The Works of Tibullus :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Works of Tibullus

Containing his Love-Elegies. Translated by Mr Dart. To which is added, The Life of the Author; with Observations on the Original Design of Elegiack Verse; and the Characters of the most Celebrated Greek, Latin and English Elegiack Poets

Dart, John

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Ovid Amorum, L. III. ELEGY IX.

Horace L. I. ODE 33.

Horace L. I. EPIST. IV.

THE WORKS OF A. Tibullus.

II.

III.

IV.

ELEGY IV. To PRIAPUS.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

II.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

III.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

IV.

IV.

A Panegyrick to Messala.

II.

To MARS.

III.

Sulpicia to Cerinthus. III.

IV.

To Phoebus. IV.

Sulpicia on the Birth-Day of Cerinthus. V.

VI.

To Juno. VI.

VII.

Sulpicia to Venus. VII.

VIII.

Sulpicia to Messala. VIII.

IX.

Tibullus to Messala , on his Birth-Day. IX.

Sulpicia to Cerinthus. X.

XI.

Sulpicia to Cerinthus. XI.

XII.

Sulpicia to Cerinthus. XII.

XIII.

To his Mistress. XIII.

XIV.

On the Baseness of his Mistress. XIV.

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xliii

Ovid Amorum, L. III. ELEGY IX.

On the Death of Tibullus.

If fair Aurora wept for Memnon dead,
And Thetis Tears for her Achilles shed;
If mighty Goddesses to Grief must bow,
And be affected by inferior woe;
Then weeping Elegy thy Locks unbind,
And throw thy Tresses careless to the Wind;
The mournful Title now you truly claim,
And too, too justly now demand the Name:
See the soft Master of thy moving Strain,
The easie, tender, Elegiack Vein!
See thy Tibullus' breathless Body laid,
With Flames surrounded on the Funeral Bed.

xliv

See! Venus' Son express the utmost Moan,
Revers'd his Quiver, and his Arrows gone;
He droops with Torch extinct, and flagging Wing,
And breaks his Bow and snaps the useless String:
See! his Concern unfeignedly exprest!
See! with his Hand he strikes his troubled Breast!
The graceful Curls whose wanton Ringlets deck
His Shoulders, and adorn his beauteous Neck,
All wet with Tears, in loose Disorder flow,
And sobs, and quivering Lips, express his Woe:
His Heart beats high, he swells with throbbing Breath,
And mourns no less, than for Æneas' Death;
Venus herself, cannot her Sorrow hide,
But grieves as much, as when Adonis dy'd.

Poets! the glorious Name of Sacred share,
Allow'd by all, the God's peculiar Care;
Nay, there are some, who firmly think that We
Can boast the Pow'r of a Divinity;

xlv

Yet all that's Sacred eager Death profanes,
And seizes all with black oblivious Hands:
What help had Orpheus from his Heavenly Race,
Or taming Savage Tygers with his Lays?
The great Apollo wail'd his Linus' Death
With mournful Lyre, but cou'd not save his Breath:
To these, great Homer join, whose Works supply
A Spring for future Poets, never dry:
These all! the Fates reluctant did invade,
And swept, to the dark Country of the Dead!
Their Fame alone could above Death aspire,
And nothing but their Works escape the Funeral Fire.

The Poets Works shall every thing survive,
Thus the fam'd Battles of the Trojans live:
Such Nemesis and Delia's Names shall prove,
This, his last Fav'rite, That, his earliest Love.

xlvi

What now avails your Care and pious Rites,
Ægyptian Sistrums and Religious Nights?

When good Men are opprest by evil Fate,
Spare the rash Thought, I doubt the Heavenly State;
Lead a calm Life of blameless Piety,
Tread Virtue's strictest Paths, we still must die:
Let the good Man revere the Pow'rs Divine,
Yet while Religious he attends the Shrine,
Fierce Death will even to the Altar come,
And drag him from the Temple to the Tomb:
Fancy, fond Man, that Verse will give thee Breath,
But see Tibullus! in the Hands of Death!
Of that Great Man, remark the small Remains,
The Ashes which a narrow Urn contains!
The Funeral Flame which durst prophanely spread
Around thy Sacred Breast, may even invade
The Hallow'd Capital with Tow'rs sublime,
Nor think the rash, presumptuous Act, a Crime:

xlvii

Venus the Sight of such Destruction fears,
Averts her mournful Looks, and hides her Tears.

Yet better here he'd dy'd, than when alone,
In vile Phœacia, and a Coast unknown;
Here sure his Mother clos'd his dying Eyes,
And gave a Present at his Obsequies;
Here his fond Sister shar'd her Mother's Woe,
While down her Back her careless Tresses flow;
With these to grace the mournful Obsequies,
A lovely Pair attend with weeping Eyes,
Both close the Pile where the Pale Lover lies.

When Delia thus, as Grief unbound her Tongue,
“Happy were we, when warm Desire was young;
“When Delia was the Celebrated Name,
“You liv'd while Delia was your only Flame:
“To whom the weeping Nemesis replies
“What Share have you to wail these Obsequies?

xlviii

“Tibullus' Love was all at my Command;
“Dying he held me with a feeble Hand.

If after Death we any Title claim,
Except a fleeting Shade, or empty Name,
Tibullus shall unite the happy Train
In flow'ry Meadows and th' Elysian Plain;
There famous Calvus shall with Joy attend,
Glad at the Sight of his departed Friend;
To these, the learn'd Catullus shall be joyn'd,
With Ivy round his youthful Temples twin'd;
There Gallus, thou, if guiltless, shalt attend,
Of Crimes against thy violated Friend;
Gallus, with Sword decisive of the Strife;
Profuse of Blood, and lavish of thy Life;
With these pleas'd Shades, shall glad Tibullus go,
If Shades know any thing of Friends below;
Thou soft Tibullus, on the happy Plain,
Shalt swell the Number of the sacred Train;
Whilst here in-urn'd may thy safe Ashes rest,
Nor may that Urn with weighty Earth be prest.

xlix

Horace L. I. ODE 33.

To A. TIBULLUS.

Albius desist to mourn,
Too mindful of fair Glycera's Scorn;
Nor farther urge the mournful Strain,
Nor sing soft Elegies in vain;
Since She, for one more Young than you,
Forgets her Faith, and breaks her Vow.
Consider, fair Lycoris' Pain
For Cyrus, meets a cold Disdain:
While Cyrus with a diff'rent view,
Does proud Pholoe's Love pursue;
But Wolves with Goats shall join, e'er she,
Consent to one so vile as he;
Thus Venus often takes delight,
Ill suited Vot'ries to unite;

And join them in her brazen Yoak,
Diverted at the cruel Joke:
While fairer Beauties pin'd for me,
Fair Myrtale seiz'd my Liberty;
Tho' fierce as Adria's Floods which roar,
And lash Catabria's winding Shore.

Horace L. I. EPIST. IV.

To A. TIBULLUS.

Albius! the finest Judge of all I write,
In what Amusements do you take delight?
Do you at Pedan the soft Minutes use,
In writing what exceeds Parmensis' Muse?
Or do you walk the silent healthy Wood,
Studying what's Worthy of the Wise and Good?
For thou'rt not all a Body void of Mind,
The Gods to Thee, a Beauteous Form assign'd;
They gave thee Riches with a Hand profuse,
And gave the generous Pow'r and Art to use:
What fonder Wishes could a Nurse employ,
For Heaven's Indulgence on her fav'rite Boy;
Then for a Bounteous Share of Wit and Sense,
And Pow'r of Words, and ready Eloquence;

lii

Favour and Fame, and a continu'd Health,
And cleanly Diet, and sufficient Wealth?
Amidst a Life of Hopes and anxious Cares,
Of varying Passions, and disturbing Fears,
Think every Day thy last: that Time is best
Esteem'd; which comes when we expect it least:
When Jolly, Plump, and Fat, and Sleekly, Skin'd,
You next shall chance to see your thoughtless Friend;

It needs a grave and easie Smile must move,
To see a Swine of Epicurus' drove.

THE WORKS OF A. Tibullus.

Book I.

ELEGY I.

Let the rich Miser gather golden Gain,
And live the large Possessor of the Plain:
Whom Fears perpetual scare with neighb'ring Foes,
And sounding Trumpets wake his soft Repose.
To me the Fates with sparing Hand dispence,
The humbler Sweets of Ease, and Innocence;

Pleas'd in the Pleasures of a still Retreat,
While constant Fires supply the cheerful Seat.
Here I a Countryman, with ready Hand,
When Seasons call, and proper Times demand,
With tender Vines my Vineyard will recruit,
And plant my Orchard with the choicest Fruit;
Nor one ungrateful Produce of the Year
Shall baulk my Labour, or elude my Care,
Whilst bending Boughs their Golden Weight produce,
And frothy Vats o'erflow with purple Juice.
For I revere the Guardian Pow'rs that bound
My shady Limits, and confine my Ground;
To whom an ancient Stock or Stone is plac'd,
With Rites ador'd, and flow'ry Garlands grac'd;
And the first Fruit that mellows on my Boughs,
The Rural God receives for granted Vows.
To thee, bright Ceres, of our Harvest-Store,
Be Wreaths suspended at thy Temple Door.

Ruddy Priapus is my Orchard Guard,
He whirls his Cycle, and the Birds are scar'd.
And you kind Lares whose indulgent Care
Was large, when larger my Possessions were,
Now small receive the little we prefer:
Then for my num'rous Flocks a Heifer dy'd,
A Lamb is all that I can now provide;
A Lamb shall fall, while the surrounding Throng
Of Country Youth shall as they pass along
Repeated Io's sing, Ye Pow'rs assign
A plenteous Store of Corn, and gen'rous Wine.

Now I can live on little, free from Strife,
Nor walk the high fatiguing Road of Life:
But to avoid the Summer Dog-stars Heat,
I seek the Thickwood Shade, and cool Retreat;
There, on the easie Grass extended lie,
While some clear River rolls his Waters by.
Nor shall I think it mean to use the Prong;
Or drive the Cattle with the Goad along;

Or when I find a Kid or bleating Lamb
Lost in the Field, and mourn its absent Dam:
I take it in my Arm, nor blush to bear
The Off-spring home, and house the tender Care.
Ye Wolves and Thieves, my little Flock despise,
A larger Farm will yield a larger Prize.
Here I Lustrations annually prepare
To purge my Swain, and ask kind Pales Care;
Due Pray'rs prefer, and Bowls of Milk I pour,
A glad Libation to the smiling Pow'r.
Hither, ye Gods, nor scorn our homely Board,
Nor Off'rings mean which earthen Plates afford;
The inoffensive Rustick found the Way,
And form'd his Vessels first of yielding Clay.

I nor paternal Wealth, nor Fields require,
Nor Harvests, bounteous to my wealthy Sire;
A small Estate has safer Ways to please,
And a small Bed to stretch my Limbs at Ease.

How does it please to hear surrounding Storms,
And clasp my Delia in my folding Arms!
Or when cold Show'rs drive o'er the wint'ry Plain,
Indulge my Sleep lull'd by the rusling Rain!
This be my Fate, let others Wealth injoy,
They merit well the dearly purchas'd Toy;
Who for the Trifle quit their Health and Ease,
Tempting the stormy Show'rs, and angry Seas.
Sooner let Wealth of ev'ry Foreign Shore,
Em'ralds, and Gold, and all the shining Store
Perish, than any Fair of mine should mourn,
Or when I'm absent sigh for my Return.

Messalla, War is yours, and Hostile Toils,
Through foreign Lands in Quest of foreign Spoils;
To firm your Conquests, and your Palace grace
With Trophies worthy your illustrious Race.
I wear the Chain, and scorning Glory wait
The constant Porter at my Mistress's Gate.

Honour is an indiff'rent Thing to me,
I Sleight it, Delia, while possess'd of thee;
Censure may rail, and call me what she can,
I would be counted an inglorious Man.
Thee let me have for ever in my Eye,
Ev'n when my latest Hour of Life draws nigh,
Gaze o'er thy lovely Form, and as you stand,
I'll dying grasp thee with a feeble Hand.
You'll weep, and when the pale extended Spoil
Lies stretch'd out, ready for the Funeral Pile;
With Flouds of Tears repeated Kisses fix
On my cold Lips, and Tears and Kisses mix:
You'll weep, I know you will; no Iron Chains
Confine thy Heart, thy Breast no Oak retains.
No Youth unmov'd shall leave those Obsequies,
Nor tender Maid return with Tearless Eyes.
But moderate your Grief, nor move my Shade,
Nor with your Hands your lovely Cheeks invade;
That heav'nly Face from Sorrow's Fury spare,
Nor rend the dangling Tresses of your Hair.

But now, while Fates allow, let's join our Love,
Enjoy each Day, and ev'ry Hour improve,
For Death, with Darkness veil'd, comes on a-pace;
And helpless Age, when Love is out of Place;
He then no more his tender Things will say,
And the Gray Head forbids the am'rous Play.
Now condescending Venus grants Delight,
While Youth, and Strength, and vig'rous Thoughts invite,
To storm a Door, and hold our Revels all the Night;
These are the Wars and Conquests I pursue,
Here I'm a Captain, and a Soldier too:
But, O! ye Trumpets, and ye Ensigns gay,
With all the Pomp of War be far away;
Your dang'rous Wounds for greedy Men prepare,
And give them Wealth, a Prize below my Care;
For I contented with my little Store,
Nor less expect, nor wish to make it more.

ELEGY II.

Bring Wine, my present Griefs with Wine compose,
To easy Sleep my weary Eye-lids close;
Whilst thus dissolv'd, may no Intruder press,
To wake my hapless Love, and injure my Recess.
For pond'rous Gates, and unrelenting Spies,
Conceal my Delia from my longing Eyes.
Obdurate Gates, may Show'rs of Rain descend,
May Jove his Rage in blasting Light'ning send,
Your Hinges break, and ev'ry Fast'ning rend.
Ye Gates, be mov'd for once by my Complaint,
O'ercome by my Request and Pray'rs relent;
With easy Turn unfold, without a Noise,
My Passage favour, and conceal my Joys;
And if my Madness any Ill hath said,
On me alone be all the Curses laid.
Nor ought you to forget how often I,
With many a Pray'r, and many a suppliant Cry,
Have to your Posts my Chaplets hung on high.

And you, my Delia, strive your Guards to cheat,
And fearless, learn from me the close Deceit;
Nor doubt the kind assisting Venus Aid,
She always favours the advent'rous Maid;
She favours when the eager Lover waits,
And the expecting Girl unlocks the Gates;
Urges the am'rous Theft, and shows the Bed.
The silent Foot directs, and cautious Tread.
She teaches, how before the Husband's Eyes,
By Signs to talk, the Courtship in Disguise;
But 'tis not ev'ry one those Secrets knows,
The Goddess only teaches 'em to those
Whom Ease cou'd ne'er perswade to slight Amours,
Nor Fear of rising, tho' at Mid-night Hours.
Lo! I, when Dark, all round the City stray,
Anxious and thoughtful, and neglect my Way;
Fearless I ev'ry threat'ning Danger slight,
Secur'd by Venus in the darksome Night;

Nor suffers she the Sword to stop my Way,
Nor Mid-night Robbers to attain their Prey;
Whom Love defends is sacred by his Care,
And, free from Ill may travel any where,
Nor ought he apprehensive Dangers fear.
Not me, the Frost of wintry Nights restrains;
Not me, the ratling Show'rs and chilly Rains:
Tis Toil too small, if Delia does but wait
With kind Impatience to unfold the Gate;
Whilst she with tim'rous Silence takes her Stand,
I hear the well-known Signal of her Hand:
May no one passing by afford a Light,
To hide her Thefts close Venus takes Delight;
Nor fright with trampling Feet, nor ask my Name,
Nor glare my Visage with a Candle's Flame.
If any one imprudently should spy,
May he forget it, and the Sight deny.
Love by the Babler ne'er was understood,
His Venus sprung from raging Seas and Blood.

Nor shall thy Husband th' Assignation guess,
Nor doubtful Fears his jealous Head possess:
An ancient Crone expert in Magick Charms,
Assures a safe Defence from future Harms.
Her have I seen call down the Stars from high,
And force their glowing Orbits from the Sky;
Her Songs oppose the River's rapid Speed,
And roll its Waters backward to their Head;
Can shake the Earth, and rend its lab'ring Womb,
And fetch the shaddowy Manes from the Tomb:
Can from the burning Pile the Body call,
Restore it Life, and stop the Funeral.
In Magick Strains from the Tartarëan Coasts,
Invoke (with Milk appeas'd) the bloodless Ghosts:
She, when she pleases, sweeps the Clouds away,
Relieves the lab'ring Sky, and clears the Face of Day.
She in the Summer Time, by Magick Pow'rs,
Can fill the sultry Day with snowy Show'rs;

To her alone Medea's Herbs are known,
And Hecate's Dogs are tam'd by her alone.
She fram'd for me the all-deceiving Verse,
Spit thrice, and thrice the pow'rful Charm rehearse;
No Tales he'll credit, nay, although he spies
Us both in Bed, he'll not believe his Eyes,
But other Sutors shun, for they'll be known,
The saving Magick serves for me alone.
What can I think? She once affirm'd that she,
With Songs and Herbs, could set my Passion free;
With Torches purg'd me, and in Mid-night Hours
Slew a black Victim to th' Infernal Pow'rs.
I did not ask to have my Flame expire,
But only pray'd a mutual Desire;
Pleas'd with a Passion I shall ne'er remove,
I would not have the Pow'r to change my Love.

