liue in wedded lyfe,
Which were but euen for the alone, a farre vnworthy wyfe.

To Augustus Cæsar.

Elegia. 1.

VVith you what thing haue I ado, my bookes my haples care,
Sith that my wittes (O wretche) because, yt I of life dispare.
My verse condempned muses why? repete I now againe,
And is it not enough that I, haue once thus suffered paine?
My verses lo a meane haue beene, by heauy hap so growen.
That I alas on euery syde, to man and wyfe am knowen.
By verses eke doth Cæsar note, me and my maners all,
Through peruers art which now of late, in deepe disdaine is fall.
My paineful studies set asyde, no faultes of lyfe remayne,
That giltye I imputed am, my verse hath caused playne.
This we receiue as prise of life, and labors great of minde,
And now my painfull pinching paynes, in wofull wit I finde.
If wyse I were I should of right, the learned sisters blame,
As greuous goddesses to such, as worshippe will the same.
But madnes now wyth feuer fearce, are ioyned so in one,
That mindeful yet of former payne, my foote doth strike the stone.
Like as the wounded souldiour doth, resort the field vnto,
Or as the wracked shippe doth seeke, on swelling seas to go.
Perhappes like him which once within, Thutrantus Realme did raigne,
The same which made this greuous wound, thereof may ease the paine.
And angry muse which moued ire, the same likewyse remoue,
For weeping verse do grace obtayne, at mighty Gods aboue.
The worthy Dames of Italye, doth Cæsar wil to pray,
To Ops which stately towers beare, and sounding verse to say.
The like to Phebus eke, what time, were playde the pleasant playes,
Which neuer oftner could be seene, but once in one mans dayes.
Lo these (O gracious Cæsar now) as happye myrrors haue,
And let my wittes more milder wrath, of thee hereafter craue.
The same is iust I do confesse, nor my deserts denye,
Nor shame so farre departed is, from fearefull face to flye.
But if I had offended nought, what could you then bestowe?
My let therefore occasion is, whereof that mercy growe.
So oftentimes as mortall men, in sinfull faultes be found,
If Ioue should strike he might in time, lacke shot wherewith to wound.
But he when once with thondring noyse, haue thretned sore the land,
Wyth strinkled drops the cloudy ayre, is cleared out of hand.
A God, a gide, a father graue, of right he cald haue beene,
As mighty Ioue nothing so great, in vasty world is seene.
Sith the also a father graue, and gide in earth they name,
Use then of Gods the maners milde, thy power it is the same.
The which ful well thou do: nor no, man wyth more equall hand,
The rightful reanes could better hold, wherwith to rule the land.
The Parthians proude thou did subdue, yet pardon oft bestowe.
Which they to thee in case alike, would not haue geeuen I knowe.
With worldly wealth and honors high, aduaunced many bee,
Whose giltye hands did weapons weare, in field aduers to thee.
The day also which moued ire, thy wrath away did take,
So eyther part in sacred house, at once their offrings make.
And as the souldiour doth reioyce, who did thy foes oppresse,
So haue the captiues cause enough, to ioy at such distresse.
My cause yet better is: I weare no weapon so vntrue,
Nor ennemyes gilty goodes I do, wyth greedy lust pursue.
By seas, by lande, by starrye skye, lo here I make my vowe,
By the also that present is, a God to whom I bowe.
That this good will (O most of might) haue euer beene in mee,
And as thine owne with hart and soule, I sought alwayes to bee.
I wished oft that here thou might, in earth haue liued longe,
And one I was that prayed thus, amids the mighty thronge.
And sacrifice for this I gaue, and wyth mine owne assent,
When publike prayers were pronounce, to helpe to this entent.
My bookes my fauty factes also, what neede I haue in minde,
Wherein thy name a thousand times, in open place I finde.
Beholde likewyse my greater workes, vnended as they bee,
Where that transformed bodyes are, in wondrous wyse to see.
There shalt thou finde by flittering fame, thy name haue had much prayse,
There shalt thou finde the pledges great, of louing minde alwayes.
Thy glory yet no verse can well, augment in any wyse,
Syth nothing may thereto be put, whereby it might aryse.
Of Ioue the fame doth farre exceede, yet doth it him delight,
When as the same in stately verse, we seemely do endight.
