University of Virginia Library

VERSE TRANSLATIONS

THE THIRTEENTH PSALM OF DAVID

Fools that true faith yet never had
Saith in their hearts, there is no God.
Filthy they are in their practice,
Of them not one is godly wise.
From heaven the Lord on man did look
To know what ways he undertook.
All they were vain and went astray,
Not one he found in the right way.
In heart and tongue have they deceit,
Their lips throw forth a poisoned bait.
Their minds are mad, their mouths are wode,
And swift they be in shedding blood.
So blind they are, no truth they know,
No fear of God in them will grow.
How can that cruel sort be good,
Of God's dear flock which suck the blood?
On him rightly shall they not call,
Despair will so their hearts appall.
At all times God is with the just,
Because they put in him their trust.
Who shall therefore from Sion give
That health which hangeth in our belief?
When God shall take from his the smart,
Then will Jacob rejoice in heart.
Praise to God

PETRARCH'S TRIUMPH OF ETERNITY

Amazed to see nought under heaven's cope
Steady and fast, thus to myself I spake:
Advise thee well-on whom doth hang thy hope?
On God, said I, that promise never brake
With those that trust in him. But now I know
How erst the fickle world abused me,
Eke what I am and was. And now to go
Or rather fly the nimble time I see,
Blame would I, wist I whom; for all the crime
Is mine that should (not slacking till the last)
Have erst unclosed mine eyes before this time.
For truth to say, old wax I all too fast,
But over late God's grace came never yet.
In me also I trust there shall be wrought
Works wonderful and strange by means of it.
These said and answer made, thus more I thought:
If none of all these things do stand in stay
That heaven turns and guides, what end at last
Shall follow of their ever turning sway?
While deeper yet my searching mind I cast,
A world all new even then it seemed me
In never changing and ever living age,
The sun, the sky with all her stars to see
Dissolved quite with earth and seas that rage,
One made more fair and pleasant in his place.
When him that never stayed but erst to change
Each thing was wont wandering in divers race
Stand on one foot I saw; how seemed it strange
All his three parts brought into only one,
And that one fast, so that as wont it was
No more so swift it hasted to be gone
But had one show as earth despoiled of grass.
There were not shall be, hath been, after erst
To irksome, weak and divers state that brought
Our life. As sun doth pierce the glass, so pierced
My thought, yea more, for nothing stoppeth thought.
What grace find I to see if I attain
Even face to face the greatest good of all
(No ill which only time gives and again
As first it came with time eke part it shall).
The Bull or Fish lodge shall no more the sun,
Whose change doth make a toil now die, now spring,
Now waste, now grow. Oh happy sprights that won
Or shall hereafter stand in the chief ring,
Whose names aye memory writes in her book!
On happy he to find, whose hap shall be,
The deep channel of this swift running brook,
Whose name is life, that many wish to see.
Wretched and blind the common sort that stay
Their hope on things which time reaves in a trice,
All deaf, naked and subject to decay,
Quite void of reason and of good advice
And wretched mortal men throughout diseased.
Whose beck doth guide the world, by whom at jar
Are set the elements and eke appeased,
Whose skill doth stretch beyond my reach so far
That even the angels are content and joy
Of thousand parts but one to see, and bend
Their wits to this, and this wish to enjoy.
On happy wandering mind, aye hungering to the end,
What mean so many thoughts? One hour doth reave
That many years gathered with much ado.
Tomorrow, yesterday, morning and eve,
That press our soul and it encumber so,
Before him pass shade-like at once away,
For was or shall be no place shall be found
But for the time of is, now and today,
Only eternity knit fast and sound.
Huge hills shall be made plain that stopped clean
Our sight, nor shall there anything remain
Whereon may hope or our remembrance lean,
Whose change make other do that is but vain,
And life to seem a sport. Even with this thought,
What shall I be, what was I heretofore,
All shall be one nor piece-meal parted ought.
Summer shall be nor winter any more,
But time shall die, and place be changed withal,
And years shall bear no rule on mortal fame,
But his renown forever flourish shall
That once achieved to be of flowering name.
Oh happy souls that now the path doth tread
Or henceforth shall, when so it haps to be,
Which to the end whereof I speak doth lead.
Of fair and wandering sprights yet happiest she
Whom death hath slain far short of nature's bound.
The heavenly talk, good words and thoughts so chaste
Open shall lie unfolded in that stound,
Which kind within a youthful heart hath placed.