That Man is Steel who quits my Delia's Charms,
Strange Fool to tempt the Camp and dang'rous Arms!

Let him his Conquest boast, and gain the Field,
And teach the proud Cilicians how to yield:
His labour'd Vests, with rich Embroid'ry wear,
And press the manag'd Steed conspicuous from afar.
Let me my Life with lovely Delia lead,
And on the quiet Hills my Cattle feed;
There close encircling thee with fond Embrace,
Take Noon-tide Slumbers on the easie Grass.
When Love's averse, what Quiet can afford
The Purple Couch to its distracted Lord?
When Midnight Fears disturb the lonely Hours,
And Tears descend on Tears in constant Show'rs:
Then not the costly Cov'rings of the Bed,
With Studs of Gold, and rough Embroid'ry spread;
Nor drowsy Waterfals can then compose
The watchful Eye-lids to a soft Repose.

Have I with daring Insolence profan'd
Great Venus, or her mighty Pow'r disdain'd;

That thus severely she repays the Wrong,
And takes Revenge upon my impious Tongue?
Or madly injur'd any Pow'r Divine,
Rifling the Garlands from the sacred Shrine?
I'd readily appease their Deities,
And wear the Pavement with my suppliant Knees;
With prostrate Veneration press the Floors,
And kiss the hallow'd Marble of the Doors.

But you who laugh at all my Woes beware;
Look to your self, and dread an equal Share:
For the same God his Fury will asswage,
I shall grow cold, when you begin to rage.
Oft have I seen the Man, whose scornful Pride
Did once the suppliant Lover's Woes deride:
When Old, gay Thoughts of Courtship entertain,
And bend his stubborn Neck to Venus Chain.
With wither'd Throat soft tender Talk prepare,
And hide the Gray Discov'ries of his Hair;

With shameless Impudence pursue th' Amour,
Lurking and faunt'ring at the fair One's Door:
Watch for the Servant Maid, and stop her Walk
Before the Gate, to keep her there in Talk;
Whilst round him all the Youth repair and scoff,
Spitting to keep the Fascination off.

But thou, O Venus, spare! thou Pow'r Divine!
To thee devoted is this Breast of mine;
Why wilt thou burn the Off'ring that is thine?

ELEGY III.

While you Messala tempt th' Ægean Sea,
I am prevented to attend your Way.
But, O! I wish you still may condescend
To bear a kind Remembrance of your Friend.

Oppress'd with Sickness, weary'd out with Pains,
Phœacia me in unknown Lands detains:

Sick, and a Stranger in a foreign Land,
Black Death withdraw thy dire rapacious Hand;
Black Death keep off I pray, no Mother here
Can gather up my Dust with pious Care.
No Sister here with decent Grief can come
To please my Shade, and off'ring rich Perfume,
With flowing Hair lament before my Tomb.
No Delia who at every Shrine did wait,
Before our Parting, to consult my Fate.
Thrice into Fortune's Chest the Lotts she threw,
And thrice the Boy undoubted Answers drew;
All promis'd a Return, yet the fond Maid
Still wept, and of the Journey still afraid:
Nor Gods could satisfie, nor Fates appease,
'Twas I alone could give the wish'd-for Ease.
When going, I some new Pretence would raise,
To put the Journey off, and frame Delays;
Some inauspicious Bird is seen to fly,
Or some malignant Omen sets it by;

Or else perhaps 'tis Saturn's evil Day,
Or any thing that serves to use Delay.
How often have I stumbl'd at the Gate?
Then said the Voyage was ill-design'd by Fate.
Let none when Love's averse their Journey take,
Or dare proceed when he commands them back.

What now avails thy Isis Pow'r to thee?
Or what Advantage, Delia, reaches me?
From jingling Sistrums you unweary'd shake,
And all the kind religious Care you take.
Or what avail thy purifying Rites,
Thy frequent Bathings, and thy lonely Nights?
Now, Goddess! now assist, for in thy Shrine
Suspended Tablets prove thy Help Divine;
That by my Delia, for thy pow'rful Aid,
Repeated Thanks and grateful Vows be paid;
And all in Linnen veil'd, a Vot'ry wait,
Watching incessantly before thy Gate;

And sing thy mighty Praises twice a-Day,
With Hair unbound in the Egyptian way.
But may I worship at my known Aboads,
Paternal Lares and familiar Gods.

How blest the Life in old Saturnian Days,
E'er tiresome Journies mark'd out tedious Ways;
Or Pines descending from the Mountain's Brow,
Disturb'd the Azure-main with brazen Prow;
E'er to assist their Way, they spread their Sails,
And swelling Canvass caught the flying Gales:
No Merchants then their dang'rous Coastings made,
To fill their Vessels with a foreign Trade.
No sturdy Bull had wore the Yoke as yet,
Nor Horse (with Mouth restrain'd) had champ'd the Bitt;
No Doors their Bow'rs secur'd, and in their Grounds
No Landmark stood, to parcel out the Bounds;
Nor Rage was then, nor furious Wars alarms,
Nor Smiths with barb'rous Art had fashion'd Arms.

Now, Jove an Age by far unhappier sways,
Now, dang'rous Battles, and tempestuous Seas
Have open'd unto Death a thousand Ways.
Spare Father, spare, for (piously inclin'd)
No conscious Perjuries distract my Mind,
Or evil Words in sacred Fanes design'd.

But if the Fates will lead my Clue no more,
And my unhappy Share of Years are o'er;
Upon the Earth, where my cold Ashes lie,
A Stone erect, and write this Elegy;
Here lies Tibullus , stop'd by Death, while he
Messala follow'd, over Land and Sea.

But me, since Love was still my tender Vow,
Venus shall lead to happy Meads below;
There Songs perpetual charm the list'ning Ear,
Whilst all the Feather'd Wand'rers of the Air,
To join the Sound, their warbling Throats prepare.

Cassia from ev'ry Hedge unbidden breaths,
And to the Gales its fragrant Sweets bequeaths;
The bounteous Earth its purple Product yields,
And od'rous Roses paint the blushing Fields:
There Trains of blooming Youths, and tender Maids,
Sport on the Green, and wanton in the Shades;
While busie Love attends them all the Way,
Joins in the Conflict, and provokes the Fray:
There ev'ry one by hasty Death betray'd,
The faithful Lover, and the constant Maid,
Above the rest distinguish'd, all repair,
And bind with Myrtle Wreaths their flowing Hair.

But impious Souls shall lie in Night profound,
Where muddy Waters flow with sullen Sound;
Snake-hair'd Tisiphone rages about,
And lashes here, and there, the impious Rout;
There Hydra horrid, at the Portal waits,
And barking Cerb'rus guards the brazen Gates:

There Ixion's whirl'd around th' incessant Wheel,
For tempting Juno, and th' intended Ill:
There Tityus lies over nine Acres spread,
While his Black Intrails hung'ry Vultures feed:
Tantalus inclos'd with Streams, yet ever dry,
While from his Lips th' eluding Waters fly;
And Danau's Daughter, impious to profane
Great Venus Rites, are doom'd a fruitless Pain,
To fill with Lethe's Streams a Tun in vain:
There all that wish'd this Journey shall remove,
And every Violater of my Love.

But you continue chast, let Nurse with Care
Secure your Modesty and pious Fear;
By Lamp-light tell thee Tales, and Fleeces cull,
Or from the Distaff lead the twisted Wooll;
Let her the Servant close to Labour keep,
'Till Nature tir'd, requires Supplies of Sleep.

Then, if the Fates this feeble Life sustain,
And I am blest to see my Dear again:
I unexpected come, nor Slave employ
To speak me near, and moderate your Joy;
You'll think my Visit made as from the Skies,
And I shall see, and Share the dear Surprize;
With naked Feet you'll run to meet my Arms,
Your Hair unbound, in all your native Charms,
O! may Aurora bring this happy Light
With Rosy Steeds, and make the Morning bright.

ELEGY IV. To PRIAPUS.

So may the Trees extend their spreading Boughs,
And guard thy Head from Heat and chilly Snows;
As you resolve me, for what Arts acquir'd,
Or for what beauteous Features you're admir'd?

Thy snarly Locks are matted to thy Head,
And o'er thy Face thy shaggy Beard is spread.
Naked, you stand the Cold of wint'ry Days,
And naked, feel the Dog-star's parching Rays.
Thus I; and thus (to Bacchus near ally'd,)
The God that holds the crooked Scyth reply'd;

Far from the tender Tribe of Boys remove,
For they've a thousand ways to kindle Love.
This, pleases as he strides the manag'd Horse,
And holds the taughten'd Rein with early Force;
This, as he swims, delights thy Fancy best,
Raising the smiling Wave with snowy Breast:
This, with a comely Look and manly Airs;
And that with Virgin Modesty ensnares.
But if at first you find him not inclin'd
To Love, have Patience, Time will change his Mind.
Twas Time that first instructed Man to tame
The Lyon, and the savage Race reclaim:

Time eats the solid Stone where Rain distills,
And ripens Clusters on the sunny Hills.
The Sun, as he approaches or declines,
Wheels round the Year, and shifts the radiant Signs.
Nor fear to swear, for Venus Perjuries
Throws in the Wind, or scatters o'er the Seas;
Great Thanks to Jove, ev'n he the Cheat allows,
Nor once insists on eager Lovers Vows.
Diana by her Arrows lets us swear,
And Pallas by the Glories of her Hair.

But if you wave your Hopes and use Delays
You're wrong, for happy Youth decays a-pace.
Alas, how swiftly flies away the Light!
Nor slowly moves the Day, nor wheels the Night!
How quickly fades the Earth as Seasons slide!
Losing its flow'ry Grace, and purple Pride!
How quickly does the tow'ring Poplar shed
The leafy Honours of its beauteous Head!

Un-nerv'd by Age, how slothful lies the Horse
Which flew when Young in the Olympick Course!
I've seen the Old desire their youthful Prime,
And wail their foolish Hours, and ill-spent Time.
Ye cruel Gods! the Serpent can renew
His speckled Luster, and his shining Hue;
But Beauty lost, our Art and Pow'r is vain
E'er to renew the precious Prize again.
The only Pow'rs whose Youth can ne'er decay,
Are Bacchus, and the God that rules the Day;
Their lasting Beauties Time can ne'er impair,
Nor strip the growing Honours of their Hair.

And you, whate'er your Fav'rite does, approve,
For Condescension leads the Way to love.
Go with him where he goes, tho' long the Way,
And the fierce Dog-star fires the sultry Day;
Or the gay Rainbow girds the bluish Sky,
And threatens ratling Show'rs of Rain are nigh.

If sailing on the Water be his Will,
Then steer the Wherry with a dext'rous Skill:
Nor think it hard Fatigues and Pains to bear,
But still be ready with a willing Chear.
If he'll inclose the Vales for savage Spoils,
Then on thy Shoulders bear the Notts and Toils
If Fencing be the Fav'rite Sport he'll use,
Take up the Files, and artlesly oppose;
Seem as intent, yet oft expose your Breast,
Neglect your Guard, and let him get the best;
Then he'll be mild, then you a Kiss may seize,
He'll struggle, but at length comply with ease;
Reluctant, tho' at first you'll find him grow
Ev'n fond, when round your Neck his Arms he'll throw.

But ah, these Times pernicious Customs use!
And without Gifts they'll ev'ry one refuse.
Who e'r at first on Presents fix'd his Eye
Upon his Grave, may weighty Ruins lie.

Let Learning and the Muses fav'rite Care,
Who Wealth despise, thy fondest Kindness share;
In Verse the purple Lock of Nisus shines,
And Pelops Iv'ry Shoulder lives in Lines:
Whate'er the Muse recites, while Oaks shall grow
Will last, or Stars shall shine, or Rivers flow.
But who neglects the Muse, and prizes Gain
May he unite himself to Cybel's Train;
And through three hundred scatter'd Cities stray,
Emasculated in the Phrygian Way.
But Venus self will guard the Lover's Cares,
And favour soft Complaints and melting Tears.

These things Priapus said, which I again
To Titius sung, but sung them all in Vain;
His Wife forbids to learn such Rules as these,
Let him be govern'd by her if he please.

Me Honour as your Master who employ
Your Arts to gain some lovely blooming Boy.

Each Man his Praise, let Lovers when despis'd,
Repair to me where they may be advis'd.
The time shall be when I shall teach the Young,
My self grown Old, and all the list'ning throng,
Shall gather Venus Precepts from my Tongue.

Alas how Marathus a thousand ways,
Distracts my Soul and kills me with Delays;
No Rules or Precepts serve to gain his Love,
Nor Arts avail, nor any means can move:
Indulge my Love, lest I in time shall grow,
A common Town-talk, and a pointed Show;
Scorn'd and derided by the youthful Train,
For teaching Rules myself must own are vain.

ELEGY V.

To bear our parting I when angry swore,
But now my boasted Courage is no more;
I'm hurry'd like a Top which Boys for Sport,
Lash on the Pavement of some level Court;

Do rage and tame my Proud licentious Tongue,
And teach me patiently to bear my wrong;
Yet spare I beg you, by thy conscious Bed,
By Venus and by our united Head.
I when with Sickness spent, you Fainting lay
Your Beauties to the pale Disease a Prey,
With Pray'rs unweary'd did the Gods appease,
And snatch'd you dying from the dire Disease;
My self with Sulphur purify'd you round,
Whilst the old Woman grov'ling on the Ground,
With Incantations the Lustration bound;
Least in your Sleep pernicious Dreams should steal,
I made the Off'ring of the salted Meal;
In Linnen veil'd my Head with Fillets bound,
And Garments loosly flowing on the Ground;
In Midnight hours when silence reign'd below,
I made to Trivia Three times Thrice my Vow;
All dues I paid, yet now another shares,
The sweet Effects of all my labour'd Pray'rs;

But I, if you recover'd Health again,
Fancy'd this happy Scheme of Life, in vain.
I'll to the Country and my Delia there,
Will make my Corn and Garden-Fruits her Care;
Or watch the heap'd up clusters of my Vines
Stand by the Vat and see 'em press the Wines;
Tunn'd up with care the frothy Liquor see,
And save the choicest of the Juice for me;
To count my Sheep she will her time employ,
Or dandle on her Knee the pratling Boy;
She'll Offer to the Pow'rs that guard the Fields,
For Vines the Clusters that my Vineyard yields;
For yellow Harvests bearded Sheaves preferr,
And rural Banquets for my fleecy Care;
She shall intirely govern all Affairs,
Whilst I am pleas'd to be excus'd from Cares;
Hither Messala'll come, whom Delia'll please,
With Fruits Selected from my choicest Trees;

Use all the sweetest Carriage that she can
To show Respect to the illustrious Man;
Her self, with busie Hands, prepare the Treat,
Proud to attend him while he sits at Meat:
With such Designs I strove my self to please,
And fill'd my Head with fancy'd Joys like these.
But now, no more alas, those Hopes I mind,
Tost by the Air, and scatter'd in the Wind.

Oft have I strove with Wine to drown my Cares,
But powerful Grief converts the Juice to Tears:
Oft for another have my Passion nurst,
In hopes to drown the Mem'ry of the first;
But when I'd rais'd my Passion to the height,
Just ready to receive the wish'd delight,
Venus straight Images my Delia's Charms,
And leaves me languid in the Woman's Arms;
Then springing from the Bed the angry Fair
Says I'm devoted by some Woman's Pray'r;

And so I am, but 'tis by Delia's Charms,
Her Neck, her flowing Hair, and winding Arms;
So on rein'd Dolphins thro' the azure Sea,
To mighty Peleus, Thetis took her way.

But that which chiefly moves me to despair,
Is that a wealthy Fool enjoys my Fair:
While some vile Bawd has brought the Plot to bear.
As for the Bawd, may Carion fill her Board,
And bloody Morsels baneful Meals afford;
May she with gory Lips attempt the Cup
Of Gall, and quaff the bitter Potion up;
May Ghosts surround her with their hollow cries,
And Owls, and Ravens fright her from the Skies;
May she of ev'ry kind of Food bereft,
Rob Graves, and gnaw the Bones that Wolves have left;
May she run Naked, howling up and down,
And barking Hell-hounds course her through the Town;

This be her Fate, this may the Gods approve,
For surely there are Pow'rs that favour Love;
And Venus will espouse her Vot'ry's Cause,
And rage at the Infringement of her Laws.