If that by Gyants bloudye warres, of mention ought be harde,
At prayse thereof he doth reioyce, for trouth we do regarde.
But the do others honour more, and as it seemeth fit,
Thy princely prayse and royall fame, do prayse wyth ryper wit.
And as wyth shedding giltlesse bloud, of bulles a hundreth slaine,
Of God wyth smallest ensence geeuen, so grace we do obtaine.
O wicked wight, O tyrant fearce, O cruell cursed foe,
That did my pleasant fancyes make, to thee disclosed soe.
Stande you aloofe you vestall tapes, of shamefastnes the sines,
Geue place likevvyse ye purfled Pavvles, that halfe on feete declines.
Of lavvfull lore and skil aloude, vvee onely do resounde,
For in our simple verse there shall, no subtill cryme be founde.
Lo do we not all sober Dames, from this our art expell?
Whom stole and tape forbiddeth plaine, wyth louely loue to mell?
But matrones may more arts inuent, (although they be vntaught,)
Whereby to make the chastest mindes wyth wickednes be fraught.
No bookes therefore let matrones reade, (sith all things be so straunge)
That they be tournd from vertues vse, to filthye vice to chaunge.
Who so doth care all thinges to tourne, to wrong and worser part,
To vices vile his maners chaunge, through wil of workers hart.
For take in hande the Cronicke bookes, (then those nothing more graue)
How Ilia fayre a babe brought forth, to reade there shalt thou haue.
Or if thou looke on Maroes workes, there shalt thou see in sight,
How Venus fayre a mother was, vnto the Troyan knight.
Yea further yet (if althinges may) likewyse accompted bee,
No kinde of verse but may the minde, corrupt also wee see.
As giltye yet not euery booke, we may therefore dispyse,
For of eche thinge that helpe proceeds, doth harme also aryse.
Then fyre what thing more needefull is? yet who so lookes in lande,
The houses highe to burne and spoyle, the fyre he takes in hande.
So Phisicke sometimes greatly hurts, sometimes doth heale right well,
Of herbes that hurtfull be or not, by skilful lore to tell.
The theefe and ware wayfaring man, by syde a sword they haue,
The one to robbe the simple wight, the other himselfe to saue.
And Rethoricke haue longe time beene taught, to plede for righteousnes,
Yet fautye folkes it oft defendes, and innocentes oppres.
Euen so who shall my verses reade, wyth equall vprighte minde,
Shall well perswade himselfe enoughe, no hurt in them to finde.
And who so thinkes he sinne conceyues, or vices hereof haue,
Both erreth much, and wrytings mine, to much he doth depraue,
In sacred playes (I do confesse) be certaine wanton fits,
The stages thereof do remoue, whereon the players sits.
What causes also haue bene geeuen, of sinne, and great mischaunce,
In marshall fields and places great, where fighters do aduaunce?
Let Cyrcus eke be set asyde, the vse thereof not good,
The maydens chast thereon at playes, by men vnknowen they stood.
While men do rome in selfesame path, where louers do resort,
Why then be porches set at large, where all men may disport.
What place then temples is more large? yet is there cause of sin,
If wicked mindes that so delightes, by hap be set therein,
For set in sacret house of Ioue, perchaunce it may be seene,
What nomber great of mothers made, by mighty Ioue haue beene.
Or who shal in Temples pray, of Lady Iuno true,
The Gods she there vewayling sees, and wanton lemans vewe.
So some wil aske that Pallas see, as they her picture pas,
How that of her Eriththonius, by sinne conceyued was.
And comming to the house, shall see, of Mars the heauenly wight,
Before the gates where Venus stands, fast by her worthy knight.
In Isis Churche who chaunce to sit, will haplye aske in doubt,
By Iouian and the Rosphore seas, why Iuno sent her out.
For Venus there Anchises is, for Luna Latinius old,
For Cetes eke doth Iasius stand, on whom thou mayst beholde.
All these thinges therefore may corrupt, the wicked peruers minde,
Yet in their place full harmelesse stand, not wrested from their kinde.
Far from this art which written was, for wanton Dames behoue,
The formost leafe of that same booke, all modest hands remoue.
Who so therefore by hap offend, more then the liuers chast?
With gilty men of fault forbode, shal he straight wayes be plast?