THE SECOND CHORUS FROM SENECA'S HERCULES OETAEUS

What harming hurl of fortune's arm thou dreadest,
Let fraught of faith the burden of care relieve,
And take thou such, to fear approved by proof,
The unpicked locks of certain trust to hold;
For geason is the faith, and rarely kept is trust,
Where puffed sails from best forewinds be fallen.
The weight of scepter's sway if choice must bear,
Albeit the vulgar crew fill full thy gates,
And hundred thresholds with their feet be smoothed:
Though with thy gleaves and axes thou be armed,
And root full great do glory give thy name,
Amid the view of all these sundry sorts
One faultless faith her room even scant may claim.
The golden ledge full wrathful spites besets,
And where the gates their posts draw forth by breadth
More easy way to guiles and passed safe.
Heed then the clocks of warned harms with good,
And let the hidden blade not wrong thee work,
For when most show by gazers' eyes is spied,
And presence great thy honor most advance,
This gift retain as fellow to thy room:
Disdain may frown, but envy thrust thee through.
No ofter doth the east the night's care release
And makes the shady dark with light abash
Than kings be made in an instant short, and marred;
So icy is their joy and hopeless woe.
The love of kingdom's rule observed with care,
But for himself a king but few regard.
The court's luster a stale guest made for me,
Delighted with the shine no woe forthought.
And this man seeks the nearest room to prince,
To glittering view amid the streets he comes;
While broiled is with cark the miser's breast
In search of gainful grasp his name to spread.
In compass of the hoarded heaps to find
One bit to slake desire's wave he seeks.
Not all the coast where Istrus' trade doth haunt,
With gems bedecked through hue of diverse kind,
Nor Lydia fair with sweetest streams suffice
To quench nor answer all such thirst by half;
Nor yet the soil that bides Zephirus' slave,
Abashed at golden shining Tagus' beams,
Nor Hebrus' service may content at full,
Rich though Hydaspes' hedge his fields throw out,
Though Ganges' course his confines all do graze
With filled force to water all his lands.
To greedy grating wights enough not all
That nature well doth please his lack not so.
This man doth homage unto kingly force,
And harbor Rome adores where last he haunts,
Not meaning that this plowshare should advance
Like crooked hind his master's gain with clots
By murdering the ground; no ease of toil
Though thousand leas his husbandmen turn up.
Well pleased rests his hearth with goods even such
As pleasure may by gift another need.
A badder sort the prince's court regard
With foiled foot that stumble gives at all
And each to lose with no avail to one.
That might may equal harm they power achieve
Whose living's thread drawn out is of such length
Whom hap nor takes ere nature calls away.
The horned newed moon them blessed calls
Whose wane them misers judges when day doth fall.
A man full rarely happy is and old.
More surer sleeps thee downy turfs procure:
All Tyre, where purple woven is and made,
Not so sound slumber doth his owner yield.
The gilded roofs the quiet rest bereave,
And waking nights the purple draws from ease.
O that the breasts of rich men naked were,
The smoothed dreads of lofty lucks that hide;
The Brutian stream more milder course doth hold
When eastern wind him strikes with force's stroke.
In franched mind from care the silly soul possest,
A pot of beechen tree full sure he keeps
With steady hand that fears no snatch from hold.
No sudden fright affrays, no thief he dreads;
With ease y-got and single show he feeds
And recks not for the girded blades to thigh.
The golden cup of bloody mixture keeps.
The wife that is y-tied to man of mean estate
No carking hath in order pain to set,
Nor shining gift of reddy sea she wears
Her ears free from the pluck of gemmy weight;
No stone of Eoas' waves her cumber makes.
Soft wool ingrained with Sidon's purple fair
Drinks not the red for use that her befalls;
No Maeon needle filleth she with skeins
By parted hues that give the shade with art.
The silky land that lies to sunny east
Needs not the fruit from eastern tree to pluck;
Every herb the colors' die may mix
That distaff fills with yarn that skill not spun.
She nursed not the doubts of wedlock bed;
Of lewd suspect of weary works she shuns.
The wrathful lamp Erinis lighteth up
The feastful day adorns by pestering rout.
The poor man deemeth not his happy state
Till wealthy folk by fall it show.
Who so, therefore, the middle way eschews
The wry and crooked balk's most sure to tread.
While Phaeton boy one day of father got
To rule the reins and eke his wain to guide
In leaving wonted walk and worned ways
Which by slide, while the uncouth skies he shares
Such place as heat of Phoebus' flame knew not.
His ruin was the world his fellow plain.
Daedalus yet more larger scope and broader took,
Who never yet a sea by name did grace.
Though Icarus sought the true and living birds
By guile to pass and win the tryer's right,
His father's feathered wings despised with scorn,
To Phoebus near with swifty gait he hies,
And christened by this slip the sea was sure.
Evil bought the great where ill exceeds the good.
Let one full happy be and highly flee.
God shield that mighty me the vulgar call.
The lee of shore my silly boat shall loathe,
Let no full wind to depth my bark bequeath.
From safest creeks doth fortune glide and shun,
With search in middest sea for tallest ship
And takes its dearest prey the nearer to cloud.