But you, my Dear, the Bawd's Directions hate;
Take care of Gold, 'tis a perswasive Bait.
Let the poor Lover be thy near Ally'd,
Still at thy Hand, and faithful to thy Side;
He'll close your Arm, his cautious Hand display,
And lead you safely through the crouded Way:
Wou'd you another Man's Embraces meet,
He'll bear it, nay untie your sandal'd Feet.
Alas, in vain I sing, my Words are vain,
Nothing will force the Door but pow'rful Gain.

But you who now possess the treach'rous Fair,
Suspect your Footing, and by me beware:
For light fantastick Fortune never still,
Nor constant, swiftly drives the rolling Wheel.

Ev'n at this time that busie Fellow waits
With some Design, and lurks before the Gates;
Now this, now that way casts his watchful Eyes.
And if discover'd, in Confusion flies,
And feigns to pass the Door in wond'rous Haste,
And hurries back again as soon as past;
Impatiently expects the close Amour,
And hem's to give the Signal at the Door.
I know not what to think of these Affairs,
But sure inventive Love some Plot prepares;
Endeavour to secure the Time you have,
Your Pinnace floats on an uncertain Wave.

ELEGY VI.

O Love! When e'er you meditate your Wiles
To draw me in, you show attractive Smiles;
But when intangl'd in the dang'rous Snare,
Frowns cloud your Brow, and I'm no more your Care.

Why all this Rage to me! What Glory can
Arise to Gods who frame Deceits for Man?
For me the Traps and artful Snares are laid,
I know not who, ev'n now, in blissful Bed
Enjoys my treach'rous Delia with Delight,
And fills with stolen Joys the silent Night;
'Tis true, she Ign'rance pleads in those Affairs,
But who can credit her ev'n when she swears?
By the same Rule, she all my Plots denies,
And bears her cred'lous Husband down with Lyes.

Wretch that I was! I taught her to betray
Her Guardian's Trust, and first propos'd the Way.
Experienc'd now, she tries those subtle Wiles,
And me (by my own Art oppos'd) beguiles.
By me a thousand Reasons feign'd were shown,
To shun her watchful Spies, and lie alone.
Then taught to clear the Way to silent Joys,
And turn the Hinge without a iarring Noise.

Next, Preparations I of Herbs convey'd,
To heal the livid Marks the eager Tooth had made.

But you poor cred'lous Husband of the Fair,
Me too confine, and she shall be my Care;
Lest she in praising Sparks be too profuse,
Or lie with Bosom bare, or Garments loose:
Or with her Finger-talk her Plots disguise,
Or cheat thee with the silent Speech of Eyes;
Or on the Table with the scatter'd Wine,
In liquid Notes convey the close Design:
Suspect her ev'ry time she Visits pays,
Take no Excuses whatsoe'er she says;
Although she goes to the Good-Goddess' Fane,
And Myst'ries sacred unreveal'd to Men.
But if you'll credit me, through ev'ry Street,
Nay to the very Shrine I'll track her Feet:
Fearless I'll watch her at the Mysteries,
Nor fear a Curse on my forbidden Eyes.

How oft would I desire her Rings to view,
And prais'd the Diamond's Cast, and Ruby's Hue;
And gaily trifling with her Fingers stand,
Intent on nothing but to squeeze her Hand.
Oft under Friendship veiling my Design,
I've dos'd you with repeated Cups of Wine;
Shifted my Glass, and watch'd your sleepy Hour,
Made wakeful by the sober Water's Pow'r.

I would not vex you, pardon what is said,
'Twas Love, and Love you know will be obey'd.
I'm he at whom the Dog before your Gate
Has bark'd all Night, 'tis true what I relate.
What serves it you to have a Wife so fair,
If ign'rant to secure your precious Ware:
For while she has those Tricks her Ends to gain,
Your Locks and Keys, and all your Bars are vain,
When she embraces you with circling Charms,
Her Thoughts are rambling on some others Arms;

For him she sighs, then studies some Disease,
Her Head's disorder'd, and she's ill at Ease.

But trust your Charge with me, I'll not disdain
The servile Whip, but wear the willing Chain.
Stand clear then all ye Fops that court the Fair
By means of artful Dress, and powder'd Hair;
Or the loose airy Spark, whose Plaights let down,
The dusty Pavement sweeps with flowing Gown:
Nay should we meet a Stranger as we go,
Who does, nor Plots, nor Assignations know:
I'd call aloud, and by Prevention say,
Stand further off, or go some other Way:
'Tis fierce Bellona's Will her furious Priest,
With Voice Divine, the firm Command confest;
She by the Goddess mov'd with Madness glows,
Nor flaming Firebrands fears, nor tort'ring Blows:
Launcing her Arms, inspir'd with Heat divine,
Unhurt she stains with Blood the Goddess' Shrine:

Dreadful with Knives infixt she stands confest,
And bares her gory Side and bloody Breast;
And by the Goddess fir'd with holy Rage,
Thus speaks the fix'd Event and sure Persage:
“Fear to offend the Fair whom Love defends,
“Lest Vengeance due such rash Designs attends.
“If any one attempts to urge his Way,
“Thus, thus, She cries, may all his Wealth decay:
“As from this Wound you see the flowing Gore,
“And as these thrown-up Ashes are no more.

And her prophetick Rage has threaten'd you
With speedy Ill, if you this Course pursue;
But should you, rather than I wish the Pain
She threatens, may her Oracles be vain:
Not for your sake, but Nurses rev'rend Age,
The good old Woman charms my hasty Rage.
When I reflect how often by her Aid
You've been to me at Mid-night Hours convey'd:

She join'd our Hands, trembling with Age and Fright,
Assisted by the Silence of the Night:
Oft when the Ev'ning came, before the Gate,
Fix'd to expect my coming, us'd to wait;
Turning to every Noise with list'ning Ear,
And knew me by my Footsteps from afar.
Long may'st thou live old Woman, and to thine,
If I had Pow'r, I'd add some Years of mine.
Thou, whilst I breath, shalt be esteem'd by me,
As shall my Delia for the sake of thee;
Although she oft attempts a base Design,
I still forgive, and love, because she's thine.
Only instill chast Rules with constant Care,
Chast, tho' no Fillets bind her lovely Hair,
Nor Virgin Stola decorates the Fair.

And me confine to Laws and Rules severe,
And may my Eyes be fix'd on none but Her:

And if suspected to offend the Fair,
May I be dragg'd o'er Mountains by my Hair.
I would not strike you, but if Rage commands,
I may, some time or other, curse my Hands:
Rather continue chast through Love than Fear,
And in your Faith, though absent, persevere.

For the designing faithless Jilt shall be
Reduc'd to wrinkled Age and Poverty;
Constrain'd by mean Employ to gain her Bread,
To spin and draw with Palsy Hand the Thread:
Hir'd to attend the Labours of the Loom,
Or else to Card the Wooll shall be her Doom.
The gay insulting Youth shall come to view
The Wretch, and cry, she meets a Vengeance due.
Venus shall see the Object from the Skies,
While Flouds of Tears o'erflow her fading Eyes;
Raise the Remembrance of her former Ill,
And show the Plagues perfidious Lovers feel.

These Things let others suffer who deserve,
Let us a mutual changeless Faith preserve;
While we, my Delia, both grown Gray shall prove
A noted Pattern of un-alter'd Love.

ELEGY VII.

The Sister-Fates on this auspicious Day,
Who rule with uncontroul'd extensive Sway,
In Songs prophetick, future Acts divine,
And Singing, drew thy Length of vital Twine.

They sang the Day with future Glories fill'd,
Of Gallick Conquests, and a vanquish'd Field;
Where flowing Atur wanders through the Lands,
And Flies affrighted at the hostile Bands:
This destin'd Day for Triumphs that should come,
When (fir'd with Martial Sights) the Youth of Rome,

Should see the Chiefs of conquer'd Armies led
With fetter'd Arms, and with dejected Head;
And thee, Messala, bearing through the Show,
Fresh Victor Lawrels on thy conqu'ring Brow;
High on an Iv'ry Chariot, aweful Sight,
And drawn by pamper'd Horses, snowy White.

My Name shall in those Honours bear a Share,
Witness Tarballa and the Gallick War:
Witness the Land where Arar's Current goes,
Where the swift Rhone and great Garumna flows;
Where Liger wanders, o'er Carnutus bounds,
And leads his fair Blue Waters through the Grounds.

The Time shall be, when for Isauria won,
Thou Cydnus, thou shalt grace my flowing Song;
Whose easie Waves, in silent Currents stray,
And through the Meadows eat their easie Way.
How Taurus in the Clouds his Forehead hides,
And how Cilicians Till his shaggy Sides.

Or shall I sing, how safely through the Skies
The sacred Dove through Palestina flies:
Or how the Tyrian first disclos'd the Way,
In Ships, to view from sailing Tow'rs the Sea:
Or how when Syrius chaps the scorching Grounds,
The fertile Nile in Summer Flouds abounds.

Old Father Nile, say whether shall I lead
Thy Course, or where disclose thy hidden Head:
By thee refresh'd, thy Land no Rain requires,
Nor fading Grass descending Jove desires.
The barb'rous Youth their Apis taught to moan,
Shall honour thee, and their Osiris own.

Osiris first to frame the Culture found,
And first with Vexing Steel, disturb'd the Ground.
First in th' unpractis'd Earth the Seed he threw,
And first from Trees unknown ripe Apples drew:

First propt the flexile Branches of the Vine,
And taught the clasping Tendrills where to twine;
To prune the shooting Trees with timely Care,
And stop the wild Lxuriance of the Year.
He to express the Wine first taught the Use,
And make the Vat o'erflow with gen'rous Juice.
He taught the Limbs (unpractis'd) to advance
In changing Order, and the figur'd Dance.

Bacchus to Country Swains opprest with Cares,
Gives Courage and dissolves th' invading Fears.
Bacchus gives Respite to the Wretch's Pains,
Although with Fetters gall'd and ratling Chains.
You neither Cares nor Grief, but Mirth approve;
The Song, the sprightly Dance, and laughing Love:
The flow'ry Chaplet, and the Ivy Crown,
And Saffron Mantle loosely flowing down.
The Purple Vest, the Flute's melodious Sound,
And Mystick Rites in sacred Silence bound.

Come, to the Genius of this happy Day,
Frequent the Games we to his Honour pay;
And sportive Rites; you in the Dances join.
And load thy Rosy Cheek with Purple Wine.
The Genius' lovely Locks with Ointment fill,
Diffusing Odours as the Drops distill;
Soft flow'ry Bandage weave, and gaily deck
With blooming Flow'rs, his Temples and his Neck.

So may'st thou join us on this happy Day,
As I intend in spicy Fumes to pay,
The grateful Rites I owe, and Off'rings pour
Of luscious Honey, thy invented Store.

On you, Messala, may the Gods bestow
A Son, whose Actions may his Father show,
Bright'ning the Honours of thy ancient Brow.
The publick way shall speak thy great Designs,
Which Tusculum to white-wall'd Alba joins:

For by thy lib'ral Charge the Track of Ground
Is pav'd with level Stones, in Terras bound.
Thou shalt receive the Blessings of the Clown,
When he with easie Footsteps leaves the Town.

But thou! Auspicious Day design'd to be,
Tho' many changing Years observ'd by me:
May Glories add to each revolving Day,
And ev'ry Morn a brighter Light display.

ELEGY VIII.

From my quick Sight the Lover strives in vain
To hide his Passion, and conceal his Pain.
I know when Eyes the secret Thoughts convey,
And what soft whispering Things fond Lovers say.
Not in the secret Fates those Rules I spy,
Nor in the Southsay'rs Art nor Augury;
But bound by Venus in a Magick Noose,
She all those Arts imprest with cruel Blows.

Cease to dissemble! Love's a God severe
To those who shun his Laws through Shame or Fear.
What now avails to dress with artful Care,
To force in waving Curls thy silken Hair,
And place the flowing Ringlets here and there.
To pare your Nails, or with Cosmeticks place
And fix an artful Blush upon your Face.
In vain your Cloaths are chang'd to please her Mind,
In vain your Feet in pinching Shoes confin'd:
The Arts of Dress are vain Efforts to move,
'Tis vain to think that those can kindle Love.
You find your Mistress fires you, tho' her Face
Nor Fucus Stains, tho' careless be her Grace.

Has any Beldam, with her Magick Powers,
Devoted thee with Herbs in Mid-night Hours.
Charms can remove the Harvest as it stands,
And bear large Crops of Corn to neighb'ring Lands:

Charms stop the Serpent as he bounds along,
Confine his Rage, and quell his hissing Tongue:
Charms oft attempt to force the lab'ring Moon,
And from her silent Orb would bring her down,
Did not assisting Cymbals interpose,
And Brass kept tink'ling with repeated Blows.
But why must Songs or Herbs perform the Ill?
Beauty, alas, requires no Magick Skill:
Itself can boast the more prevailing Charms,
Of close Embracings in the folding Arms;
Of tender, melting, stifl'ing Kisses fixt,
And winding Limbs in wanton Curlings mixt.

Nor you, the am'rous Boy unkindly use,
For angry Venus haughty Scorn pursues:
Nor ask a Price; let ancient Leachers pay,
To thaw their Ice, and actuate their Clay:
More dear than Gold's the Boy with blooming Face,
E're the rough Beard disturbs the soft Embrace;

Thy snowy Arms around his Shoulders throw,
And view with Scorn the Riches Kings can show.
But Venus will her subtile Arts employ,
To bring you slily to the am'rous Boy;
Whilst tim'rous he, she works the close Design,
In close Embrace your lovely Breasts to join,
To breathless Lovers gives the strugling Kiss,
And marks the Neck in Extasies of Bliss.
Nor Gems can please, nor shining Pearls delight
The Maid who sighs away the Winter's Night;
Who long desires the Question ask'd, in vain,
Laugh'd at and slighted by the am'rous Train.

Too late we wish for Love, too late require
Our early Spring of Life and young Desire:
When all-deforming Age begins to spread
His snowy Curls upon the hoary Head:
Then all our Study tends to mend the Dress,
And give the Air a youthful Carelesness.

Then to disguise the Hair begins the Use,
With the brown Tincture of the Walnut's Juice;
To strip the grey Discoverers from their Place,
And new repair the Ruins of the Face.

But you, while Youth enjoys its happiest Time,
When Thoughts are gay, and Pleasures in their Prime:
Improve the Hours of every happy Day,
For nimble Time walks unobserv'd away.
Nor with Unkindness Marathus destroy.
What Glory rises from a conquer'd Boy?
Rather your haughty Cruelty dispence,
To feeble Lust, and aged Impotence.
Indulge the tender Youth, his Beauties fade
Neither by Sickness, nor by Time decay'd;
But Love has ting'd him with a yellow Hue,
His wan Complexion comes by loving you.

Unhappy Wretch! How often when alone,
Unheard, has he repeated all his Moan?
While from his Bosom flew repeated Sighs,
And Flouds of Tears descended from his Eyes.
Do you despise me then? oft wou'd he say,
To cheat your Guards you'll find an easie Way:
Inventive Love assists Designs like these,
And works th' impatient Lover's Plot with Ease.
I know the secret Way to gain the Bliss,
The glowing Whisper, and the silent Kiss;
To steal at Night to the expecting Fair,
And cautious turn the Hinge without a Jarr.
But what avail those Arts if she disdains
Her wretched Lover, and reviles his Pains?
Or if a Promise I by Chance attain,
Treach'rous she makes me wait all Night in Pain;
While I, impatient, listen all around,
And think I hear her Feet in every Sound.

Fond Youth desist to weep, she heedless hears,
And thy red Eyes are swell'd with frequent Tears.

Pholoë (trust me) Heaven abhors Disdain,
And all your Pray'rs and Incense giv'n are vain.
This Marathus once mock'd at Misery,
Unthinking that a vengeful Pow'r was nigh:
With laughing Scorn derided Lover's Tears,
And rackt them in Suspence 'twixt Hopes and Fears;
But now he trembles at the Name of Hate,
And changes at the fast'ning of a Gate.
And you an equal Punishment will find,
Unless you shift your Scorn, and change your Mind;
When you with fruitless Pray'rs shall ask in vain,
The Youth to love, and wish the Day again.

ELEGY IX.

Why if design'd by treach'rous Arts to prove
A Violater of our hapless Love,
Did you such solemn Protestations make,
And Vows, which you in Secret meant to break?
Ah, wretch! tho' first you veil a close Deceit,
A late Revenge succeeds with silent Feet.
Pardon ye Pow'rs, can it to you belong
To be profan'd, yet bear th' unpunish'd Wrong!