No haynous act the wanton verse, it is to lightly reede,
For many thinges the chast may see, which be abhord in deede.
The Matrones graue do oft behold, the baudy harlots loue,
How naked there themselues they make, dame Venus pranckes to proue.
The vestall eyes likewyse they do, the strompets body see,
Yet to themselues by sight thereof, no paynes deserued bee.
But why haue I so much alas, my muse to wanton made?
Or what haue causd my wicked booke, to louely lore perswade?
No thing saue sinne and open fault, of force I must confesse,
My wits and skill I do accuse, as cause of my distresse.
Why haue I not the Troyan towne, by Gretians whilom sackt,
In Asper verse the same renude, and tould that famous facte?
Why spake I not of Thebas siege, and wounded brethren twayne,
And how the seuen gates thereof, in sondry charge remayne?
And marshall Rome occasion gaue, whereof I should endight,
A godly worke it were for mee, my countrye factes to wright.
In fine: whyle that by thy deserts, all thinges so much abounde,
A cause I had (O Cæsar) why thy prayse I should resounde.
Euen as the eyes delighted be, with beames of Phebus bright,
So did thy factes my mind entise, to take thereof delight.
As rightfully I am reproude, in barren fielde I tilde,
That noble worke is far more large, with greater plenty fielde.
For though the slender boate is bould, in smaller streame to play,
Yet like disport it dareth not, in surging seas assay.
If shee were not, a single life, should best beseeme for thee,
For none there liues to whom thou might, a wedded husband bee.
Of thee so shall a sonne in health, and thou in health to rayne,
Which may, in thy more elder age, an old man here remayne.
And bring to passe that happye starres, through those thy noble deedes,
Wyth neuewes yong shal still abide, that thee in Realme succedes.
So victorye which vsed is, thy noble Castels too,
Shal still be prest at hand alwayes, to customde ensignes goo.
She shal wyth wonted winges stil flye, wyth gide of Lauin land,
On happy heade a Laurell greene, shall set wyth seemely hand.
By whom thou famous warres do keepe, in parson also fight,
To whom good lucke by thee is geeuen, wyth Gods of marlous might.
And thus in mighty towne art seene, as present halfe to byde,
And halfe away in further parts, the bloudy warres to gyde.
A victor great from foes subdude, he shal returne to thee,
Wyth crowned horse and triumphes braue, aduaunced shal he bee.
But spare we pray thy lightning fearce, and cruel shot vp laye,
Whereof (O wretch) we haue alas, to long now made assaye.
Thou art our countrye father deare, not mindles of this name,
We pray the spare and graunt vs hope, in time to haue no blame.
To come againe I do not craue, yet wel beleeue we maye,
That mighty Gods more harder suits, haue not denide alwaye.
A gentler kinde of exiles life, and nerer place bestow,
Then of my paynes the greatest part, woulde be allayde I know.
The furthest lande I do approue, and cast among my foes,
Nor no man from his country, that, so far an exile goes.
In hauen of seuenfould Istars sea, alone here am I sent,
Wyth frostye axe of Archadie, in cruell care am pent.
The Iazegies, the Colchos eke, and all the Getean rout.
With Metereins whom Danube streame, may skante from hence keepe out.
And though that diuers be driuen forth, for much more great offence,
Yet none to place more far then I, is sent away from thence.
Beyond this land no thing there is, saue cold and ennemyes fell,
With waters thinne of whelming sea, wyth frosty Ise congell.
On left syde here Euxinians ioyne, to part of Romaine land,
And next the Basterns and the Savvromes keepe wyth cruel hand.
This is the lande that latest came, to rule of Romayne lawe,
And skantly any part thereof, thine Empyre neare do drawe.
Wherefore I humblye pray that we, be set in safer soile,
Lest els wyth losse of countrye deare, we liue in endlesse toile.
So neede we not the Nations feare, whom Istar skant deuide,
Nor as thy subiectes there be tane, wyth cruel foes to bide:
For no man borne of Latian bloud, can beare those barberous bands,
But that they will a burden be, vnto Cæsarians hands.
Two faults there are that haue me slaine, error, and my verse,
All other faults I thincke it good, that I do not reherse.
Thy greuous wounds (O Cæsar) now, renue I do not meane,
And that thou haue bewaild them once, to much I do esteeme.
