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Oft in the morn, her hairs not yet digested.

Half-sleeping on a purple bed she rested ;

Yet seemly like a Thracian Bacchanal,

That tired doth rashly ^ on the green grass fall.

When they were slender and like downy moss,

Thy * troubled hairs, alas, endured great loss.

How patiently hot irons they did take,

In crooked trannels ^ crispy curls to make.



I The original has " colorati Seres."
•>■ Soed. B.— Ed. C "And."

3 " Temere."

4 Oldeds. "They."

5 Cunningham and the editor of 1826 may be right in reading
"trammels" {i.e., ringlets). "Trannel" was the name for a bodkin.
'I he original has " Ut tieret torto flexilis orbe sinus."



Ovid's Elegies. 135

1 cried, "'Tis sin, 'tis sin, these hairs to burn,
They well become thee, then to spare them turn.
Far off be force, no fire to them may reach,
Thy very hairs will the hot bodkin teach." 30

Lost are the goodly locks, which from their crown,
Phoebus and Bacchus wished were hanging down.
Such were they as Diana ^ painted stands,
All naked holding in her wave-moist hands.
Why dost thy ill-kembed tresses' loss lament ?
Why in thy glass dost look, being discontent }
Be not to see with wonted eyes inclined ;
To please thyself, thyself put out of mind.
No charmed herbs of any harlot scathed thee,
No faithless witch in Thessal waters bathed thee. 40

No sickness harmed thee (far be that away !),
No envious tongue wrought thy thick locks' decay.
By thine own hand and fault thy hurt doth grow,
Thou mad'st thy head with compound poison flow.
Now Germany shall captive hair-tires send thee,
And vanquished people curious dressings lend thee.
Which some admiring, O thou oft wilt blush !
And say, " He likes me for my borrowed bush,
Praising for me some unknown Guelder'^ dame ;
But I remember when it was my fame." 50

Alas, she almost weeps, and her white cheeks,
Dyed red with shame, to hide from shame she
seeks.



1 " Nuda Dione."

•1 .- Xescio quam pro me laudat nunc iste Sygambram."



I 36 Ovid ^s Elegies.

She holds, and views her old locks in her lap ;
Ay me ! rare gifts unworthy such a hap !
Cheer up thyself, thy loss thou may'st repair,
And be hereafter seen with native hair.

Electa XV.

Ad invidos, quod fama poetarum sit perennis.

Envy, why carp'st thou my time's spent so ill ?
And term'st ^ my works fruits of an idle quill ?
Or that unlike the line from whence I sprung ^
War's dusty honours are refused being young ?
Nor that I study not the brawling laws,
Nor set my voice to sail in every cause ?
Thy scope is mortal ; mine, eternal fame.
That all the world may ^ ever chant my name.
Homer shall live while Tenedos stands and Ide,
Or to * the sea swift Simois shall '" slide.
Ascrseus lives while grapes with new wine swell,
Or men with crooked sickles corn down fell.
The ^ world shall of Callimachus ever speak ;
His art excelled, although his wit was weak.
For ever lasts high Sophocles' proud vein;
With sun and moon Aratus shall remain.



1 Isham copy and ed. A " tearmes our."

2 Dyce's correction for " come " of the old eds.
=' Isham copy and ed. A " might."

* So Isham copy and ed. A. — Dyce follows ed. B, "Or into sea.
•'■> So Isham copy and ed. A. — Ed. B " doth."

* Isham copy and ed. A omit this line and the next.



Ovid 's Elegies. 1 3 7

While bondmen cheat, fothers [be] liard,^ bawds whorish,

And strumpets flatter, shall Menandcr flourish.

Rude Ennius, and Plautus - full of wit,

Are both in Fame's eternal legend writ. 20

What age of Varro's name shall not be told,

And Jason's Argo,^ and the fleece of gold ?

Lofty Lucretius shall live that hour,

That nature shall dissolve this earthly bower.

yEneas' war and Tityrus shall be read,

While Rome of all the conquered * world is head.

Till Cupid's bow, and fiery shafts be broken.

Thy verses, sweet TibuUus, shall be spoken.

And Gallus shall be known from East to West ;

So shall Lycoris whom he lov^d best. 30

Therefore when flint and iron wear away,

Verse is immortal and shall ne'er decay.

To^ verse let kings give place and kingly shows.

The banks o'er which gold-bearing Tagus flows.

Let base-conceited wits admire vild things ;

Fair Phoebus lead me to the Muses' springs.

About my head be quivering myrtle wound,

And in sad lovers' heads let me be found.

The living, not the dead, can envy bite,

For after death all men receive their right. 40



' So Dyce. — Old eds. " fathers hoord." (" Z)z


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Online LibraryChristopher MarloweThe works of Christoher Marlowe; (Volume 3) → online text (page 8 of 18)