In Hopes of Gain they Oxen reconcile,
Experienc'd to the Plow, and urge the Toil;
In Hopes of Wealth the Sailor tempts the Main,
Invoking fav'ring Winds, and all for Gain:
Dares the precarious Sea devoid of Fears,
Guiding th' unstable Bark by well-known Stars:
And 'tis for Guifts my faithless Boy betrays;
Ye Gods disperse those Gifts to Flames and Seas.

Severely shall you pay this Breach of Trust,
With your admir'd Beauties soil'd in Dust;
All rufled by th' insulting wind your Hair
Your Visage Sun-burnt by the scorching Air:
Your lively Graces all on the Decay,
Fatigu'd and tir'd in the laborious Way.

How oft have I advis'd you, but in vain!
Not to pollute that Form for sordid Gain.
Oft have I said that shining Gold conceals,
Beneath its tempting Luster many Ills.
If Wealth by pow'rful Skill the Youth can move
To break his Vows, and violate his Love,
He'll find, too surely find in little time,
Venus averse, and angry at his Crime.
First, e're I'll be from Honour's Paths misled,
May Flames devour this devoted Head;
The Sword its Blade within my Bosom hide,
And tort'ring Scourges tear my wounded Side.

Nor hope, unseen, to break your Word with ease,
The God forbids concealing Crimes like these.
You'll find the Man where you your Soul enlarge,
Well warm'd with Cups, divulge the secret Charge:
The God will raise his Voice in Sleep opprest,
And force th' unguarded Secrets from his Breast.
All this I said, now glowing Blushes rise,
When I reflect how with o'erflowing Eyes,
How mean, how suppliant, how much like a Slave,
With low Submission, I those Cautions gave.
'Twas then you swore your Faith should ne'er be sold,
For costly Gems, nor wealthy Heaps of Gold:
Not for the Price of rich Campania's Field,
Nor all the fair Falernian Vineyards yield.
Too cred'lous I by Vows like these deceiv'd,
Had any thing, tho' ne'er so wrong, believ'd;
Tho' you had swore, no Stars illum'd the Sky,
Or that 'twas safe to walk a-cross the Sea.

You wept, and I unpractis'd to betray,
Wip'd your wet Cheeks, and dry'd the Tears away.
What could this Treachery in your Bosom move,
Unless the Girl had link'd you to her Love?
Ah! may she, taught by you, unconstant prove.
Least any should o'er hear the Words we said,
My self by Night have light you to the Maid.
Oft through my Means you've seen the admir'd Fair,
When little you expected her so near;
Who with a seeming coy affected Mein,
Conceal'd her self, yet wish'd she might be seen.
Wretch that I am! then was I first undone,
Thinking fond Fool, your Love was mine alone,
For else I could your close Intrigues espy,
And watch your Actions with a nearer Eye.
Then in my stupid Lines I sang your Praise,
Now at my Folly blush, and curse my Lays.
May Vulcane to his Flames the Lines convey,
And Waters wash the hated Words away.

Hence ye detested mercenary Train,
Who sell inestimable Love for Gain.

But you, who all your tempting Wealth employ,
And strive with Presents to seduce the Boy:
May your lascivious Wife elude your Care,
And bring repleated Plots of Lust to bear;
When tir'd with all the Stallions of the Town,
To hide it, Anger feign, and lie alone.
Around your Bed may Strangers Footings be,
And may your House to ev'ry Rake be free.

And for thy drunken Sister, may the Crowd
In railing Arguments dispute aloud;
Whether she quaffs more Bowls of Liquor down,
Or lies with more rank Bullies of the Town:
Although 'tis said she'll revel all the Night,
Till Phospher's Orb provokes the Morning's Light.

To this alone does all her Fancy tend,
She knows no other way the Night to spend:
But your experienc'd Wife with Cunning steals
Her lustful Hours, and dark Designs conceals;
While you unthinking Fool can never guess,
When she Love's Rites performs with Carlesness.
Can you suppose for you she decks her Head?
Or that for you the shining Locks are spread?
Is it alone to you she has Respect
When dress'd in Scarlet, and with Bracelets deck't!
Not for your sake those dressing Arts she tries,
But to oblige some other Fav'rite's Eyes;
To whom she prostitutes your injur'd Fame,
Her self, your House, and all that you can name;
Nor does she practise this for Letchery,
But from a strong Aversion toward thee;
She shuns thy Limbs with swelling Cout unsound,
With Ointments stinking, and in Swathings bound,
She flies the Touch of thy decaying Face,
And all the Terrors of thy foul Embrace.

Yet vile however, my Boy does this approve,
And I believe can savage Monsters love.

Durst you on others all my Love confer?
Durst you to others all my Kisses bear?
Then how you'll weep when you another see
Reign o'er that Bosom once possess'd by thee:
Then I shall please my self at thy unrest,
And on a Golden Shield these Lines imprest;
Shall hang an Off'ring in the publick View,
To well-deserving Venus justly due.
Tibullus from the treach'rous Boy set free,
Suspends this votive Tablet unto thee,
And begs, O Goddess! your indulgent Care,
And that you'll be propitious to his Pray'r.

ELEGY X.

Who was it first began the dang'rous Trade,
To work the Sword, and whet the shining Blade?
How savage must he be to learn such Ill!
And sure his very Soul it self was Steel.
Then Wars began, then rose the murd'ring Trade,
Then for fierce Death a shorter Way was made.
But he! unthinking Wretch, no Harm design'd,
We took the cursed Hint to Ills inclin'd;
And what he made to tame the savage Beast,
We basely turn against each other's Breast.
This Vice proceeds from greedy Thirst of Gold,
For Wars and Tumults were unknown of Old,
When cheerful Draughts were quaff'd from common Wood,
And Beechen Bowls on homely Tables stood.
No need was then of Tow'rs their Wealth to keep,
The Shepherd slept secure amidst his Sheep.

Had I liv'd then, I ne'er had us'd the Dart,
Nor heard the Trumpets sound with trembling Heart.
But now Im forc'd to War, perhaps ev'n now
Some dang'rous Man amongst the num'rous Foe,
The Jav'lin gripes that must my Breast invade,
And in my Bosom hide its pointed Head.
But you paternal Lares still be near,
My Infant Years confest your fost'ring Care.
Nor let your Deities be once asham'd,
Because of Wood and common Timber fram'd;
Mean as you are, my Ancestors thought fit
To place you in their Hall and ancient Seat.
Then better was religious Truth maintain'd,
And Piety a larger Footing gain'd;
When Gods were meanly carv'd from common Wood,
And unadorn'd the Temples where they stood;
When clust'ring Grapes, if giv'n, or round their Hair
A Wreath of Corn, engag'd their fav'ring Care:

And if the Swain in hopes of being heard,
Himself the humble Rural Gifts preferr'd;
With him his little Daughter brought from home
The luscious Off'ring of the Honey Comb.
But you kind Lares, turn the Dart away,
And from the Herd a Victim Swine I'll pay;
And I my self will in Procession go,
Rob'd in pure Vestments to attend the Show;
And Canisters entwin'd with Myrtle bear,
And round my Temples Myrtle Foliage wear.
So let me pleasure you, let others boast
Success in Arms, and a defeated Host.
To me may Souldiers talk o'er Cups of Wine,
And on the Table draw the Wars design.

What Madness is it in distracted Broils
To end our happy Days by Martial Toils!
Or gain fierce Death with seeking high Renown,
Uncall'd with silent Pace he comes too soon.

No cheerful Corn the Fields below produce,
Nor clust'ring Vines, nor brisk enliv'ning Juice:
But daring Cerb'rus with his tripple Roar,
And the old Wherry on the Stygian Shore;
There the pale Crowd to dreary Lakes repair,
With blasted Cheeks, and scorch'd disorder'd Hair.

How much more wise the Man who spends his Days
In some still Country Cottage, blest with Ease!
Himself the Sheep, his Son the Lambs attends,
At Home his busie Wife industrious spends
Her Time, to gather Herbs, and Water heat,
To bath his Limbs, and ease his weary Feet.
Such may I be, and when old Age had spread
His snowy Honours on my hoary Head,
May I secure with pleasing View declare
Strange Revolutions in the Times that were.

Mean while fair Peace secures the quiet Plain.
Fair Peace, in whose auspicious easie Reign,
They first instructed stubborn Steers to bow
Their Necks, to wear the Yoak, and draw the Plow,
Peace glads the Vines to yield a large Produce;
And swells the rip'ning Grape with kindly Juice;
That the pleas'd Peasant from paternal Bowl,
May pour large Flouds of Wine to chear his Soul.
Peace plies the Prong, and brights the shining Share,
Let eating Rust destroy the Tools of War.
The Farmer warm'd with Wine, when Rites are paid
In the thick Grove, and consecrated Shade;
And all the brisk religious Sports are done,
Home in his Cart conveys his Wife and Son:
Then Love his Battles tries, and sportive War,
Then Maids lament for their disorder'd Hair:

For beat-up Lodgings, and assaulted Doors,
And gay Distractions of the Mid-night Hours;
While from the Eyes the Tears descend a-pace,
And moist'ning Dew o'erspreads the lovely Face;
That ev'n the Victor weeps to see her moan,
And blames the mad Extravagancies done:
But wanton Love in little Wrang'lings tries
Their Rage, and urging Words to both supplies;
In secret Smiles to think when Anger's o'er,
They love with greater Ardour than before.
But sure that Man of Steel or Flint is made,
Who angry, durst with Blows the Fair invade;
And impious Hands in raging Madness stretch,
May all the Gods confound th' inhumane Wretch:
Let it suffice him to undress the Fair,
And eagerly th' opposing Vestments tear;
With rifling Hand the ruffled Tresses spread,
And discompose the Dressings of the Head.

But he, whose Hands with Cruelty are fill'd,
Let him the Jav'lin gripe, and heave the Shield;
And far from Venus' softer Rites remove,
And all the moving Tenderness of Love.

But you kind fost'ring Peace attend, and bear
In thy fair Hand the Harvest' weighty Ear:
And from thy Lap with lavish Plenty pour
Ripe Apples, and the Garden's bounteous Store.

113

Book II.

ELEGY I.

Lustrations we for Fields and Fruits prepare,
Rites handed down from ancient Times that were.
Be silent all, O Vintage, Pow'r divine!
Hither, with Clusters from the Purple Vine:
Hither, O Ceres, to our Rites repair;
And bind with Wreaths of Corn thy radiant Hair.

114

On this religious Day, and solemn Feast,
Rest let the Ground, and let the Peasant rest;
No toilsome Plough, nor tiresome Labour Mind,
The Oxen from their weighty Yoaks unbind,
And let them at the heap'd up Rack be fed,
With each a Flow'ry Garland on his Head.
Let all to these religious Duties come,
And may no Spinster ply the weaving Loom.
But hence, far from these Altars, far remove,
Vot'ries last Night to Venus, and to Love;
Far from these pure unspotted Rites retire,
The Gods are pure, and Purity require;
Before the Pow'rs in spotless Garments stand,
And sprinkle Water with unsullied Hand.
Observe the Victim Lamb his Footsteps bend
To flaming Altars, while the Crowd attend
In due Procession, and unspotted wear
A Wreath of Olive Boughs to bind their Hair.

115

Gods, Patron Gods, we purge the Fields and Swains,
Drive all approaching Evils from our Plains.
Let no fallacious Weeds infest our Grain,
To make the Peasant's Hopes and Labours vain.
Secure the Lamb, although his Pace be slow,
From prowling Wolves the swifter-footed Foe:
Then the glad Peasant, with delighted Eyes,
Shall see his close-stow'd Barns and Granaries;
Then shall he make the rising Flames aspire,
And heap large Logs upon his glowing Fire;
While all the Houshold with their sportive Play,
Shall to the Lares celebrate the Day,
And artfully before their Hearthy Shrine.
Shall slender Twigs in little Hovels twine.
May this succeed; see in glad Bowls they bear
The Intrails; see, the Gods accept our Pray'r.

116

Now bring me Old Falernian Wine to raise
My Mirth, Wine seal'd in ancient Consuls Days;
Pierce me a Cask full with the Chion Store,
On such a Day the Wine profusely pour.
'Tis barb'rous not to drink on such a Day,
'Till staggering Feet can ill direct their Way;
But let each Man Messala's Health commend,
And name to every Glass my absent Friend;
Noble by Birth, with growing Honours fill'd
By Gallick Triumphs, and the vanquish'd Field;
This Verse with Favour hear, those Thanks which rise
From Country Swains to rural Deities.

I sing the Country, and the Sylvan reign,
When fav'ring Gods did spreading Oaks ordain
To shake the Acorns down for Humane Good,
To drive off Hunger with a wholsome Food.

117

First taught by them, their lowly Bow'rs they made
Of winding Willows, with a Leavy Shade;
They taught to tame the Oxen by their Skill,
And ease the heavy Wain with whirling Wheel.

Then savage Food they left, then Apples spread,
And wat'ry Streams were round the Gardens lead;
Then Golden Clusters the glad Vines produce,
By treading Feet th' exprest the luscious Juice,
Then Water mix'd with Wine began its Use.
Fields Corn produce, when Syrius Star appears,
And Annual Harvests wave their Yellow Ears.
In Country Gardens the laborious Bee
Selects the Sweets of Flowers with Indust'ry;
Rifles the Spring, and sucks the od'rous Bloom,
To stock with luscious Food his waxen Comb.
The Farmer tir'd with ploughing up the Plains,
Gives a small Respite to his Toils and Pains,
And joyous roars out rude unpolish'd Rhimes,
With artless Measures, and repeated Chimes:

118

Before the Gods with Garlands dress'd his Skill,
He tries and fills with Notes the rural Quill.
The Country Farmer painted o'er with Red,
To Bacchus first the artless Chorus lead;
And for Reward had from the numerous Stock
The Leader-Goat: A Goat then lead the Flock.
Here first Spring-Flowers the Youth in Chaplets bound,
And with soft Wreaths the ancient Lares crown'd.
In Country Fields the Sheep their Fleeces bear
The Wooll, the tender Girl's peculiar Care.
The Distaff fill'd with this, employs the Maid,
While o'er her Thumb she twirls the twisted Thread:
And as th' industrious Spinster sings a Song,
The whirling Reel keeps Measure with her Tongue.
Cupid was born in Country Fields and Meads,
Where the wild Mare with untam'd Fury treads;
There exercis'd with uninstructed Bow,
But, ah! how skill'd! and how experienc'd now!

119

Nor Shoots at random Flocks, and Beasts, as then,
But fixes Maids, and tames audacious Men.
He makes the Young Man slight the tempting Gold,
And low-priz'd Riches, he commands the Old.—
Humbly a Woman's haughty Pride to bear,
And speak mean Soothings to appease the Fair;
Led on by him, the Girl her Plot conceals,
And to th' expecting Youth at Midnight steals.
The doubtful Path her tim'rous Feet essay,
And with her Hand sh' explores the dusky Way.
Wretched are they whom Love with fierce Desires,
Inflames and scorches with enraging Fires.
But blest the Man to whom he gently brings
Calm Love, with waving Plumes and downy Wings.
O! sacred Power the Feasts which we provide
Attend, but lay thy dang'rous Shafts aside;
Dismiss from Use thy ill-designing Bow,
And far, O! far, thy flaming Torches throw.

120

And you, O celebrate the God with Pray'r,
And call him loud to mind your Fleecy Care,
But to your self so low that none may hear:
Or you may venture to invoke aloud,
None can distinguish Pray'rs which in the Crowd
Are by the laughing Sports and Shoutings drown'd,
And by th' inflated Pipes promiscuous sound.

Sport on, for coming Night as Day declines,
Her sable Coursers to her Chariot joins,
Whilst all the starry shining Train advance,
And round their Mother's Wheels in Chorus dance;
Then follows silent Sleep, with dusky Wings
Involv'd, and fleeting Midnight Visions brings.

121

ELEGY II.

You that attend with fav'ring Silence hear,
See at the Altar votive Gifts appear.
Burn pious Incense, burn the rich Perfumes,
Which from the soft Arabian's Country comes.
May the kind Genius be in Presence here
To view the sacred Rites, and Honours share;
Wearing soft flow'ry Chaplets 'round his Head,
Let Ointments from his Locks their Odours shed:
Offer up plenteous Cates before his Shrine,
And pour Libations out of Purple Wine.
May he propitious be to your Desire,
Grant all your Vows, and give what you require.
Ask briskly, Man, why do you make this stay?
The Genius hears, then why this long Delay?
I guess your Wish, 'tis that your Wife may prove
A chast Preserver of unalter'd Love,
The Gods beforehand knew the Wish you move.

