Olor Iscanus A Collection of some Select Poems, and Translations, Formerly written by Mr. Henry Vaughan Silurist. Published by a Friend |
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De Ponto, Lib. 3o.
To his friends (after his many sollicitations)
refusing to petition Cæsar for
his releasement. |
 | Olor Iscanus |  |
De Ponto, Lib. 3o. To his friends (after his many sollicitations) refusing to petition Cæsar for his releasement.
You have Consum'd my language, and my pen
Incens'd with begging scorns to write agen.
You grant, you knew my sute: My Muse, and I
Had taught it you in frequent Elegie,
That I believe (yet seal'd) you have divin'd
Our Repetitions, and forestal'd my mind,
So that my thronging Elegies, and I
Have made you (more then Poets) prophesie.
Incens'd with begging scorns to write agen.
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Had taught it you in frequent Elegie,
That I believe (yet seal'd) you have divin'd
Our Repetitions, and forestal'd my mind,
So that my thronging Elegies, and I
Have made you (more then Poets) prophesie.
But I am now awak'd; forgive my dream
VVhich made me Crosse the Proverb and the Stream,
And pardon, friends, that I so long have had
Such good thoughts of you, I am not so mad
As to continue them. You shall no more
Complain of troublesome Verse, or write o're
How I endanger you, and vex my trife
VVith the sad legends of a banish'd life.
I'le bear these plagues my selfe: for I have past
Through greater ones, and can as well at last
These pettie Crosses. 'Tis for some young beast
To kick his bands, or with his neck releast
From the sad Yoke. Know then, That as for me
VVhom Fate hath us'd to such calamitie,
I scorn her spite and yours, and freely dare
The highest ills your malice can prepare.
VVhich made me Crosse the Proverb and the Stream,
And pardon, friends, that I so long have had
Such good thoughts of you, I am not so mad
As to continue them. You shall no more
Complain of troublesome Verse, or write o're
How I endanger you, and vex my trife
VVith the sad legends of a banish'd life.
I'le bear these plagues my selfe: for I have past
Through greater ones, and can as well at last
These pettie Crosses. 'Tis for some young beast
To kick his bands, or with his neck releast
From the sad Yoke. Know then, That as for me
VVhom Fate hath us'd to such calamitie,
I scorn her spite and yours, and freely dare
The highest ills your malice can prepare.
'Twas Fortune threw me hither, where I now
Rude Getes and Thrace see, with the snowie brow
Of Cloudie Æmus, and if she decree
Her sportive pilgrims last bed here must be
I am content; nay more, she cannot doe
That Act which I would not consent unto.
I can delight in vain hopes, and desire
That state more then her Change and Smiles, then high'r
I hugge a strong despaire, and think it brave
To baffle faith, and give those hopes a grave.
Have you not seen cur'd wounds enlarg'd, and he
That with the first wave sinks, yielding to th'free
VVaters, without th'Expence of armes or breath
Ham still the easiest, and the quickest death.
VVhy nurse I sorrows then? why these desires
Of Changing Scythia for the Sun and fires
Of some calm kinder aire? what did bewitch
My frantick hopes to flye so vain a pitch,
And thus out-run my self? Mad-man! could I
Suspect fate had for me a Courtesie?
These errours grieve: And now I must forget
Those pleas'd Idœa's I did frame and set
Unto my selfe, with many fancyed Springs
And Groves, whose only losse new sorrow brings.
And yet I would the worst of fate endure,
E're you should be repuls'd, or lesse secure,
But base, low soules!) you left me not for this,
But 'cause you durst not. Cæsar could not misse
Of such a trifle, for I know that he
Scorns the Cheap triumphs of my miserie.
Rude Getes and Thrace see, with the snowie brow
Of Cloudie Æmus, and if she decree
Her sportive pilgrims last bed here must be
I am content; nay more, she cannot doe
That Act which I would not consent unto.
I can delight in vain hopes, and desire
That state more then her Change and Smiles, then high'r
I hugge a strong despaire, and think it brave
To baffle faith, and give those hopes a grave.
Have you not seen cur'd wounds enlarg'd, and he
That with the first wave sinks, yielding to th'free
VVaters, without th'Expence of armes or breath
Ham still the easiest, and the quickest death.
VVhy nurse I sorrows then? why these desires
Of Changing Scythia for the Sun and fires
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My frantick hopes to flye so vain a pitch,
And thus out-run my self? Mad-man! could I
Suspect fate had for me a Courtesie?
These errours grieve: And now I must forget
Those pleas'd Idœa's I did frame and set
Unto my selfe, with many fancyed Springs
And Groves, whose only losse new sorrow brings.
And yet I would the worst of fate endure,
E're you should be repuls'd, or lesse secure,
But base, low soules!) you left me not for this,
But 'cause you durst not. Cæsar could not misse
Of such a trifle, for I know that he
Scorns the Cheap triumphs of my miserie.
Then since (degen'rate friends) not he, but you
Cancell my hopes, and make afflictions new,
You shall Confesse, and fame shall tell you, I
At Ister dare as well as Tyber dye.
Cancell my hopes, and make afflictions new,
You shall Confesse, and fame shall tell you, I
At Ister dare as well as Tyber dye.
| Olor Iscanus | |