An other part of crime remaynes, a greuous fault for mee,
A teacher of adoultrye foule, I charged am to bee.
Some things the Gods may well deceiue, them for to know is hard,
Of them for many be so meane, that thou dost not regard.
For while as Ioue beholds the Heauens, and mightye Gods also,
The smaller things from loftye skyes, can not respect vnto.
So many matters they escape, in vewing world so wyde,
That lesse affayres of meaner waight, from heauenlye minde do slyde.
That is: while thou a Prince be set, in Empyre large to raigne,
May not intend fonde verse to reade, and greater things disdaine.
The waighty waight of Romayne name, do not so lightly moue,
Nor paise thereof on backe to beare, so litle thee behoue.
As thou wyth godly power may marke, our fond and foolish toyes.
Wyth open eyes here to discusse, our idle earthly ioyes.
Sometimes Germania doth rebell, sometimes Illerians raile,
Rhetia and the Thratian land, wyth ciuill warres assaile.
Sometimes Atmenius craueth peace, and Parthus weapon yelde,
With feareful hands restoring eft, the ensignes won in fielde.
Germania eke thronge infant yong, a yong man thee do take,
And Cæsar doth full cruell warres, for mighty Cæsar make.
In fine: of all thine Empyre huge, (which neuer was so large)
No part at all abated is, but still remaynes in charge.
The Cittye great and sure defence, of customes and of lawe,
Doth irke the sore: while them thou seekes, thine owne more nere to drawe.
The quiet state thou can not vse, which thou hast stald in land,
For troublous ware wyth nations great, thou daily takes in hand.
Wherefore among such causes graue, I maruel much and muse,
That thou our wonted follyes would, wyth earnest eyes peruse.
But if thou had (as I do wishe) more idle there haue beene,
Then in myne art no fault at all, perhaps thou should haue seene.
The which I do confesse was not, deuisde with seuere heade,
Nor matter meete that might deserue, of such a Prince be reade.
Yet be they not to lawes offence, nor giltye of such blames,
But to enstruct the youthfull route, of noble Romayne Dames.
Nor needest not my bookes to doubt, for in one of those three,
These verses fower which next approch, be set therein to see,
And doubting that for greater things, my minde is farre vnfit,
In dittyes small it may suffice, that I do shew my wit.
But if thou should commaund to tell, of Giants greuous wounds,
Which they through fyre of Ioue did feele: the worke my wit confounds.
A fruitfull minde it doth requyre, of Cæsars actes to wright,
Lest els perhappes with matter much, the worke may want his right.
Which though I durst haue take in hand, yet dreading much amonge,
Thy noble power I might abate, which were to great a wronge.
To lighter worke I therefore went, and youthfull verse addrest.
Wyth fayned loue a care I had, to feede my ficcle brest.
Which loth I was ful longe to do, but fates did so ordaine,
And deepe desire my minde did moue, to purchas greuous paine.
Why haue I learnde? O wretche why haue, my parentes taught me lore?
On letters smal why haue I set, my woful eyes before?
For this I am of thee enuide, by wanton art aright,
Through which thou thinckes the chasty beds, be traynde to foule delight.
But none whom wedlocks yoke doth binde, this craft haue learnde of mee,
For who so nothing knowes himselfe, no teacher can he bee.
So haue I made both pleasant toyes, and gentle facile verse,
As yet in talke for by worde lewde, no wight maye me reherse.
Nor none who liues in wedded life, amonge the common rought,
That of himselfe a father false, through my default do dought.
My maners milde repugnant are, to verse (beleeue you mee)
My life both chast and shamefast is, though muse more pleasant bee.
And greatest part of those my workes, inuentions are vntrue,
For much more craft they do allowe, then maker euer knewe.
Nor written bookes do not purport, thaffections of the minde,
But honest will to pleasant myrth, to make the eares inclinde.
For Accius then in cruell deedes, Terentius should delight,
In bankets braue: and warriours be, of warres that do endight.
In fine: though diuers are with mee, that tender loue haue mayde,
Yet I alone for it (O wretch) the paynes alone haue payed.
Theia muse of Leryan olde, hath she not taught the skill?
With plentye great of Baccus dewe, dame Venus nest to fill?