122

This you prefer to all the wealthy Soil
That lab'ring Peasants turn with restless Toil:
Rather than this you'd all the Gems refuse
Which Eastern Sands and happy Seas produce;
Where first Aurora does the East survey,
And spreads her Morning Blushes o'er the Sea.
Alas, your Prayers are slighted by the Sky,
Oh! how I wish that Love would hither fly;
Spread out his Plumes, and with a flutt'ring Wing,
The Marriage Chains, and Golden Cæstus bring;
Chains which for ever bind and ne'er decay
When Age deforms and spread his feeble Gray.
May this auspicious Day for ever be
Attended with the happiest Augury.
May Juno bless thee in thy Marriage Joys,
And give a smiling Race of prat'ling Boys.

123

ELEGY III.

Dear Friend, my Mistress at her Country Seat
Enjoys the Hamlets, and the cool Retreat;
Who that has common Tenderness can stay
In the dull lonely Town when she's away.
Venus, to taste the Joys the Country yields,
Sports in the smiling Meads, and laughing Fields:
Ev'n Love himself about the Meadows plays,
Forgets his own, and learns the rustick Phrase.

Ah me! How would I with a willing Hand
Direct the Hoe, and turn the restiff Land!
Urge on the crooked Plow, and lash the Teams,
Nor fear the scorching Heat, and sult'ry Beams;
Bear all the Hardships of the rural Trade,
So I might there enjoy the lovely Maid.

124

Thus Great Apollo ever young and fair,
Unbent himself to tend Admetus' Care:
Vain was his Vocal Shell to ease his Grief,
Nor could his flowing Hair afford Relief,
Nor healing Herbs could sooth the smarting Pain,
When Love's the Cause, the med'c'nal Pow'rs are vain.
His Sister from her wheeling Orb of Light
Look'd down, and often blush'd to see the Sight;
When lonely thro' the dusky Fields he'd rome,
Wet with the Dew, to drive the Cattle Home.
Oft in the lowly Vale and watry Ground
He sung, the hanging Hills return the Sound;
While lowing Oxen interrupt the Song,
And drown the heavenly Accents of his Tongue.
Oft Princes came, and all th' enquiring Train,
Trembling at future Fears to seek his Fane:
In vain they ask, and offer Rites Divine,
A solitary Silence fills the Shrine.

125

With Grief Latona saw her Off-spring's Head,
With Hair ensnarl'd, and matted Tresses spread.
Those heavenly Curls, which round his Shoulders flew,
And ev'n from Juno claim'd their Praises due.
His uncomb'd Head, and tangl'd Locks, who e'er
Had seen, no more would wish Apollo's Hair.
Where, Phæbus! where are all thy Honours flown
Of Delos, and of Delphick Pytho's Town?
For Love commands thee to a less Abode,
And in a lowly Hut confines the God.

Bless'd Times when Gods did Venus Laws adore,
And own'd in Publick her superiour Power.
'Tis now a Jest, a Jest let me too prove,
Rather than be a God, and not to love.

But you whom Love surveys with angry Eye
Attend his Wars, and pitch your Tent with me.

126

This Iron Age for Spoil its Arts employs,
Nor prizes Venus and her tender Joys.
Though many Dangers tend the Spoiler's Trade,
And num'rous Ills the daring Man invade;
Spoil sheaths the Warrior Train in hostile Arms,
And hence arose a world of various Harms.
Hence Blood and Murder made their first Essay,
And Death discover'd hence a shorter Way.
Spoil urges on to tempt th' uncertain Main,
And slight the Dangers of the Sea for Gain:
Nay, doubles all the Dangers and the Fear
When threatning Prows and Naval Fights appear.
The Spoiler covets the extended Plain,
Whose Herbage may his num'rous Flocks maintain:
He seeks the Stone in distant Quarries vein'd,
And the huge Column for his Seat ordain'd.
A thousand Yoak of Oxen draw the Freight,
And Crowds surpriz'd, admire the pond'rous Weight:

127

His Moles stupenduous, curb th' unmanag'd Sea,
That Fish may winter in the quiet Bay.
But may neat Earthen Vessels serve too thee,
Small chearful Meals in humble Decency.

But, Ah! I see! too plainly see! the Fair
Make Wealth and sordid Gain their chiefest Care;
Then Spoils your useful Aid will I employ,
Since Love requires Wealth, that Wealth he shall enjoy.
Then, Nemesis, by my Profuseness gay,
May through the City and the crouded Way,
Conspicuous in my Gifts, the shining Spoils display.
She shall the Vestments subtle Texture wear,
By Cöan Women wrought with artful Care;
Shot thro' with Gold, and tissu'd richly o'er,
Slaves shall be sent for from the Eastern Shore:
The tawny Eunuch shall attend her State,
And Sun-burnt Indians shall around her wait.

128

The Dyes shall struggle on her Vestments spread,
And Africk's Vi'let strive with Tyrian Red.
'Tis Truth I spake, she should a Kingdom sway,
And Crouds of fetter'd Servants should obey.

But you, O Harvest, which detains my Dear,
May the unfertile Earth for Plenty bear
The small Produce of an ungrateful Year.
And you kind Fost'rer of the Vineyard Store,
Soft Bacchus fill thy much-lov'd Vatt no more.
'Tis wrong the Fair should lie in Fields obscure,
Joys less than them even thy own Wines procure.
Perish the Fruit, and fade the rural Field,
Rather than beauteous Maids be there conceal'd.
Let Mast, as once it did, supply the Board,
And Springs, as once, a Native Drink afford.
Of Old our Fathers fed on Mast alone;
Then Love was commōn, nor was Envy known.
They always lov'd, they'd nothing else to do,
Nor Corn had they to reap, nor Fields to plough.

129

But Venus fav'ring those intent on Love,
Led to the shady Vale, and silent Grove.
No Dog was then to fright with op'ning Roar;
No fasten'd Portal, nor obstructing Door.
How happy wou'd it be should Fates ordain
Those quiet Days, and pleasing Rules again!

Oh! perish all the Forms of study'd Dress
Of Woman's Pride, and polish'd Artfulness.
Would that as in the former Times each Maid
Was meanly dress'd, and carelesly array'd;
Since Nemesis lies hid in Privacy,
Since very rarely I, the Maid can see.
Wretch! that I am, what serves it me to wear
A gay Attire, or show a courtly Air?

Bring me where I may Nemesis obey,
Where I may see her, and allow her Sway:
I'll plough the Land, so I may view the Maid,
Nor scorn the Hardships of the rural Trade.

114

ELEGY IV.

I have my Mistress, and my Chains in view,
My Native much-lov'd Liberty adieu.
To me a cruel Servitude's assign'd,
In Gives constrain'd, in heavy Chains confin'd;
Fetters, with cruel Love, will ne'er unbind:
And whether I deserve the fatal Ill,
If culpable, or no, Love rages still.

I burn, I burn, Oh! far thy Eyes remove,
Too cruel Maid, the Torches of my Love;
Oh! that uncapable of Griefs like these,
Or that Insensibility were Ease.
Ah! how much rather on some Mountain's Brow
I'd stand a Stone o'erspread with Drifts of Snow.
Or that a Rock expos'd to Storms I stood
Lash'd by the Waves, and by th' outragious Flood:
Now bitter is the Day, bitter the Light,
More bitter still the lonely Shades of Night.

115

O'er every Hour is Bitterness diffus'd,
In every Cup is bitter Gall infus'd;
Nor Elegies avail with moving Vein,
Nor Phæbus, Author of the Vocal Strain;
For only Gifts can please the greedy Maid,
I must to Presents have recourse for Aid:
Hence then ye Muses, and the Vocal Train,
If helpless you to ease a Lover's Pain.
I not invoke you to inspire my Lays,
To sing of Wars, or sound the Warrior's Praise;
Nor trace the radiant Circuit of the Sun,
Nor mark when he his wheeling Course has done,
The oblique Journey of the silent Moon.
All the Advantage I by Verse would find,
Is but Access to find my Mistress kind:
If useless you a boon like this to gain;
Begone, ye Muses, hence, your Powers are vain.

But I by Blood or Rob'ry must prepare
Dishonest Presents to oblige the Fair;

132

That I no more may stretch'd, and weeping wait
A prostrate Suppliant at th' obdurate Gate;
Or I must steal the Gods suspended Signs,
Their Altars rob, and pilfer from their Shrines;
But most from Venus' sacred Trophies tear,
She of the Rapine claims the largest Share.
'Tis she compells me to the wicked Deed,
Twas she, the mercenary Maid decreed.

Oh! may the Wretch eternally be curst
Who dug for Gems, and found green Em'ralds first.
Who fram'd the glowing Robe for Woman's Pride,
And snowy Wool in Tyrian Purple dy'd:
He gave the greedy Mind, the maid he dress'd
In the thin Texture of the Cöan Vest.
The Pearl with lucid Orb the shining Stores,
He cull'd from ruddy Seas, and shelly Shores.
Hence Ills arose, then Doors first knew the Key,
And Dogs began to guard the fasten'd Way.

133

But bring your Price, come with a Gift prepar'd,
And you may quickly influence the Guard.
The Key no more forbids the op'ning Door,
And ev'n th' obliging Dog will bark no more.

Ah! whosoever unthinkingly confin'd,
A heavenly Body, and an earthly Mind,
He with one Good a many Ills conjoin'd.
Hence Chiding first began, and Tears, and Blame,
And Love from this receiv'd an evil Name.

But you who aw'd by Interest, sway'd by Gain,
Reject the faithful Vot'ries of your Train;
May greedy Flames, the cursed Wealth devour,
Made fiercer by the Wind's provoking Power;
While Youths behold the Sight in sportive Game,
Smile at the spreading Smoke and rising Flame;
Nor one officious to oppose the Rage
Shall Water throw its Fury to asswage:

118

Or seiz'd by Death, may not one Friend appear
To close thy Eyes, or weep behind thy Bier;
Nor on thy Pile be one small Present laid
To 'nrich thy Ashes, or oblige thy Shade.

But the kind lovely Maid, whose gen'rous Soul
No Wealth can stain, or sordid Bribes controul;
Although a hundred rolling Years are o're
When Age deforms, and Beauty fires no more:
Yet Crowds shall come to view her Obsequies,
And close the flaming Pile with weeping Eyes.

And some old Man, whose Youth had felt her Charms,
Who had been often happy in her Arms,
Shall with a grateful gen'rous Ardour come,
And hang his annual Garland on her Tomb,
With throbbing Heart, and as he comes away,
With Sighs and longing Eyes reverted say;

119

Oh! silent may'st thou sleep in pleasing Rest,
And the light Turf lay easie on thy Breast.

'Tis Truth, but Truth, alas, affords no Aid,
For arbitrary Love will be obey'd.
Let Nemesis desire, at her Command,
I'd sell my Seat and old paternal Land;
Nay, let her all the pois'nous Simples brew,
That ever Circe or Medea knew:
Cull all the Drugs around the pontick Shore,
And deadlier Poisons in the Mixture pour,
Let her but with a Smile present the Cup,
And willingly I'll quaff the Potion up.

ELEGY V.

Phæbus , within thy aweful Fane is plac'd
A Priest with holy Robes and Titles grac'd.
Propitious God! thy Lyre and Verses bring,
And with thy Finger strike the Vocal String:

136

And may your heavenly Song, and charming Lays,
Incline with mine to swell th' intended Praise:
While we with pious Toil before thy Shrine,
Thy Altars heap, and offer Rites Divine:
Do thou accept the Off'ring, and be there,
Confess'd with Laurel foliage round thy Hair:
But with illustrious Pride attend the Show,
And loosly let thy graceful Vestments flow;
Array'd as when old Saturn fled above,
You sang the Victor God, the pow'rful Jove.

With piercing View you see the Years to come,
And tell in present Answers future Doom.
The Augur taught by thee with artful Care,
Knows what the diff'rent Flight of Birds declare.
Thou know'st the more exalted Fates of Kings,
Then when th' Auruspex reaking Entrails brings:
He through thy Aid can in the Charger see
Surprizing Fates, and strange Events to be.

137

To Sybill you unveil'd the future Days,
Who sung Presages dark in uncouth Lays.
The wife prophetick Dame yet never fail'd,
But if she promis'd Pow'r, the Romans still prevail'd.
O! teach thy Priest long Volumes to revolve,
And sacred, tho' surprizing Doubts resolve.
Unveil the dark mysterious Truth conceal'd,
And be what seems obscure, by thee reveal'd.

The future Fate she of Æneas told,
And did important Truths to come unfold:
After he, on his Back, sustain'd a Weight
Father and Lares, a religious Freight;
Disclos'd a mighty Empire fix'd by Fate,
And all the Glories of the Roman State,
When she saw blazing Iliums Light aspire,
Her Glorys, Fanes, and Gods consum'd with Fire.

122

She told a glorious Empire yet to come,
E'er Romulus design'd eternal Rome,
Or Walls the Cause of Rhemus' fatal Doom:
For then the lowing Herd on Herbage graz'd,
Where now stupendious Palaces were rais'd;
And where Jove's Temple shoots its rising Tow'rs,
Hovels were rear'd, and Shepherds lowly Bow'rs.
There Pan beneath a Tree his shady Shrine,
Possess'd, with sprinkled Milk and Rites divine:
And Fram'd of Wood, the Goddess of the Field,
In her right Hand a homely Cyckle held:
There on some shady Tree's extended Boughs,
Hung warbling Pipes, the Signs of offer'd Vows.
By straying Shepherds hung Reads with Decrease,
With Wax conjoin'd, and gradually less.
And where Velabria spreads his wat'ry Store,
A little Wherry swam with silent Oar.
O'er this (design'd the Farmer's Wife) the Maid
Was on some solemn Holy-Day convey'd,

123

And brought back Presents of the Country Cheese,
Or else a sporting Lamb with snowy Fleece.

Brother of winged Love, Æneas hail,
Who with thy Gods directs the flying Sail.
See Jove assigns thee Laurentines Abodes,
And calls to Hospitable Fields thy Gods.
The Trojan then with Wonder fill'd shall say
'Twas not in vain he came so long a Way;
There sacred Thou, by Old Numicus' Floods,
Shalt from a Heroe mingle with the Gods.
See as thy tir'd Fleet inclines to Shore,
Victoria flies, and haughty now no more,
Sits on thy Sails, and stoops to Trojan Power.
I see, I see Rutilian Fires alight,
The horrid Camp now shines before my Sight:
And thee proud Turnus with a Soul elate,
I see thy speedy Death, and dangerous Fate.
Laurentum's Camp I view before my Eyes,
I see Lavinum's Walls attempt the Skies,
And Alba Longa lofty Tow'rs arise.

140

Thee Ilia next I see, as from afar,
Destin'd to please the mighty Pow'r of War.
I see thee leave the Fires and hallow'd Place,
Now view the private Theft and close Embrace.
Thy purple Fillets flying loose abroad,
And on the Banks the scatter'd Trophies strow'd,
And cumb'rous Weapons of the eager God.
Now while you may, ye Oxen, graze your fill,
And crop the Grass from every rising Hill:
For on these Hills, and on this quiet Green,
E're long a mighty City shall be seen.
Rome, aweful Name, design'd from mighty sway,
Fatal to Nations, destin'd to obey:
Where e'er from Heaven bright Ceres views her Ground,
And spicy Fields, with yellow Harvests crown'd:
Where first the Morning Sun the East surveys,
And where declining to the Western Seas;
He wheels his Chariot swiftly down, and laves
His neighing Horses in the beating Waves.

141

Prophetick Truths I sing, so safely may,
I eat the Laurel Leaves I first display,
And may my Virgin Honour ne'er decay.

Thus sang the Maid, and call'd thee Phæbus near,
She giddy writh'd her Neck, and wildly toss'd her Hair;
What e'er Amalthea, what Marpessia said,
Herophile, Apollo's fav'rite Maid:
Or what the fam'd Albuna understood,
Who lay conceal'd beside Old Tybur's Flood.

These sang of Comets blazing in the Air,
The dire Portents of an impending War.
And how the rough Artillery of the Sky,
Huge ponderous Stones came rattling from on high.
In Clouds they heard the Arrow's whizzing Noise,
And the loud sounding Trumpet's brazen Voice.

126

In sacred Groves strange Noise the Ear invades,
And Fates were told from Woods and gloomy Shades.
The Sun deficient view the dusky Day,
And his pale Steed reflect a dying Ray.
Warm Tears down the Gods Marble Statues roll'd,
And Vocal Oxen coming Fates foretold.

With these Portents the former Times were scar'd,
But Phæbus kindly better Fates award:
These Prodegies avert and turn away,
Imers'd beneath the Surges of the Sea.
May crackling Laurel in the Flame declare,
The Omen of a sacred happy Year.
The Laurel gives the Sign, rejoice thou Swain,
Ceres will swell the Field with kindly Grain;
Now stain'd with Must, the Clown shall Clusters tread,
And cheerfully the pleasing Labour speed.

