University of Virginia Library

TRANSLATIONS

To Love.

O Love! how cold, and slow to take my part!
Thou idle Wanderer, about my Heart;
Why thy old faithfull Souldier wilt thou see
Opprest in my owne Tents? They Murder me:
Thy flames consume, thy Arrows pierce thy ffriends,
Rather on Foes, pursue more Noble ends.
Achilles Sword, wou'd generously bestow,
A cure as certaine, as it gave the blow.
Hunters, who follow flying Game, give o're
When the Prey's caught, hope still leads on before.
Wee thy owne Slaves, feele thy Tyrannick blows,
Whilst thy tame hand's unmov'd against thy Foes.
On Men disarm'd, how can you gallant prove?
And I was long agoe, disarm'd by Love.
Millions of dull Men live, and scornfull Maids,
Wee'll owne Love Valiant, when he these invades.
Rome, from each Corner of the wide World snatch'd,
A Lawrell; or't had beene to this day Thatch'd.
But the Old Souldier, has his resting place,
And the good batter'd Horse, is turn'd to Grasse.
The Harrast Whore, who liv'd a Wretch to please
Has leave to be a Bawd, and take her ease.
For me then, who have freely spent my blood
(Love) in thy service, and soe boldly stood
In Celias Trenches; wer't not wisely done,
Ee'n to retire, and live at peace at home?
Noe—might I gaine a Godhead, to disclaime,
My glorious Title, to my endlesse flame,
Divinity with Scorne, I wou'd forsweare,
Such sweete, deare tempting Devills, Women are.
When e're those flames grow faint, I quickly find,
A fierce black Storme, poure downe upon my Mind:
Headlong I'm hurl'd, like Horsmen who in vaine
Their (Fury-Foaming) Coursers, woud restraine.
As Shipps, just when the Harbour they attaine,
Are snatch'd by sudden Blasts, to Sea againe.
Soe Loves fantastick-Stormes, reduce my heart,
Half Rescu'd, and the God resumes his Dart.
Strike here, this undefended Bosome wound,
And for soe brave a Conquest, be Renown'd;
Shafts, fly soe fast to me from ev'ry part
You'll scarce discerne your Quiver, from my Heart.
What Wretch, can beare a livelong Nights dull rest?
Or thinke himself in lazy Slumbers blest?
Foole—is not Sleepe the Image of pale Death?
There's tyme for rest, when Fate has stopt your breath.
Mee, may my soft deludeing Deare deceive,
I'm happy in my hopes, whilst I believe:
Now let her flatter, then as fondly chide.
Often may I enjoy, of't be deny'd.
With doubtfull Stepps, the God of Warr, does move,
By thy Example, led Ambiguous Love;
Blowne to, and fro, like Downe from thy owne Wing,
Who knows, when joy, or Anguish thou wilt bring?
Yet at thy Mothers, and thy Slaves request,
Fix an Eternall Empire in my Breast:
And let th'Inconstant, Charming Sex
Whose willfull Scorne, does Lovers vex;
Submit their Hearts before thy Throne
The Vassall World, is then thy owne.

[[Greate Mother of Eneas and of Love]]

Greate Mother of Eneas and of Love
Delight of Mankinde, and the powers above,
Who all beneathe those sprinkl'd dropps of light
Which slide upon the face of gloomy night
Whither vast regions of that liquid world
Where groves of shipps on watry hills are hurl'd
Or fruitfull earth, do'st bless, sinc 'tis by thee
That all things live, which the bright sunn do'es see

[[Lucretius, De rerum natura, 1. 44–9]]

The Gods, by right of Nature, must possess
An Everlasting Age, of perfect Peace:
Far off, remov'd from us, and our Affairs:
Neither approach'd by Dangers, or by Cares:
Rich in themselves, to whom we cannot add:
Not pleas'd by Good Deeds; nor provok'd by Bad.

Senecas Troas Act 2d Chor

After Death, nothing is, and nothing Death,
The utmost Limit of a gaspe of Breath;
Let the Ambitious Zealot, lay aside
His hopes of Heav'n, (whose faith is but his Pride)
Let Slavish Soules lay by their feare;
Nor be concern'd which way, nor where,
After this Life they shall be hurl'd;
Dead, wee become the Lumber of the World,
And to that Masse of matter shall be swept,
Where things destroy'd, with things unborne, are kept.
Devouring tyme, swallows us whole
Impartiall Death, confounds, Body, and Soule.
For Hell, and the foule Fiend that Rules
Gods everlasting fiery Jayles
(Devis'd by Rogues, dreaded by Fooles)
With his grim griezly Dogg, that keepes the Doore,
Are senselesse Storyes, idle Tales
Dreames, Whimseys, and noe more.