Sixe idillia that is, sixe small, or petty poems, or aeglogves, chosen out of the right famous Sicilian Poet Theocritus, and translated into English verse |
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| THE XI. JDILLION.
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 | Sixe idillia |  |
THE XI. JDILLION.
Cyclops.
Argument
Theocritus wrote this Idillion to Nicias a learned Physition. wherein he sheweth by the example of Polyphemus, a Gyant in Sicilie, of the race of the Cyclopes, who loued the water Nymph Galatea, that ther is no medecine so soueraigne against loue, as is Poetry. Of whose loue-song, as this Idilliō is termed Cyclops, so he was called Cyclops, because he had but one eie, that stood like a circle in the middest of his forehead.
O Nicias, there is no other remedie for loue,
With ointing, or with sprinkling on, that euer I could proue,
Beside the Muses nine. this pleasant medsun of the minde
Growes among men, and seems but lite, yet verie hard to finde.
As well I wote you knowe, who are in Phisicke such a leeche,
And of the Muses so belov'd. the cause of this my speeche,
A Cyclops is, who liued heere with vs right welthele,
That anchent Polyphem, when first he loued Galate;
When with a bristled beard, his chin and cheekes first clothed were.
He lov'd her not, with roses, apples, or with curled heare,
But with the Furies rage. al other thinges he little plide.
For often to their fould, from pastures green, without a guide
His sheepe returned home, when all the while he singing laie
Jn honor of his loue, and on the shore consumde awaie
From morning vntil night, sicke of the wound, fast by the hart,
Which mighty Venus gaue, and in his liuer stucke the dart.
For which, this remedie he found, that sitting oftentimes
Vpon a rocke, and looking on the Sea, he sung these rimes.
With ointing, or with sprinkling on, that euer I could proue,
Beside the Muses nine. this pleasant medsun of the minde
Growes among men, and seems but lite, yet verie hard to finde.
As well I wote you knowe, who are in Phisicke such a leeche,
And of the Muses so belov'd. the cause of this my speeche,
That anchent Polyphem, when first he loued Galate;
When with a bristled beard, his chin and cheekes first clothed were.
He lov'd her not, with roses, apples, or with curled heare,
But with the Furies rage. al other thinges he little plide.
For often to their fould, from pastures green, without a guide
His sheepe returned home, when all the while he singing laie
Jn honor of his loue, and on the shore consumde awaie
From morning vntil night, sicke of the wound, fast by the hart,
Which mighty Venus gaue, and in his liuer stucke the dart.
For which, this remedie he found, that sitting oftentimes
Vpon a rocke, and looking on the Sea, he sung these rimes.
O Galatea faire, why dost thou shun thy louer true?
More tender than a Lambe, more white than cheese when it is new,
More wanton than a calfe, more sharpe than grapes vnripe I finde.
You vse to come, when pleasant sleepe my senses all doe binde.
But you are gone againe, when pleasant sleepe dooth leaue mine eie,
And as a sheep you run, that on the plaine a Woolfe doth spie.
J then began to loue thee, Galate, when first of all
You with my mother came, to gather leaues of Crowtoe small
Vpon our hil, when J as vsher, squirde you all the waie.
Nor when I sawe thee first, nor afterward, nor at this daie,
Since then could J refraine; but you, by Joue, nought set thereby.
But well I knowe, fair Nimphe, the verie cause why you thus flie.
Because vpon my front, one onlie brow, with bristles strong
From one eare to the other eare, is stretched al along.
Nethe which, one eie, and on my lips a hugie nose there standes.
Yet I, this such a one, a thousand sheep feed on these lands.
And pleasant milke I drinke, which from the strouting bags is prest.
Nor want I cheese in summer, nor in Autumne of the best,
Nor yet in winter time. my cheese-rackes euer laden are,
And better can I pipe, than anie Cyclops maie compare.
O Apple sweet, of thee, and of my selfe, I vse to sing,
And that at midnight oft. for thee, aleavne faunes vp I bring,
All great with young, & foure beares whelps, I nourish vp for thee.
But come thou hither first, and thou shalt haue them all of me.
And let the blewish colorde Sea beat on the shore so nie.
The night with me in caue, thou shalt consume more pleasantlie.
There are the shadie Baies, and there tall Cypres-trees doe sprout,
And there is Juie blacke, and fertill Vines are al about.
Coole water there J haue, distilled of the whitest snowe,
A drinke deuine, which out of wooddy Ætna mount doth flowe.
In these respects, who in the Sea & waues would rather be?
But if J seeme as yet, too rough and sauage vnto thee,
Great store of Oken woode I haue, and neuer quenched fire;
And J can well indure my soule to burne with thy desire,
With this my onely eie, then which J nothing thinke more trimme.
Now woe is me, my mother bore me not with finns to swimme,
That J might diue to thee, that I thy dainty hand might kisse,
If lips thou wouldst not let; then would J Lillies bring J wis,
And tender Poppie toe, that beares a top like rattells red.