THE METRES OF BOETHIUS' CONSOLATION OF PHILOSOPHY

HORACE'S ART OF POETRY

If to a mans hed a pantar wold
A horsis neck conjoine
And coulored fethers ad therto
With limmes togither set,
That face aboue of woman faire,
The rest fowle like the moudy fische;
For suche a hap, my frindz,
Could you your laughtar kipe?
Belive me, Pisons, euen to this tablet
That my book be like,
Whos vane shapis shalbe faned,
As sik mans dreames be wont,
So as nor fote ne hed in one agrie.
An iniud power bold the poet and the pantar had.
We knowe this lein, axe and giue the same.
Not so the wild and tame do pere,
Nor of the birdz that serpent bride,
Nor lambes fal from tigres tetes.
Oft to beginnings graue and shewes of great is sowed
A purple pace, one or more for vewe,
Whan wood or aultar Dians aught be drawen,
Or crake of running streames in fairest fildz,
Than pant the riuer Rene or rainbow seak,
But for al thes hire is no place.
You can perchance the cipers trie present,
What botes to pant for gayne a foteles man
From broken kile to swim to shore.
A pot ful large was ment be maid:
How hapned than the while a pipkin framed?
In time let be what so thou wilst
So that hit plain and one remain.
Of poets greatist part, O father, and youthes worthy of your sire,
All be begiled by shewe alone of good.
While brife to be I striue, skars understode I am,
And treting maters slite, I feale my strengh decay;
Professing causis dipe, my shalowe mynd astons,
And criping low on ground, to safe yet fearing flawe.
Who so one thing expres in to to many sortes,
A dolφin on the tries doth hange and bore in streame.
So flight from fault fals into lack from want of art.
A sely smith in Emilius stage play in bras
Wil nailes and silky heare with his pensel shape.
Vnhappy man in chifist part of worke,
For wanting of skil to pictur all he cannot.
Self same am I, if aught I striue compound,
No more I wische than wondar of iuel formed nose,
Or vew of blackist yee with here of likist hue.
Take you that write a matter suche as equalz best your skil
And long do pause on what your shuldars doe refuse
Or what the beare may best: who that he chuse best understands,
Nor eloquence shal he want nor ordar cleare.
For grace and vertu shal he place, or forbeare,
So as what now be said or what hirafter shal
Much he defars and for the present time omitz.
This loue he doth, this skorne of promised vers the skribe.
In placing wordz, if thou be skant and wary bothe,
The spiche shal florische wel and be estimed.
Yea, if a new word for old wel sodered thou do place,
Yea, and nide be with new shewe the hiden yore expound,
To frame may hap some wordz that girdled Cethes lack,
A license thou with shamfest leue mast take.
The new made wordes and faned like credit beares,
If from the Grikis spring the softly be withdrawen.
But Romane what to Plauto and Cicilius shal he giue,
If from Varios loue or Virgil hit be caught?
Why, if I litel get, nide enuid I to be,
Whan Caton and Ennius toung inriched ther weany spiche,
And new names to ther matters gaue?
Hit lawful is and euer shal, a word assigned by mark to know.
As primar leues of wood first faule and chaunge to nirest yere,
So eldred age of wordz turnes so to ther decay,
And youngmen like the borne first florische and increas.
To dethe we owe ourselves and all we haue.
Whether Neptune by erthe receued,
And baying in by northern winde the sailing ships,
Wiche is a worke and act for kinge;
Or wither a coustumed marische fit for ores
Fede the cities nire and makes them feale the plowes waight,
Or streame change the cours, the fo to frutes,
By learning bettar way. All mortal dede shal end,
Nor shal our wordz knowe honor augh nor liveliste grace.
Much shal renue that haue bine fallen, and than decay
Suche wordz as haue bine reuerenst wel, if vse hit grant,
On whose beck bothe fors and fourme of spiche dependz.
How kingz and chiftanes actz and eke ther doleful woe,
In verse how the in numbar be exprest Homere hath told.
With onjvend linked vers at first a mone the make,
But after winning wische ther verdit the haue won.
What author yet wil simple eglogs leue,
The grammars mastars striue, yet iuge the verdit kipes.
Rage with his owne stile Archilocas hath used.
This manner vers the comidantz and tragike bothe begun
Wel fitting wordz for bothe, exciding vulgar shoutes
And mitist for the greatist, waightist cause.
Our muse comitz to stringe bothe gods and ther race,
The winning wrastlar, and hors the first at stop,
And telz the youngmens cares and frechat wines,
Thes changes to obserue and coulors shewed of work.