What hath dame Sapho Lesbia learnde, but maydens fayre to loue,
Yet Sapho still remayneth safe, and he no paynes do proue.
What hath it thee (O Battis) hurt, that reading of thy verse,
Thy pleasant pranckes thou did confesse, and wanton ioyes reherse.
No fable founde but tels of loue, in great Menanders booke,
Yet is it redde to virgens yonge, and boyes thereon do looke.
What shall you reade in Ilias, but foule adulterous life?
And fearce afflict of louers false, with toyle and endles strife.
Therein what is there set before, of Crisyda the loue?
And of the mayde from Captaynes caught, which anger great did moue.
What is Odissea els? but while Vlisses was awaye,
How of his wyfe the loue to get, what woers did assaye.
What doth great Homer more report, but Mars to Venus bound,
And that they were in filthy bedde, and foule adulterye found.
By him haue we not knowledge caught, that moude wyth loues desyre?
One straunger causd too goddesses, to burne in secret fyre?
Though Tragedyes all wrytings do, surmount for matter graue,
Yet euen in them occations great, of loue alwayes we haue.
For in Hypolitus the loue, of Phedra do we finde,
And eke how constant Canace loude, her brother not vnkinde.
What did not then king Pelops white, when Cupid forcte his chaire,
With Phrigian horses ferce conueye, Hippodamia faire?
Prouoked grefe through loues desire, in some so much it was,
That mothers causde their cruell blades, through childrens bloud to pas.
And loue: a kinge wyth leman fayre, in fethred foules did chaūge,
And made sir Itis mother mourne, wyth sithes and sobbings straunge.
If that Europaes brother vile, her loue did not requyre,
Wyth Phebus: then we had not read, how horses did retyre.
Nor Scilla should haue so attaynd, the Traiecke stile vnto,
Unlesse that loue her father forcte, his fatall heares forgo.
Whose by hap Electran reades, and mad Orestes fitte,
Egistes faults nor Clytemnestrais, sinnes, he can forgitte,
What neede I speake of Victor that, Chymera did oppresse?
Whom craftye gest did much anoye, to death almost distresse.
Who hath not spoke of Hermyone, and the Cheneyda tould?
Of Alcumeane whom Mycene Duke, in louing brest did fould.
What Daneyes daughter in lawe? her selfe? what Baccus Dame?
What Hemmona wyth her which causde, of one too nights became?
Of Duke Admete, of Thesius eke, what should I here resounde,
Of Greeke whose shippe did first ariue, on coast of Phrigian grounde.
Let Ioles come among the rest, wyth Deiedamia fayre,
Wyth Hylas to and Ganimede, who did to heauen repayre.
No time would serue the Traiecke fyres, if I for them should looke,
Whose names alone could not be set, wythin this careful booke.
And Traiedies the laughters foule, prouoke in sondry wyse,
Yea shamelesse wordes full many a one, because of them aryse.
What hath it hindred him that did, the fearce Achill abuse?
For which his valiant deedes were lost, and force did him refuse.
Aristides the filthy facts, of fond Mylesians tould,
Yet from his towne was not exild, nor in such wyse contrould.
Nor Eubius a wryter great, of historyes vncleane,
How mothers might their seede consume, by foule and filthye meane.
Nor he who wrote the bookes, which men, Sabarita haue namde,
Nor they whose owne adulterous deedes, to tell were not ashamde.
All these wyth graue and ancent sawes, of learned men be vsde,
The facts apparant be yet not, to princes so refusde.
Nor I these forreine factes alone, for my defence do finde,
But euen in Romayne bookes I reade, the toyes of wanton minde.
As Ennius graue who wonted was, of mighty Mars to tell,
Ennius though voyde of arte, in wit he did excell.
Lucretius eke the cause discust, of fearce consuming flame,
And triple worke he did deuine, of which procedes the same.
So did Catullus wanton man, his lemans prayse resight,
Whose name in deede he chaunged haue, and Lesbia therefore hight.
Nor yet contented so but did, of harlottes mo reherse,
Wyth whom adultery vyle he did, confesse in open verse.
Like lawles life did Caluus leade, whose stature was but small,
By sondry meanes disclosing then, his filthy doings all.