And these in summer time, but other are in winter bred,
So that I cannot bring them all at once. now certainlie,
Ile learne to swimme of some or other stranger passing bie,
That I maie knowe what pleasure tis in waters deepe to dwell.
Come forth, faire Galate, and once got out, forget thee well
(As I doe sitting on this rocke) home to returne againe.
But feede my sheepe with me, & for to milke them take the paine,
And cheese to presse, and in the milke, the rennet sharpe to straine.
My mother only wrongeth me, and her I blame, for shee
Spake neuer yet to thee, one good or louelie worde of me,
And that, although shee daily sees, how I awaie doe pine.
But I will saie my head and feete doe ake, that shee maie whine
And sorrowe at the hart, because my hart with griefe is swolne.
O Cyclops, Cyclops, whither is thy wit and reason flowne?
If thou wouldst baskets make, and cut downe browzing from the tree,
And bring it to thy Lambes, a great deale wiser thou shouldst be?
Goe coie some present Nimphe, why dost thou follow flying wind?
Perhaps an other Galate, and fairer thou shalt find.
For manie maidens in the euening tide with mee will plaie,
And all doe sweetlie laugh, when I stand harkning what they saie,
And I some bodie seeme, and in the earth doe beare a swaie.
More tender than a Lambe, more white than cheese when it is new,
More wanton than a calfe, more sharpe than grapes vnripe I finde.
You vse to come, when pleasant sleepe my senses all doe binde.
But you are gone againe, when pleasant sleepe dooth leaue mine eie,
And as a sheep you run, that on the plaine a Woolfe doth spie.
J then began to loue thee, Galate, when first of all
You with my mother came, to gather leaues of Crowtoe small
Vpon our hil, when J as vsher, squirde you all the waie.
Nor when I sawe thee first, nor afterward, nor at this daie,
Since then could J refraine; but you, by Joue, nought set thereby.
But well I knowe, fair Nimphe, the verie cause why you thus flie.
Because vpon my front, one onlie brow, with bristles strong
From one eare to the other eare, is stretched al along.
Nethe which, one eie, and on my lips a hugie nose there standes.
Yet I, this such a one, a thousand sheep feed on these lands.
And pleasant milke I drinke, which from the strouting bags is prest.
Nor want I cheese in summer, nor in Autumne of the best,
Nor yet in winter time. my cheese-rackes euer laden are,
And better can I pipe, than anie Cyclops maie compare.
O Apple sweet, of thee, and of my selfe, I vse to sing,
And that at midnight oft. for thee, aleavne faunes vp I bring,
All great with young, & foure beares whelps, I nourish vp for thee.
But come thou hither first, and thou shalt haue them all of me.
And let the blewish colorde Sea beat on the shore so nie.
The night with me in caue, thou shalt consume more pleasantlie.
There are the shadie Baies, and there tall Cypres-trees doe sprout,
And there is Juie blacke, and fertill Vines are al about.
A drinke deuine, which out of wooddy Ætna mount doth flowe.
In these respects, who in the Sea & waues would rather be?
But if J seeme as yet, too rough and sauage vnto thee,
Great store of Oken woode I haue, and neuer quenched fire;
And J can well indure my soule to burne with thy desire,
With this my onely eie, then which J nothing thinke more trimme.
Now woe is me, my mother bore me not with finns to swimme,
That J might diue to thee, that I thy dainty hand might kisse,
If lips thou wouldst not let; then would J Lillies bring J wis,
And tender Poppie toe, that beares a top like rattells red.
And these in summer time, but other are in winter bred,
So that I cannot bring them all at once. now certainlie,
Ile learne to swimme of some or other stranger passing bie,
That I maie knowe what pleasure tis in waters deepe to dwell.
Come forth, faire Galate, and once got out, forget thee well
(As I doe sitting on this rocke) home to returne againe.
But feede my sheepe with me, & for to milke them take the paine,
And cheese to presse, and in the milke, the rennet sharpe to straine.
My mother only wrongeth me, and her I blame, for shee
Spake neuer yet to thee, one good or louelie worde of me,
And that, although shee daily sees, how I awaie doe pine.
But I will saie my head and feete doe ake, that shee maie whine
And sorrowe at the hart, because my hart with griefe is swolne.
O Cyclops, Cyclops, whither is thy wit and reason flowne?
If thou wouldst baskets make, and cut downe browzing from the tree,
And bring it to thy Lambes, a great deale wiser thou shouldst be?
Goe coie some present Nimphe, why dost thou follow flying wind?
Perhaps an other Galate, and fairer thou shalt find.
For manie maidens in the euening tide with mee will plaie,
And all doe sweetlie laugh, when I stand harkning what they saie,
And I some bodie seeme, and in the earth doe beare a swaie.
Thus Polyphemus singing, fed his raging loue of ould,
Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her summes of gould.
Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her summes of gould.
Polyphem's Embleme.
Vbi Dictamum inueniam?
| Sixe idillia | |