127

The Shepherd then inspir'd with generous Wine,
Shall keep Palilian Feasts and Rites Divine,
Then, O ye Wolves, desist to tear the Kine.
He warm'd with Wine, shall light up Straw in Heaps,
And thrice surround the Fire with sporting Leaps.
The Wife shall then her num'rous Off-spring see,
And Infants play around their Father's Knee:
The Grandsire's Care shall be to tend the Child,
And the old Woman lisp out Soothings mild.
Then shall the sacred rural Rites be paid
By Country Youth, with careless Limbs display'd
On rising Grass, beneath some spreading Shade;
Or else with their united Garments spread,
They'll form a cooling Umbrage over Head,
Deck'd with soft Flow'rs, in Bandage hanging down,
With glowing Flow'rs, the brimming Goblets crown.
Soft Grass-turfs on the verdant Altars lay,
And on the Seats the easy Turf display.

144

Here warm'd with Wine, and with o'er burden'd Head,
The Youth shall insolently scoff the Maid,
Yet sober, wish th' opprobrious Words unsaid.
When he reflects, himself he'll often blame,
And swear his Words and Thoughts were not the same.
O Phæbus, neither suffer Shafts nor Bow,
Let Love unarm'd around the Meadows go.
Shooting was first an advantagious Art,
'Till Cupid stretch'd the Bow, and us'd the Dart.
Alas, the Time he ever knew the Skill,
Knowledge, productive of a world of Ill,
And most to me who by his Arrow's slain,
Indulge my Illness, while I love the Pain.
I scarcely now of Nemesis can sing,
Without whose Name I can no Measure bring.
But you, my Dear, your sacred Poet spare,
For Poets are the Gods peculiar Care,
Then I of Messalinus, great in War,
Shall sing, and Nations shown before his Car;

145

And pleas'd shall with the glad Spectators stand,
Waving the Laurel Branches in my Hand:
My self a Soldier too with Laurel crown'd,
Shall shout glad Io' triumph all around;
Then my Messala, as the Show goes on,
The glorious Father of so great a Son,
Shall view the Sight with a rejoicing Eye,
And praise the Victor as he passes by.

O! Phœbus, hear the Pray'rs I now prefer,
So may you ever wave your flowing Hair;
So ever may your Sister's spotless Fame
Preserve the Lustre of a Virgin Name.

ELEGY VI.

Macer intends the Camp, and seeks the Foe,
What then, alas, will softer Cupid do.
Shall he attend to join the Warrior Trade,
And welm the Helmet o'er his little Head?

146

Shall steely Jav'lins gall his tender Hands,
And shall he follow thee o'er Seas and Lands?
No, rather, O my Boy, thy Torch apply,
And Fire the Wretch who dares thy Service fly;
Who dares with haughty Insolence disdain
Thy pleasing Leisure, and thy easie Reign:
Bring back the bold Deserter from afar,
Beneath thy Banners, and thy softer War.
If Soldiers you indulge, then I'll be one,
Tho' low in Place, inglorious and unknown.
Come on, to Wars, fair Venus now adieu,
And all ye beauteous Maids, farewel to you:
I've Strength and Vigour, am estrang'd to fear,
And sounding Trumpets most delight my Ear.
How boasting are my Words! and how elate!
Yet let my Mistress but confine the Gate,
My Thoughts all sink at the opposing Door,
And this affected Courage is no more.
How oft have my Resentments made me swear
No more to seek the Threshold of the Fair:

147

Yet spite of all I swear, of all I say,
My treach'rous Feet again explore the Way.
O! Love, I wish thy Arrows broken now,
Extinct thy Torches, and unstrung thy Bow:
You Fire me, you occasion my Despair,
Provok'd by you, I rave, and impious swear;
Mad in my Rage, impatient of my Wrong,
You force those Imprecations from my Tongue.

Death long ago had giv'n my Grief allay,
But flatt'ring Hope still urges on Delay,
And says to Morrow'll bring a better Day.
Hope chears the Peasant, when he turns the Soil,
And bids him hope a Harvest from his Toil.
Hope bids the toilsome Fowler Springes lay,
And without fail expect the wish'd-for Prey.
The patient Angler stretching out his Reed,
Silent and watchful hopes the Finny Breed.
The Slave in hopes of Liberty remains,
His Songs keep Measure with his ratt'ling Chains.

148

Hope flatters me that Nemesis is mine,
Yet still the Maid does all my Suit decline:
Ah! cease, too cruel Maid, this high Disdain,
Nor let the Goddess give her Word in vain.
Spare, cruel Fair-one, I conjure you, spare,
If e'er thy Sister's Memory was dear;
By her cold Ashes Pride to Pity turn,
So may the Earth lay light upon her Urn.
I reverence her as sacred to her Tomb,
Loaded with Gifts and flow'ry Wreaths I'll come;
Upon her Grave the blooming Chaplets rear,
And every Flow'r make Dewy with a Tear.
Distracted to her Tomb I'll fly alone,
There sit a pensive Suppliant near the Stone,
And tell the silent Manes all my Moan.
She will not let her Client thus complain,
Nor for thy sake express his Grief in vain:
That you would fav'ring to your Votary be,
Was her Request, and that I urge to thee.

149

Beware lest angry the neglected Shade,
With frightful Dreams thy Midnight Hours invade;
Lest thy pale Sister, to thy troubled Sight,
Appear before thy Bed in silent Night;
In that same direful Form, as when of late,
She from the Window fell by hapless Fate;
There found her Death, and all distain'd with Blood,
Went to the lower Realms and Stygian Flood.
I wou'd not strive to wake your buried Cares,
Had I the Pow'r, I then had say'd your Tears:
Nor is it fit that Sorrow's sad Disguise,
And falling Tears should swell those speaking Eyes.
I cease to urge thy Grief, nor further go,
Thou'rt kind, my Dear, but Phryne is my Foe;
That mercenary Jade denies Access
To me, yet others secret Messages.
She in her Bosom bears with private Care,
And carries Answers from my heedless Fair;
Oft when before th' obdurate Gate I walk,
And hear the Musick of my fair One's Talk:

150

I rap, and strait this shameless Jade will come,
And bear me down, her Mistress is from Home.
Oft times when we appoint the happy Night,
And I impatient wait the dear Delight.
She that She's Sick will oftentimes perswade,
Or scare with trifling Fears my tim'rous Maid:
Then how I die with anxious Fancy tost,
I strait imagine that the Fair is lost;
Or think who now enjoys the treach'rous Maid,
And Image how the fatal Theft is paid.
Then how I curse thee thou procuring Whore,
And wish the Furies had thee in their Pow'r:
In Mis'ry may thy wretched Life be spent,
And may the Gods, to what I wish, assent.

177

Book III.

ELEGY I.

The Feast of Roman Mars is drawing near,
Which to our Ancestors began the Year;
And Presents now are carry'd up and down,
From House to House, throughout the joyful Town.
Say ye, Pierian Nine, what to my Fair
Neæra shall I send? What Gift prefer?

178

That She, who I am fond of calling Mine,
If false, yet fair, and to my Thoughts divine.

The mercenary Maid delights in Gold,
The Fair in Verse, to have her Praises told;
And my Neæra Prides her in my Lays,
And Joys to find her Beauties merit Praise.
Then let the Book be bound with curious Art,
And neatly beautify'd in every Part;
And in the Front with painted Pride declare
The Name in curious Letters of my Fair.

And, O! ye Nine, by whom inspir'd I sing,
By your Castalian Shades and sacred Spring;
Hence I conjure you to my much-lov'd Fair,
The polish'd Piece, and curious Volume bear,
E're soiling Hands the shining Lids invade,
Or the gay Leaves, and gilded Edges fade.
And let her then resolve me if her Flame
Of Love, and mine, are equal, and the same:

179

Or whether she retains the smallest Part,
Or if 'tis quite extinguish'd in her Heart:
And after due Respect obsequious paid,
Thus with submissive Voice address the Maid.

Neæra chast! he who a Husband's Name
Once hop'd, now claims a Brother's chaster Flame,
This trifling Present with Submission sends
To her, on whom his Hope and Fear attends;
He swears he loves you dearer than his Life,
Whether his future Sister, or his Wife:
But rather as his Wife, which earnest Vow
Will last 'till he shall view the Shades below.

ELEGY II.

Fierce was the Man who durst Loves Rites invade,
And part the Youth from the desiring Maid;
Or his malicious subtle Arts employ,
To part the Maid from her enamour'd Boy:

180

And he was stupid, who unmov'd could bear
To live divided from the much-lov'd Fair.
I own my self unable to sustain
A Grief like this, or bear the racking Pain.
Sorrow, an Ill no Courage can controul,
Divides the Heart, and quite unnerves the Soul.
I freely own the Ills to Love I owe,
A Life of Trouble, and a Scene of Woe.
Therefore when Death shall this fair Form invade,
And I shall shrink into an empty Shade;
When rising Flames have sunk the Funeral Pile,
And my white Bones the Load of Ashes Soil:
Before the Fire Neæra shall repair,
And weep around with long dishevel'd Hair;
With her, her Mother'll weeping come, the one
Shall mourn a Lover, t'other mourn a Son.
But first the Mother, and the sobbing Maid
Shall often call me, and invoke my Shade;
And having laid me decent on the Bier,
Wash my pale Corps with a religious Care.

181

Then while the Fire lies smould'ing on the Ground,
My Bones, the All of me, can then be found;
Array'd in Mourning Robes, the sorrowing Pair
Shall gather all around with pious Care;
With Ruddy Wine the Relicks sprinkle o'er,
And snowy Milk on the Collections pour;
Then with fair Linnen Cloths the Moisture dry,
In-urn'd in some cold Marble Tomb to lie;
With them inclose the Spices, Sweets, and Gums
And all that from the soft Arabia comes,
And what Assyria's wealthy Confines send,
And Tears, an Off'ring to my Mem'ry lend;
In such a Manner let me be intomb'd,
When shrunk to Ashes, and to Dust consum'd;
Then let some Elegy in Letters fair,
The mournful Cause that wrought my Death declare.
Let Characters upon the Marble tell
In this sad Verse, the Reason why I fell.

182

Lygdamus lies within this silent Tomb,
Grief, and Neæra wrought the fatal Doom;
Soon as his Mistress had her Faith betray'd,
He dy'd, and could not live without the Maid.

ELEGY III.

If you, Neæra, ask the Reason why
I load with Pray'rs, and od'rous Smoak, the Sky;
Not for a Palace built with Parian Stone,
To hold my Greatness, and to make me known;
Nor vast extended Tracts of Land to plough,
Nor yet for wealthy Harvests tends my Vow.
Not these, but that indulgent Heaven would bless
Me and Neæra with a Life of Ease;
That I may find my Age in your Embrace,
And thence set out to run th' Infernal Race;
A shudd'ring Fare, to fill the Boat below,
And see the irremeable Waters flow.

183

For what avails a Palace Rich and Great,
With Phrygian Columns to support the Weight:
Admit the shady Vista's that suround
The Dome, appear like consecrated Ground,
A Fane enclos'd with holy Groves around;
Where Floors of polish'd Marble level lie,
And Roofs of fretted Gold to daze th' erected Eye.
Or what the Pearls cull'd from the Eastern Shore,
The Beamy Diamond, and the shining Store;
Or Vests that glow with rich Sidonian Dyes,
Or all that the mis-judging Vulgar prize:
Not any thing, for Envy sullies these,
They're the mistaken Goods which generally please;
The poor Possessor strives, but strives in vain
With these, to sooth his Care, and ease his Pain;
For Fortune rules with arbitrary Sway,
And what she gives, he fears she'll take away.
If I may claim a Blessing to my Share,
Let me be poor, so I enjoy my Fair:

184

But without you, I Will no other Thing,
No, not the Name and Ensigns of a King.
When will the happy Morning be display'd,
That will restore to me the lovely Maid?
Thrice, four times blest be that auspicious Light!
That brings Neæra to my longing Sight!
For this, if any God will hear my Pray'r;
If any God propitious lends an Ear,
I'll neither Kingdoms ask, nor Lydia's Strand,
Splendidly rich, with all its golden Sand;
Nor all the Wealth the extended Earth contains,
Let others earnestly desire their Gains.
Let me in humble Quiet spend my Life,
Bless'd in my Country Farm, and lovely Wife.
Saturnia! favouring hear my tremb'ling Vow!
And Queen of Love! thou Cyprian Goddess thou!
But if the Sister-Fates the Task decline,
To draw a Day like this in future Twine;

185

Now let 'em cut; and may I summon'd go
To view the Wastes, and the pale Floods below,
Where livid Styx rolls on his lazy Tide,
By dreary Confines bound on every Side,

ELEGY IV.

May Heaven send better Visions to my View,
And grant those hateful Dreams may not be true,
Which did last Night my troubled Thoughts molest,
Disturb'd my Mind, and broke my quiet Rest:
Hence ye delusive Visions, far away,
No more ye vain fantastick Spectres play.
Think not that I can any Credence give,
Or in such idle Fancies place Belief.
Important Truths the Oracles declare,
And Truth attends the Auruspices' Care:
But Dreams fallacious fill the dreary Night,
And scare the tim'rous Mind with vain Affright.

186

And Men left these their quiet Slumbers break,
Make Off'rings of the Salt and Barley Cake.
But whether 'tis for our own good design'd,
Or whether to confuse the doubtful Mind:
The Fears which threaten me I think are vain,
If no ill Acts my guiltless Mind distain,
Nor impious Words have 'scap'd my Tongue prophane.

Night with her Ebon Wheels had left the Sky,
To wash her Chariot in the Azure Sea;
When yet no Sleep my weary Eye-lids clos'd,
No soothing Sleep my troubled Soul compos'd.
At length when Phœbus rose to view the East,
Slow Sleep inclin'd my weary Eyes to rest.
When, lo! a Youth appear'd before my Bed,
His lovely Temples with chast Laurel spread:
No Youth so lovely grac'd the Times that were,
Nor present Days behold a Face so fair:

187

His Length of Hair in lovely Ringlets flew,
With Odours sweet, and of an Amber Hue;
His Body fair, as Cynthia Silver bright,
And purple Blushes grac'd the snowy White:
Such glowing Blushes stain the modest Maid,
When to the eager am'rous Youth convey'd,
And the new Pleasures of the Bridal Bed.
Such blended Beauties Girls in Garlands bind
With Flow'rs of diff'rent Hues together twin'd,
Twisting the Lilly pale with snowy Head,
And scarlet Amaranthus glowing Red;
A Hue like this, when ting'd by Autumn's Pride,
Reddens the Apple on the sunny Side.
About his Feet a Palla graceful flow'd,
For such a Vestment did his Body shroud.
A sounding Lyre design'd by curious Art,
And labour'd o'er with Skill was every Part;
With Pearls, and shining Gold diversify'd,
The curious Piece hung careless at his Side.

188

With Iv'ry Bow he wakes the trembling Strings,
And tunes his Voice, and thus melodious sings;
His flying Fingers stop the Notes around,
And these sad Words he sung with sweetest Sound.

Hail! Care of God, for by a Rite divine,
The Gods assist the Bard in each Design.
Phœbus and Bacchus, and the sacred Nine.
But neither Bacchus, nor the learned Throng,
Can speak what Fate, next Hour, will bring along.
To me, alone the Laws of future Doom
Jove gave, and View of Ages yet to come:
Then take these Warnings which a God reveals;
Believe a God, and hear what Cynthius tells.
She who was always thy peculiar Care,
Then whom not Daughters, Mothers held so dear:
Not with such Passion eagerest Youths are mov'd,
Nor with such Passion tenderest Maids belov'd;
For whom you weary all the Gods with Pray'r.
And every Day is spent in Fear for her:

189

And when still Sleep his Sable Mantle throws,
To veil your Eyes, and urge a still Repose.
She in your Sleep arises to your Sight,
And fills with vain fantastick Dreams, the Night.
That she who in thy Verse is made divine,
Neæra nam'd in every sounding Line:
That celebrated she, with all her Charms,
Begins to languish for another's Arms.
Thy former Passion to her Mind is lost,
That Mind is now with different Passions tost;
She fir'd with other Flames, about does rove,
Detests her quiet House, and seeks another Love.
Ah! cruel Sex, a Name to Faith unknown,
May they be curs'd who any have undone.
But she may change, the Sex for Change is fam'd,
By Faith and stretch'd out Arms she'll be reclaim'd;
For cruel Love instructs us to sustain
Vast Toils, and slight the Labour and the Pain.
He! cruel Love, directs us by his Care,
His Lash, and smarting Scourge content to bear.

190

There's more than Fiction in the Tale you've heard
Of me, how once I kept Admetus' Herd.
My Vocal Shell could then no Pleasure bring,
Nor sang I measure to the sounding String;
But with an Oaten Pipe was wont to rove,
Ev'n I, Latona's Son, and Progeny of Jove.
Fond Youth! you know not Love if e'er you fear
A Mistress' Frowns, and heavy Yoak to bear.
Nor doubt that tender Blandishments will fail.
O'er steely Breasts, oft soothing Prayers prevail.
What others do from Oracles believe,
Do thou more sure from my own Lips receive;
For Delius says, Neæra will be kind,
Nor more with various Passions change her Mind
For different Men: When this the God had said
I 'woke, and from my Eyes the Slumbers fled.