What should I speake of Tyndaies stile, and Memnus verse also,
Who wryting of vnhonest actes, their names haue put vnto.
And Cinna here a fellow is, and Anser light as hee,
And Cornificius wanton, worke, and Catoes eke we see.
And he who in Phacecian seas, that Argos whilom brought,
His secrete deedes could not keepe in, which he before had wrought.
Hortencius and Sulpitius facts, lassiuious be likewise,
And such graue men who followeth not, or doth their deedes dispyse.
Sisenna did Mylesian bookes, reduce to Romayne verse.
No paynes he proued yet, though flithy factes he did reherse.
Nor Gallus though Lycordia fest, he did oft times adore.
Was blamed ought: but deemed droncke, wyth wyne he bibd before.
To womans othes small trust to haue, Tybullus whilom would,
Nor of themselues what they denide, no husband credit should.
For keepers eke of virgens chast, a fraude he did confesse,
And now (O wretch) through selfesame art, is driuen to deepe distresse.
And as he would of signet fayre, or Iewels vertue finde,
By craft whereof his mystres hand, to touche he beares in minde.
By priuy pointes and crafty becks, to shewe theyr secrete minde,
He also taught: and subtile notes, in trenchers fayre to finde.
And by the sappe of certaine herbes, how wrath is set a syde,
Whereas the same through mutuall mouthes, by strents of teeth do glyde.
And eke how they should plentye great, of foolishe husbands craue,
Whereby the lesse they might offende, and lesse occasion haue.
At whom also the dogges do barcke, when men that way are gone,
And secrete hems he taught to know, when he did passe alone.
Ful many a crafty lore he learnde, which women did receiue,
Euen by what art the wedded wyues, their husbandes might deceiue.
For these yet no rebuke he had, his workes apparant bee,
And wel alowde, to the our Prince, are not vnknowen we see.
Propertitus like preceptes haue geeuen, which be apparant plaine,
No checke or frowning loke he did, for that although sustaine.
And many more I did succeede, who (sith they liue in fame)
I will not now in open verse, resite them by their name.
I feared not (I do confesse) amonge so great a sayle,
My onely shippe to perishe quite, and none but she to fayle.
And other artes with trouling dyce, lo diuers written haue,
Through which no small offence is cast, vppon your grandsers graue.
How that thou may by subtill meane, the greatest nomber throw,
And dogged pointes may best eschew, through crafty art to know.
In Tables play what markes auayle, or hurtful are likewyse,
A skill they haue to vse the good, and loosing pointes dispyse.
And how the knight in coullers clad, doth rage in right forts way,
When midle man through ennemyes twayne, assault is made a pray.
And how they best may march abrode, or forman make retyre,
Nor none alone from warde to passe, for feare of hurtful hyre.
A game also with little stones, so placte on table small,
Where at he wynnes that makes al three, in one streight lyne to fall.
And other playes deuised be (nor all to tell I meane)
Through which oure time a thing most deare, is so consumed cleane.
And others tels the forme of balles, and skill of tennis playes,
And some the swimming art doth show, and some the toppe assayes.
The craft with coullers blacke to stayne, do diuers take in hand,
Of banket bowers and householde lawes, haue others deepelye skand.
Of earth do others teache the vse, whereof they cuppes do make,
And which the wyne preserues and which, wil other liquor take.
Such kinde of sportes in smokye month, of colde Decembers daye,
Are vsed yet: nor maker none, for them the paynes do paye.
Through these examples lo I haue, no weeping verses mayd,
But weeping paynes for pleasant sports, I haue alas assayd.
In fine:among these wryters all, I can perceyue not one,
To whom his muse haue hurtful beene, my selfe except alone.
What if I should the filthy playes, of rayling iesters wright,
Wherein the faults of fayned loue, be set alwayes in sight.
And where the vibus man comes forth, in garments freshe and braue,
And wilye wife her foolish mate, by sleight deceyued haue.
Lo these: both mayde wyfe and man, wyth seely children see,
And oftentimes the Senate hole, in parson present bee,
The which alone wyth shameles speache, do not defile the eare,
But filthy facts before the eyes, they haue disclosed there.
And when the louer by his craft, the husband doth begyle,
They clap their handes with wondrous ioy, and great reioysing smyle.