If I knowe not nor care, why poete am I called?
By sely shame chuse not to knowe than sike vs lerne.
A mery play wold not admit a tragik vers;
Thiestes scene disdaines that wordiest vers decerns,
Be told in menar verse by pourist comidant.
Let all things be as sorteth best ther place.
Yet comedie sometime lifts vp the voice,
And wrotheful Cremes with puffed face fights,
And tragik often moues in slavy gise.
Teleφus, eke Pelius, wh[en] poore and exul bothe,
Away throw the thes windblowen vase
And halved quartered vers, do care,
If care the do, with mone the loukars on to move.
Versis faire do not suffice, let them be swite
And suche as wher the wyl may turne the hirars eare.
As mery man the please, so wailing man contentz
The milddy lookes. If teares myne thou procure
Thyself must waile, so shal thy misfortune yerk me.
Ivel if you do your biddings place,
Teleφus or Peleus, or I shal slipe or laughtar make.
For sory wordes fitz best a moning face,
The furius thretful, seuere the dalear, wanton the graue,
For nature first us fourmed within ful fit,
For the bent of eche fortune helpes or throwes to er[the],
In yrking drawes vs downe with wo opprest,
Strait motions of the minde exaltz by toung exprest.
If speakars wordz unfit ther fate,
The army all with skorne wil the deride;
For much hit doth auaill whir Dauus or Eros,
Or ripid age or firs youthe in growing yeres,
Or ruling dame or careful nurse,
Wayfaring marchant, or plower of the griny fild,
In Colchis or Assyria bred, in Thebes or Argus town.
Or hiresay folowe, or writar, make thy matter fit for the.
Laudid Achilles do thou prais, hedy, ireful, graue, lerne [shipp].
Lawes he denies euer made for him, naugh must gainsay thy armes fors.
Medea let be woode vnwon, Ino ful of teares,
Faithless Ixion, wandringe Io, mourning Orestes.
If ignorant thou aught to the scene committ,
And darest new actors place perfourme,
Suche as thou first began, louke to the end thou kipe.
Ful hard hit in private sort the comme thing declare,
And rightliar shuldst thou Homers vers expres,
Than as first man the vntouche and vntold tel.
General mattar shal be made thy private part,
If thou stik not to curius about the base and commen lines,
Nor word by other like glosar sure shalt thou vse,
Nor skolar like shalt thou sample thyself in act,
Whence shame forbidz thy foote eke lawe of work,
Nor so begin as Ciclicus writar ons:
The luk of Priam shal I sing and worthy war.
What fitting so wiede chawes hathe promis now perfourmed?
The hilz ther frute do yeld, a skorned mouse is born.
How rightliar he that fondly naught doth vndertake.
Shew me, my muse, a man in after tims of taken Troy
The manars of many a man that saw togither with their towns.
Who miss not smoke of flame but light from smoke to giue,
That thens he may shewe wondars great:
Antiφaton, Silla, and with Ciclop Caribid.
Nor Diomedz return from Meleagris ruine,
Nor Trojans war from his grandfathers shel wil tel.
Euer to end he hies and to best menes.
Like as by notes the listenars eares he drawes,
That he despaires, intreting grace, he leues;
And so begiles as fals with tru doth mixe,
That midst to first and last with midst agrie.
Thou, what I and people desire do, hire.
If nide you do a praisar, to the end such as wil bide
Til singar do afourd your clapping hands to work,
Than must thou maike the manars of eche age,
And graunted must be grace to natures changed yeare.
The boy that can pronounce his wordz
And stedy his ground with sure pace
Lips for joy to felowe his like,
Sturs vp his color, lets hit light fal,
And changes oft in many a houre.
The berdles youthe, at last mastar cast of,
Joys in horsis, dogges, and gras of open fild;
Waxlike rolled to vice, to teachar curst,
Late forsear of good, of his pence to lavische,
Hauty, glorius, swift winged to leue that he loved.
But eldar age, turning his cours with mynd manlike,
Riches sikes, frindz, to honor himself ingrafing,
Wel warning to do that strait to change he strives.
Cumbars many a one besige the aged man;
Or that he sikes thogh found as wretche he forbears
And dares not ventur the vse therof;
Or that in feare or yoy al thing he vndertakz,
Slowghful a hoper, ydel, and gridy of change,
Crabbid, whining, the praisar of passed time
Whan boy he was, a juge and beatar of his youngar.
Growing yeres great auailes do bring,
And passed gone as many do deprive.
Lest, therfor, agid part be giuen vnto the young
And mans estate bequived to the boy,
Let vs abide in suche as best agre and in ther time.

PLUTARCH'S ON CURIOSITY