Ah! little did I dream of such a Time,
Or think that Breast could harbour such a Crime;

191

For thou'rt descended of a humane Birth,
No rapid Pontick Ocean brought thee forth;
No fierce Chimæra breathing fiery Death,
No Hellish Cerberus with triple Breath:
Nor did'st from Scylla barking Womb proceed
With Dogs enclos'd, nor from the Lyon's Breed:
Nor was thy Birth on barbarous Scythias Land,
Nor on the dangerous Shoals of Africk's Sand.
But of a Noble House, and lovely Pair,
Thy Father gen'rous, and thy Mother fair.
With Dreams like these may Phœbus fill my Mind
No more, but throw the Visions in the Wind.

ELEGY V.

You to th' Etrurian pleasing Baths retreat;
Baths dangerous in the sult'ry Summer's Heat,
But now prefer'd to Baja's, when his Wing
The Winter spreads, and yields to purple Spring.

192

For me, Persephone, with doubtless Power,
Denounces Death, and marks th' oblivious Hour.
Spare! Goddess, spare! and grant a longer Date
To Youth unworthy of so hard a Fate.
The Rites for Ceres, and for thee ordain'd,
Were never by my daring Tongue prophan'd:
My Hands ne'er charg'd the Cup with deadly Juice,
No Land gave pois'nous Simples for my Use;
Nor did I ever impious raise my Hands
To fire the sacred Fanes with flaming Brands.
Nor have my Thoughts injurious Ills design'd,
Nor meditated Mischiefs stain'd my Mind.
No Blasphemies did e'er my Lips distain,
Nor has my Tongue been us'd to talk prophane.
I'm Young, nor do my Jetty Locks give way
To the fair Hue of venerable Grey;
Nor bending Age has made me stoop as yet,
Nor giv'n his stagg'ring Motion to my Feet.

193

What Pleasure is there in the rash Design,
Of plucking unripe Clusters from the Vine?
Or with rough Hands the Apple-tree invade,
Soon as the Fruit is set, and Blossoms fade?
Spare, O! ye Pow'rs, who hold the livid Floods,
Tenants of dusky Shades, and gloomy Woods.
You to whom Lots decisive did ordain
The third Division, and Infernal Reign.
May I to Meads below my Journey take,
To fill the Boat, and cross the dreary Lake;
When Age has rifled my becoming Grace,
And scatter'd Paleness o'er my wrinkl'd Face.
When I, an ancient Sire, shall teach the Young,
And talk pass'd Actions to the list'ning Throng.

Pray Heaven these Apprehensions may be vain,
Though I have languish'd fifteen Days in Pain.

But you the sacred Deities revere,
And Nymphs who make the Tuscan Baths their Care;

194

And swiming while at Ease, your Limbs you lave
With easy Hand, disturb the smiling Wave.
Live happy, and your Days in Pleasure spend,
Always remembring of your absent Friend;
Whether we live and breath the Vital Air,
Or whether Fates will have it said we were;
Mean while, in Hopes my Illness may decrease,
Offer to Dis a Sheep with Sable Fleece;
And for Libation give the Pow'r divine,
A Bowl of snowy Milk, and ruddy Wine.

195

ELEGY VI.

Bacchus attend! So sacred be the Vine;
So may cool Ivy round thy Temples twine.
To heal my Grief thy generous Blessing pour:
Love oft has fled at thy superior Power.

Boy! Let the Glasses crown'd with Liquor stand,
And pour Falernian with a ready Hand.
Ye melancholy Train of Cares, away!
Let Phœbus shine on this auspicious Day,
And his white Steeds diffuse a lively Ray.

You, my dear Friends, the cheerful Banquet join,
Nor baulk your Glass while I dispose the Wine.
He that to join the drinking Match declines,
And shuns the Flavour of the generous Wines;
Him may his Favourite Girl with Wiles deceive,
Oft blind her Crimes, and he as oft believe.

196

The jolly God can Chearfulness impart,
Enlarge the Soul, and raise the joyful Heart;
He brings the stubborn underneath his Rein,
Disarms the Lover of his high Disdain,
And send him suppliant to the Fair again.
Th' Armenian Tyger with his spotted Pride,
The furious Lyon with his tawny Hide
He overcomes, their Anger can asswage,
Soften their Breasts, and quell their cruel Rage.
Love has an equal Power o'er things like these,
Nay can do greater Wonders if he please;
But what is that to us, let us attend
The Gifts that Bacchus does so freely send.
Come drink around, and let the Liquor pass;
Which of you loves to see an empty Glass?
'Tis just, nor Bacchus does the Rule decline,
That they who worship him should drink his Wine.

197

E're long he comes too fierce, and too severe;
Let him drink on who does his Anger fear.
How dire his Punishment, his Pow'r how great;
Agave's Rage will prove, and Pentheus' Fate.
But hence those Fears; let her who strives with Fraud
To veil her Baseness, dread the angry God.
Alas, what do I wish with thoughtless Mind?
May all those Pray'rs be scatter'd in the Wind.
For still believe me my ungenerous Fair,
Though I, neglected, am not worth your Care;
Yet I shall my unweary'd Pray'rs raise,
That you may spend a Life of prosp'rous Days.

But while I talk I trifle Time away;
Come let's repeat the circling Glass, I pray,
And after many Dark, enjoy one lightsome Day.

198

ELEGY VII.

Ah me! How hard it is to imitate
False Mirth; and mimick Chearfulness create!
When the uneasy Mind enjoys no Rest,
How forc'd the Laughter seems! how dull the Jest!
Ill suits the Mouth, the Smile when ill design'd,
Nor drunken Words express a chearful Mind.
Why do I thus complain? Vile Cares be gone!
Bacchus detests the melancholly Moan.
Fair Ariadne by false Vows betray'd,
While Theseus' treacherous Tongue deceiv'd the Maid:
Unheard you mourn'd, and unobserv'd you wept,
Upon a lonely desert Island left.
Thus Learn'd Catullus, in his moving Strain,
Repeats the Crimes of that ungrateful Man.

But such Examples being known, take Care,
And by another's Grief their Ills beware;

199

Let none deceive thee, tho' she Fondness shows,
Though round your Neck her winding Arms she throws;
Nor let her seize thee with her Syren's Song,
Nor all the sordid Flatteries of her Tongue:
Though by her Eyes she swears, thy Mind to move,
By her own Juno, and the Queen of Love.
There's nothing in it, Jove at Lovers Vows
Laughs, and in Air the idle Perj'ries throws.
Then why to such Complainings am I led?
Why dwell so long on one perfidious Maid?
Leave me, ye melancholly Words, I pray,
And hence ye dull Reflections far away.
How could I, blest with thee, long Nights employ?
And how with thee the longest Day enjoy:
Perfidious Maid! I ne'er deserv'd this Ill;
False as you are,—tho' false, yet lovely still,

Bacchus the Naïd loves, why do you stay?
With Tibers Flood the raging Wine allay.

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Tho' hum'rous the fantastick Maid denies
Her Presence, and conceal'd in Secret lies:
Shall I all Night intreat, and beg and pine?
Not I; here, Boy, come give me stronger Wine.
While round my Locks the Tyrian Odours shed,
I ought with glowing Flow'rs to bind my Head.

217

Book IV.

A Panegyrick to Messala.

Messala , Thee, I sing, although thy Name,
Thy well-known Merit, and thy spreading Fame
Startle me, lest I feebly should repeat
A Verse inferior to Desert so great;
But tho' unequal to the Theme I raise,
Yet I'll attempt at least to sing thy Praise:

218

I, the Designer of an humble Verse,
Since none with Justice can thy Praise rehearse,
Unless he had thy Language to express,
And cloth thy mighty Deeds with manly Dress;
A Task superior to my trifling Skill,
Yet take (if the Performance fails) the Will;
Let that suffice, nor thou the Gift refuse,
The humble Tribute of an humble Muse.

Thus Phœbus kind receiv'd with smiling Chear
The little Gift the Cretan could prefer.
Thus Icarus, by his Cœlestial Guest,
Bacchus, was far prefer'd before the rest,
As those bright Signals in the Heavens declare,
Fair Virgo, and the scorching Syrian Star:
Alcides destin'd for unbounded Pow'r,
Oft visited the poor Molorchus' Bow'r.
The Gods above do not mean Off'rings scorn,
Nor always claim the Ox with gilded Horn;

219

So may this humble Verse, so small it be,
Come an accepted Off'ring due to thee;
That I encourag'd may, in time repeat
A Verse more worthy, and thy Praise more great.

Others inspir'd with a sublimer Flame,
May sing the vast Creation's wond'rous Frame;
And how the Earth is press'd with Air around,
And how the circling Sea confines the Ground;
And how the fluid Body of the Air
Is mov'd with constant Motion here and there;
And lightly wafting upwards does aspire,
To join the high and pure Æthereal Fire,
And lastly, those different those Bodies lie
Enclos'd with the vast Concave of the Sky.

But, if my Verse can well express thy Praise,
Or (what's a desperate Thought) can higher raise:

220

Or if it cannot to thy Name be just,
But sinks below thy Worth, as sure it must,
Whatever Thoughts are spread in every Line,
Whate'er I sing, the votive Verse be thine.

You, tho' your Race illustriously are known,
Unsatisfy'd with Honours handed down;
Still follow Glory with a steddy Pace,
And emulate the Greatness of your Race;
Thus all those Merits which your Fathers knew,
Your Sons may see again reviv'd in you.

Nor shall an empty Title hold thy Fame,
But endless Volumes shall record your Name:
Crowds shall contend to have thy Worth declar'd,
The Orator, Historian, and the Bard:
But may the Task at length on me be laid,
That so my Name may with thy Deeds be read.

221

For who can greater Cause for Praises yield
Than you? Or in the Forum or the Field,
With equal Worth you claim a just Renown,
Brac'd in the Helmet, or the peaceful Gown.
The spreading Lawrels lie in equal Scales,
And neither Pendant Hemisphere prevails:

You if the giddy Vulgar rise to Rage,
Appease their Fury, and their Heat asswage.
Nor Pylus, nor could Ithaca contain
So great a Worthy in their boasted Train:
Nor Nestor noted for his vast Renown,
Nor great Ulisses of a little Town;
Tho' One had seen Three hundred Suns go round
Their Annual Courses, and revive the Ground:
The other all the Cities did explore,
Where e'er the farthest Sea includes the Shore.

222

He overcame the Thracians fierce in Arms,
Nor was subdu'd by Lotophagian Charms.
He check'd the one-ey'd Monster's fell Design,
Making him drunk with Maronean Wine.
Æolian Gales he carry'd o'er the Sea,
And to the Lastrygonians took his Way.
Rough Race! o'er whom Antiphates was King,
Where cool Artacia spreads her limpid Spring.
Circe's bewitching Arts by him were known;
Circe! the pow'rful Daughter of the Sun,
Who by her Skill in Magick Simples knew
To change old Nature's Forms to Bodies new:
Then to Cimmerion Caves he took his Way
Where never Phœbus rous'd the lightsome Day,
Whether above the Earth, or underneath the Sea.
He view'd the dark Plutonian Coasts below,
There saw the Demi-gods, and Heroes go,
Mingled among the Spectres too and fro.

223

Secure his easie Vessel sail'd along,
Unstop'd by the alluring Syren's Song:
Him steering 'twixt the Jaws of Death his Course,
Nor Scylla could afright with rapid Source;
Tho' dreadful and tremendously she raves,
Girt round with barking Dogs beneath the Waves:
Nor could Charybdis, with tempestuous Sea,
Destroy his Vessel in her usual Way:
Nor when to Heaven uprose the Waves profound,
Nor when Dividing they disclos'd the Ground:
Nor shall I pass Great Jove's severe Award,
Declar'd for Phœbus' violated Herd:
Nor how at length he fair Calypso found
Her generous Love, and hospitable Ground:
Nor how Phœacia was the happy Isle
That clos'd his Journey, and reliev'd his Toil.

Now whether these were in the World we know,
Or Fables, feign them in some World below;

224

Let him his Labour boast, and hardy Deed,
While you in moving Eloquence exceed.

In you the ready Skill of War is found,
How to intrench the Camp, and raise the Ground;
And how against the adverse Host oppose,
Defensive Pallisadoes plac'd in Rows,
And where to lead the Ditch, and Ground inclose.
And e're you pitch the Camp, to choose that Ground
Which does with pure refreshing Springs abound;
Swift through your Troops Communications go,
Which are cut off before they reach the Foe.
You various Sports, and active Games devise
To keep the Troops in Manly Exercise.

What Chief like you can toss the pond'rous Spear?
Or send the flying Arrow through the Air?

225

Or throw the Jav'lin with an Arm so strong,
To cut the Air, and drive the Clouds along?
Or who direct the fiery Courser's Will?
Or moderate the Rein with greater Skill?
Or ride th' extended Race with swifter Force,
Or wheel the circ'ling Ring, and round repeated Course?
Or who more ready heaves the Shield in Fight?
To guard the Left Side, or secure the Right?
To ward with sure Defence, or here, or there,
And take the Fury of th' invading Spear.

In Time, when raging Mars with Fury glows,
When Ensigns, Ensigns face, and Spears do Spears oppose,
Then you in meet Array the Squadrons place,
And fix the Battle with a threat'ning Face,
Whether you join them in a solid Square,
That equal Sides compact, the Foes may dare;
Or into other Forms the Battle fling,
And lead the Souldiers to a spreading Wing;

226

That either may a mutual Aid dispence,
And guard each other with a joint Defence.

But let me not uncertain Trophies raise,
For Wars I sing, and Wars shall firm thy Praise:
Witness th' Illyrians taught the Roman Sway,
The base Pannonian Rebels to obey:
And Arupinum taken, which did yield,
One born to Arms, and constant in the Field:
Poor and unknown, him whosoe'er had seen,
Unbroke with Age, and ev'n in Winter green.
With Less Surprise would hear the Story told
Of Rev'rend Nestor's Fame, three Cent'ries old;
For tho' since first he had receiv'd his Birth,
A hundred Annual Suns had warm'd the Earth;
He springing in the Saddle press'd the Horse,
And fix'd, he sat him in the swiftest Course:
An able Vet'ran for the dusty Plains,
And a just Moderator of the Reins.

227

Subdu'd by Thee, when all their Pow'r was vain,
They bent their Necks beneath the Roman Chain.

But these shall not suffice to speak thy Praise,
Actions to come shall greater Honours raise;
For I, have more surprizing Things in View,
From Omens sure as e'er Melampus knew.
For on that Day when you sublimely Great,
Was cloth'd in Purple, and enrob'd in State;
The Sun above the Ocean rais'd his Head,
And o'er the Earth uncommon Lustre spread:
The Seas with swelling Billows rise no more,
But roll'd their silent Waters to the Shore;
The struggling Winds their noisy Discord cease,
And every whisp'ring Gale lay hush'd in Peace.
No Bird did through the Air his Journey steer,
Or shook his whistling Pinions in the Air:
No Savage Beasts were Grazing in the Shade;
But all stood silent at the Vows you made.

228

Jove in his Chariot wafted through the Air,
Left his Olympus to receive thy Pray'r;
And seem'd intent to bend a list'ning Ear.
Th' assenting Pow'r to every Word you said,
Gave the Majestick Nod, and wav'd his Head:
Sudden the shining Altars seem'd more bright,
And shooting Flames diffus'd a greater Light.

The Gods approve! begin the mighty Deed.
For thee uncommon Triumphs are decreed.
Not Neighbouring Gallia shall confine thy Course,
Nor vast Hispania with its savage Force;
Nor wealthy Confines which the Tyrians sow,
Nor where the Nile and great Choaspes flow:
Nor where swift Gyndes does the Land divide,
The lasting Proof of Cyrus' foolish Pride:
Nor where the Waters through their sulph'rous Veins,
Diffuse the Heat to Arectæan Plains:
Nor that vast Land where Thomyris bore Sway,
And swift Araxes rolls his rapid Way:

229

Nor vile Padæans at the furthest East,
Who load their Tables with a hateful Feast:
Nor where the Hebrus spreads his Golden Sand,
Nor where the Tanais laves the Scythian Land.

But why should I insist on these alone,
When thy vast Conquest the whole World shall own:
For thee Remains the distant British Shore,
Unbent by Roman Pow'r, a Conquest yet in Store;
For thee remains, the farthest torrid Zone,
Regions remote, and Countries yet unknown.