And that although lesse needeful is: for Poetes greedy gayne,
The Preror will of forged playes, wyth charge the sight attayne.
Behold of playes the great expence (O Cæsar) and the charge,
Which thou hast payd: thou shal perceiue, the same haue beene right large.
Lo these thy selfe ful oft haue seene, and shewed to others plaine,
Thy maiestye so lowly is, thy grace nothing disdaine.
The royall eyes wherewyth thou do, the totall world beholde,
Thadultrye vile haue gladly seene, which that in Scene is tolde.
Wherefore if lawfull that it be, that iestars so may wright,
My deedes lesse paynes deserue, they do, more honest actes resight.
But is that kind of wryting safe, for pulpets hault regard?
And what the stage haue lawfull made, from iesters not debard?
So haue the people daunced oft, when songe my poises beene,
With open eyes the same also, thy selfe oft times haue seene.
Euen as the auncient pictures made, by craft of workemans hand,
With glistering gloose be set in sight, within your house to stand.
In them so be there tables smal, in priuate place I know,
Which sondry shapes and secrete deedes, of Ladye Venus show.
And as the irefull Aiax sits, wyth threatning browes all bent,
Or as the barberous mothers eye, to wicked act is lent.
Euen so the watry Venus sits, her dampish heres to drye,
And sometimes seemes in mother seas, away from sight to flye.
And others be which cruel warres, wyth weapons sharpe do tell,
Yea some thy grandsires deedes and some, thine owne do show right well.
In narrowe space the hateful wight, dame Nature hath me pent,
Nor to my wofull wayling wits, but slender force haue lent.
O happye yet for him it was, Eneados did wright,
Who Moorian beds with mighty men, and weapon fierce resight.
No part of which famous worke, the readers do delight,
So much: as that, where loue was linckt, againe al honest right.
Of Phyllis he likewise haue tould, and Amarillis loue,
In youthfull yeares he sought his minde, wyth Bucolix to moue.
And we who haue by wryting these, committed greuous sinne,
Our sinfull factes much elder be, though paynes but now beginne.
I verses also made when thou, offences haue contrould,
A knight by thee to passe oft times, I voyde of checke was bould.
Wherefore I yong and wanting wit, in that no daunger thought,
Which now to me in elder age, more hurtfull care haue brought.
A new reuenging paines I feele, for auncient written art,
The persecution differeth far, from time of my desart.
Yet of my woorkes you may beleeue, more waighty burdens bere,
For oftentimes more massye sayles, my ship sustayned there.
For bookes twyse six I wrytten haue, and Fastus did them name,
In nomber like of monthes were made, and ended in the same.
And that that through my heauy fate, I did (O Cæsar) make,
Wherein I highly honoured thee, when I my waye did take.
Yea Tragike style in royall verse, we also did endight,
Wherein no waighty words do want, that stately stile should light.
In verse likewyse we tould, although, the workes imperfit beene,
Where sondrye shapes transformed are, and chaunged bodyes seene.
But would to God thy wrath a while, from minde thou would remoue,
And that of these some part to reade, thou wouldest me behoue.
The worke which at the worlds vpryse, his first beginning had,
To thy most famous raigne I brought, and wrote (O Cæsar) glad.
There shalt thou finde what store of wit, on me thou whilom layed,
And wyth what minde for thee and thine, to write I haue assayed.
I do no man wyth byting verse, or churlishe checke disdaine,
Nor no mans gilty factes there doth, wythin my woorkes remayne.
From subtil ioyes I giltles am, that tempred be wyth gall,
Nor in my verse no venome fell, wyth myrth is mixt at all.
Among so many thousand men, wyth verses many a one,
My learned muse haue hindred none (my selfe except alone)
At my mishap I gesse therefore, no Romayne doth reioyce,
But much bewayle our sondry woes, wyth one lamenting voyce.
Nor no man would I thincke be sad, in this my sorrye chaunce,
If mercye me through giltles life, to greater ease aduaunce.
Lo these wyth many more I wyshe, maye perce thy heauenly brest,
(O father deare) O sure defence, our countryes onlye rest.
To Italie I would not turne, vnlesse in longer space,
Through greater paynes, of the perhappes, we may deserue more grace.
More safer place for exiles life, and gentler rest I craue,
So shall my faults and carefull crymes, their due deseruings haue.