For Air does this terraqueous Globe surround,
And five Divisions in the Orb are found;
Two Parts whereof in chilly Regions lie
Perpetual Frosts, and an inclement Sky.
The Earth is there with Darkness wrap'd around,
And sullen Night sits brooding o'er the Ground:

230

No living Waters there the Earth divide,
Nor cheerful Streams in pleasant Wand'rings glide;
But everlasting Ice the Floods constrains,
And Drifts of Snow o'erspread the dreary Plains;
There never did the Sun diffuse a Ray,
Or give the cheerful Promise of a Day.

The Middle Regions feel the scorching Sun,
Whether he nearer brings our Summer on:
Or when he does a swifter Course display,
And wheels in Circles short the Wint'ry Day:
Therefore the Plough is never there in Use,
No Corn the Fields, nor Herbs the Lands produce;
No God indulgent makes the Fields his Care,
Bacchus and Ceres never visit there.
No Cattle there can graze the smoaking Ground;
There nothing that possesses Life is Found.

Between this freezing Cold, and scorching Heat,
Our temperate Zone is plac'd a happy Seat:

231

To this oppos'd, a fellow Climate lies,
The same Meridian holds, and temp'rate Skies.
Here first the stubborn Steer to toil was broke,
And Oxen bent their Neck beneath the Yoke.
Here Vines were taught their flexile Shoots to ease,
And hang their Clusters on the neighbouring Trees,
And Annual Harvest gave a large Increase.
Here first the Earth receiv'd the vexing Plough,
And first the Sea was rais'd with brazen Prow:
Then by degrees at distance Cities rise,
And swelling Walls and Tow'rs divide the Skies:

Therefore where e'er by Fame thy Acts are hurl'd,
They shall be known by all in either World.
For me, I cannot so much Praise rehearse,
Tho' Phœbus should himself inspire my Verse.
But Valgius, he can swell a Warrior's Name;
Valgius next Homer in eternal Fame.

232

The Works will not my Leasure Hours decay,
Tho' Fortune vexes me, as is her way.

For I could once command a stately Seat,
Splendedly wealthy, and sublimely great:
And yellow Harvests waving o'er the Plain,
Seem'd to o'ercrowd my Fields with Golden Grain.
When my unnumber'd Flock of Flocks were fled,
And o'er the Hills in crowded Herds were spread:
Sufficient for their Lord my Lambs did stray,
And too, too many for the Beasts of Prey;
But now of every pleasing View bereft,
Reflection on their Loss is all I've left.
Fresh Grief I feel, and still repeated Cares,
Oft as I cast my Eye on former Years.

But tho' the Fates with more severe Decrees,
Shall fix a Train of Heavier Woes than these:
Yet still unwearied with my Misery,
The Muse shall never fail to sing of thee.

233

Nor will the Muse alone suffice to prove
How much I prize my Friend, how much I love.
For thee! I'd run the Hazard of the Sea,
And tempt the roughest of the Waves for thee.
For thee! I singly could whole Troops oppose,
Or throw my self, where flaming Ætna glows.

And while I think you but regard my Name,
I neither wish the Lydian Realms to claim,
Nor the vast Honours of Gylippus' Fame:
Nor would I ask Apollo to inspire
My Muse with Homer's Strength and lasting Fire;
If but this humble Verse can pleasing be,
No Time shall stop my Tongue from praising thee.

And when I've suffer'd Fate's unalter'd Doom,
Clos'd in the gloomy Mansion of a Tomb.
If Death in Time shall make his forceful Rape,
Or I survive, tho' in a different Shape:

234

If as a Horse I beat the dusty Plain,
Or in a Bull's Majestick Form remain;
Or if I as a Feather'd Fowl appear,
And beat with flutt'ring Wings the Fluid Air,
Or in a Humane Form increase my Days,
I'll always fill whole Volumes with thy Praise.

To MARS.

In Praise of Sulpicia.

In all her Charms is fair Sulpicia drest,
To grace thy Calends, and attend thy Feast;
To view the Maid, leave th' Ætherial Height;
Indulgent Venus will permit the Sight:
But come prepar'd, least Beauties' Influence move,
And sink the gazing Warrior into Love:
For when the angry God of fierce Desire,
Intends to set th' immortal Pow'rs on Fire;
He, to revive th' extinguish'd Torches, flies
To the bright Lustre of her sparkling Eyes.

235

Her ev'ry Action, every Motion warms
The Breast, with secret and resistless Charms;
Insensibly she fires, while Graces gay
Direct her Footsteps, and attend her Way.

If loose, she waves the Tresses of her Hair,
The easy Negligence becomes the Fair;
If comb'd, the glossy Locks are ty'd behind,
In Fillets bound, or plated Braids confin'd:
The lovely Maid no less invites the Eye,
With study'd Dress, and artful Decency.
She fires with aweful Majesty when drest,
In glowing Purple, and the Tyrian Vest;
She fires us, when like soft descending Snows,
Around her Feet the shining Stola flows;
So on Olympus, everlasting Rise,
A Thousand Forms the gay Vertumnus tries,
Graceful in all, and Bright in each Disguise.

236

For her, the Tyrians fleecy Wooll infuse,
Twice to imbibe the Dye, and Purple Juice:
For her, what e'er his od'rous Harvest yields,
The rich Arabian sends from Spicy Fields;
For her, the Bord'rer on the Eastern Sea,
The Tawny Indian takes his toilsome Way,
Along the ruddy Sand, and shelly Shore,
To find the lucid Pearl, and shining Store.
Ye Vocal Nine, your tuneful Notes prepare,
And sing the Praises of the Heavenly Fair:
Hither Illustrious Phœbus come, and bring
The sounding Shell, and wake the Silver String;
And celebrate this Day, when it appears
In circ'ling Seasons, and revolving Years;
No Name like hers, so well becomes your Lays,
No Maid like her, so well deserves your Praise.

237

Sulpicia to Cerinthus. III.

Whatever Savage Boar shall graze around
The level Plain, or seek the Woodland Ground;
I charge you not to hurt my Favourite Boy,
Nor for the Fight your whetted Tusks employ.
May Guardian Love himself the Youth defend,
Danger avert, and all his Steps attend:
Oh! may Diana, and her Virgin Train,
Forbear the Pastimes of the sportive Plain.
Fade the fresh Verdure of the Forest Grounds,
And fail the opening Dogs, and swift-foot Hounds.

What Madness is it various Toils to lay,
T'enclose the woody Hills, and bushy Way;
Stretching thy Snares a-cross the rugged Lands,
While clinging Brambles raze thy Blood-stain'd Hands;
Or with a cautious Secrecy explore
The hidden Covert of the foamy Boar;

238

Attempt the Thicket which Access denies,
And tear with shaggy Thorn thy snowy Thighs.

But yet might I with my Cerinthus stray,
Might I be Sharer in the dangerous Way.
Your Hunting Toils I jointly would prepare
Throw out the Net, and spread the meshy Snare:
The flying Footing of the Deer I'd trace,
Unlink the Hounds, and cheer them in the Chace;
Then every Shade would please, and all the Plains;
While tender Talk the Minutes entertains;
A fresher Verdure then shall cloth the Groves,
While when the Snares are set, we celebrate our Loves;
While all the Savage Rangers of the Plain
Shall from our Snares in Safety 'scape again;
Destructive Watching then shall be no more,
Nor Venus' eager Sports disturb the Tusky Boar.

But when I'm gone let Love desist to play,
Nor Venus warm thy Breast when I'm away;

239

Submit thee to Diana' chast Command,
And spread the Nets with an unsully'd Hand;
And may the Maid that violates my Love,
A Prey to fierce and savage Tygers prove.

But you, Cerinthus, leave the Plains a while,
And to thy Father leave the sportive Toil;
And swiftly let me with thy Sight be blest,
To glad my Arms, and warm my impatient Breast.

To Phoebus. IV.

Hither attend, and by thy healing Aid,
For rough Disease relieve my tender Maid;
Hither attend with thy propitious Care
Illustrious Phœbus with the flowing Hair:
Auspicious Power! at my Request draw nigh,
Nor scorn, with thy own Hands, the Med'cines to apply.
Take heed no hateful palid Hue be spread
O'er her pure Skin, or her fair Limbs invade;

240

And all she undergoes, and all we fear,
Throw in the Floods, or scatter in the Air:
Hither thou sacred Pow'r, and bring the Juice
Of Herbs, and all the Magick Songs you use,
Which raise the Spirits when with Pain oppress'd,
Support the Weak, and give the Wakeful Rest.
I beg you not to rack the tim'rous Boy,
Who does innumerable Vows employ
To ease his much-lov'd Maid, now Pray'rs are giv'n,
And now he blames the Gods, and rails at Heaven.

Cease my Cerinthus, and thy Fears remove,
The God will never injure those that love:
Do thou forever love, dismiss thy Fears,
Thy Maid's secure, then spare these falling Tears;
Those Tears reserve, and never let 'em flow
Till she forgets her Faith, and breaks her Vow.
But now the lovely Fair is all thy own,
Her Thoughts and Wishes tend to thee alone;

241

While all her Suiters, a deluded Train,
Wait at her Door, and supplicate in vain.

Phœbus be kind! what Praises will be due!
When you by healing One have succour'd Two!
Then thou well pleas'd when we invoke thy Name,
Shalt hear us loudly celebrate thy Fame,
And both appearing at thy hallow'd Shrine,
Return the Dues we owe, and offer Rites Divine;
Then all the Chorus of the Gods shall fill
Heav'n with thy Praise, and wish thy healing Skill.

Sulpicia on the Birth-Day of Cerinthus. V.

This sacred Day for ever happy be,
Which gave Cerinthus to the World and me;
A Time, which I for ever shall prefer
To all the other Feasts that mark the Year.

242

The fatal Sisters on this glorious Day,
Sang mighty Conquests, and extended Sway;
O'er blooming Maids, and all the tender Train,
And gave thee an extended Length of Reign;
But I am fir'd with a superior Flame,
Yet pleas'd I own it, nor esteem it Shame,
Cerinthus, if thy Bosom feels the fame.
O! may thy Passion equal mine, I pray,
By all thy am'rous Theft, and tender Play;
By those dear Eyes of thine, and by the Pow'r,
Thy Genius, who preserves each circling Hour.

Great Pow'r to Thee I Spice profusely throw,
Then hear my Pray'r, and listen to my Vow.
May the dear Youth, when e'er he hears my Name.
Glow with a kindly Warmth, and am'rous Flame;
But if in Falshood vers'd, and Treachery,
He sends his Vows to any Maid but me:
For such perfidious Acts, thou Pow'r Divine,
Desert thy Altars, and forsake thy Shrine.

243

Nor you, O! Venus, inauspicious prove,
To let Cerinthus violate our Love;
O! grant that we devoted both to thee,
May love alike, or set my Fetters free;
But rather both in lasting Bonds confine,
Bonds, which nor Time, nor Age may e'er dis-join.
Cerinthus' Wishes are the same I know,
While he in Privacy prefers his Vow,
Left publickly his Cheeks with Blushes glow.

But thou! O! Genial Pow'r, what he requires
Grant, or his publick, or his close Desires.

To Juno. VI.

Thou Sacred Power! fav'ring, receive whate'er
Of Spices we in od'rous Heaps prefer!
While waiting at thy Shrine Sulpicia stands,
And loads thy Altars with her snowy Hands.

244

Thee to adore, the due observant Fair,
Is dress'd with curious Art and nicest Care:
Yet though she honours thee with Rites like these,
There's one in secret she desires to please.

And you, O! Goddess, grant their Flame may last,
And equal Fetters to Cerinthus cast:
With such united Force secure their Love,
That none may th' unalter'd Charm remove:
May no new Beauty influence his Eye,
Nor she for any Youth in secret Sigh;
Deceive the Spy, who every Hour employs
To watch their Ways, and interrupt their Joys.
May Love instruct 'em, in his artful Slight,
And teach a thousand Ways to blind his Sight.
Come, Goddess, come, and grant my earnest Pray'r,
In Purple rob'd, and glowing from afar;
While thrice we offer Cates before thy Shrine,
And thrice Libations pour of Purple Wine.

245

Her Mother teaches her with pious Care,
For what to make her Vows, and raise her Pray'r.
But she, whose Bosom's fir'd with eager Flame,
In secret prays for what she dare not name.
She burns, she glows, with new and fierce Desires,
As on the Altars blaze the hasty Fires.
Pleas'd with the Pain, she chooses to endure,
And tho' 'tis in her Power she slights the Cure,
So make Sulpicia to Cerinthus dear,
That in the Circuit of another Year
We may the happy faithful Pair behold
Secure, and Love, in frequent Vows, grown old.

Sulpicia to Venus. VII.

Love smiling comes, whose Power I should conceal,
Nor tell those Joys I blush when I reveal.
Him Cytheræa mov'd by my Request,
Has brought, and lodg'd the Favourite in my Breast:

246

At length the Goddess has inclin'd her Aid,
And now performs the Promises she made.
Let them who have no Pleasures of their own
Repeat my Joys, and make my Triumphs known;
No Letters shall contain the dear Delight,
No Pen shall such excessive Raptures write,
No one shall know my Joy, 'till me they see,
And hear the glad Relation told by me:
Sweet is the Crime, yet still the noisy Fame
That Rumour spreads, will set my Cheeks on Flame;
When every one shall hear the Tale with Joy,
And speak me worthy of the lovely Boy.

Sulpicia to Messala. VIII.

Thy Birth-Day comes, but no Diversion yields,
In th' unpleasant, lonely Country Fields;
And while my dear Cerinthus is away,
'Twill prove a dull and an unpleasant Day.

247

What Place can, like the Town, afford Delight,
Should Maids in Villages be hid from Sight?
Confin'd in cold unpleasant Country Fields,
Nip'd by the Winds bleak Eretinus yields;
Rather, Messala, in the City stay,
Nor tempt a tiresome incommodious Way;
For I in Town shall leave my Soul behind,
Where'er contrary to my Will, confin'd.

Tibullus to Messala , on his Birth-Day. IX.

You know Sulpicia hates the toilsome Way,
Let her in Town observe the joyful Day.
Here we together, will our Mirth renew,
Upon a Day which comes unwish'd by you.

248

Sulpicia to Cerinthus. X.

The most obliging Carelesness you've shown
With conscious Gratitude I freely own;
To leave my Conduct wholly in my Power,
Nor fear th' Effects of an unguarded Hour:
No, rather let those Fears and Cares be shown
For some mean Prostitute about the Town.
Let the vile common Wretch deserve thy Care,
And not Sulpicia, Noble Servius' Heir.
Thy Rivals have my Actions in their View,
And fear my Slips of Conduct more than you.

Sulpicia to Cerinthus. XI.

Tell me, Cerinthus, in whose Love I'm blest,
Say does an equal Flame inspire thy Breast
With that which racks my Heart, and breaks my Rest:

249

I would not wish to be from Illness free,
Unless I thought my Cure would pleasure thee.
But what avails my Cure, or my Relief,
Since unconcern'd you see my Pain and Grief?

Sulpicia to Cerinthus. XII.

My Life! may I be less esteem'd by you
Than what I thought my self some Days ago?
If any Fault, if any trifling Crime
Of all my youthful Hours, and foolish Time,
E'er vex'd me more, than what I've lately done
Abruptly, leaving you last Night alone.
'Twas Slight; the little Artifice I try'd
To blind my Passion which I strove to hide.

250

To his Mistress. XIII.

No Woman shall estrange my Heart from you;
Venus is Witness to our solemn Vow:
Thy pleasing Charms can glad my Eyes alone,
And besides thee throughout the numerous Town
I cannot find a Maid deserves my Care,
Or view a Face that's tolerably fair.
And, O! that fair to me alone you prove,
Let others Scorn make me secure in Love.
Wherefore shou'd I another's Envy raise?
I slight the Glory of the publick Praise.
Vain Ostentation! let the Man that's wise
Rejoice in secret, when he gains a Prize:
With thee in lonely Woods I'd spend my Days,
Where never Humane Foot has press'd the Ways:
“Rest of my Cares! thou can'st the Night exclude,
“And from a Desert banish Solitude.
If from the Heaven should some Cœlestial Fair
Be sent, I would not think her worth my Care:

251

This by thy Juno's Pow'r I swear, whom I
Prefer to every other Deity.
But hold! unguarded Fool, what is't I do,
To lay the tenderest of my Thoughts to View
Now you'll insult me, now your Pow'r is strong,
This Evil comes from my licentious Tongue.
Subservient to your Will your Slave will prove,
Nor quit the Service of the Maid I love:
For I, confin'd by Love, in Magick Bands,
Will sit at Venus' Shrine with Fetter'd Hands,
Her Anger does the faithless Train pursue,
And her Assistance aids the suppliant Crew.

252

On the Baseness of his Mistress. XIV.

Report relates the Baseness of my Fair,
O! I could wish I had no Pow'r to hear,
Those Crimes with Torture do my Bosom fill;
Why do you vex me then? Report, be still.

FINIS.