Ovid's Elegies Page 01
OVID'S ELEGIES
(P. Ovidius Naso, Amores)
Translated by Christopher Marlowe
BOOK ONE BOOK 1, ELEGY 1
Quemadmodum a Cupidine pro bellis amores scribere coactus sit (How he is obliged by Cupid to write of love instead of war)
We which were Ovid's five books, now are three, For these before the rest preferreth he: If reading five thou plainst of tediousness, Two ta'en away, thy labour will be less: With Muse upreared I meant to sing of arms, Choosing a subject fit for fierce alarms: Both verses were alike till Love (men say) Began to smile and took one foot away. Rash boy, who gave thee power to change a line? We are the Muses' prophets, none of thine. What if thy Mother take Diana's bow, Shall Dian fan when love begins to glow? In woody groves ist meet that Ceres reign, And quiver-bearing Dian till the plain: Who'll set the fair tressed sun in battle ray, While Mars doth take the Aonian harp to play? Great are thy kingdoms, over-strong and large, Ambitious imp, why seek'st thou further charge? Are all things thine? The Muses' Tempe thine? Then scarce can Phoebus say, this harp is mine. When in this work's first verse I trod aloft, Love slacked my Muse, and made my numbers soft. I have no mistress, nor no favourite, Being fittest matter for a wanton wit, Thus I complained, but Love unlocked his quiver, Took out the shaft, ordained my heart to shiver: And bent his sinewy bow upon his knee, Saying, 'Poet here's a work beseeming thee'. Oh woe is me, he never shoots but hits, I burn, Love in my idle bosom sits. Let my first verse be sixe, my last five feet, Farewell sterne war, for blunter poets meet. Elegian Muse, that warblest amorous lays, Girt my shine brow with sea-banke' myrtle praise.
BOOK 1, ELEGY 2
Quod primo amore correptus, in triumphum duci se a Cupidine patiatur (That, being carried away by first love, he suffers himself to be led in triumph by Cupid)
What makes my bed seem hard, seeing it is soft? Or why slips down the coverlet so oft? Although the nights be long, I sleep not though My sides are sore with tumbling to and fro. Were Love the cause, it's like I should descry him, Or lies he close, and shoots where none can spy him? T'was so, he stroke me with a slender dart, Tis cruel love turmoils my captive heart. Yielding or striving do we give him might, Let's yield, a burden eas'ly borne is light. I saw a brandished fire increase in strength, Which being not shaked, I saw it die at length. Yong oxen newly yoked are beaten more, Than oxen which have drawn the plough before. And rough jades mouths with stubburn bits are torn, But managed horses' heads are lightly borne, Unwilling lovers, love doth more torment, Than such as in their bondage feel content. Lo I confess, I am thy captive I, And hold my conquered hands for thee to tie. What needs thou war, I sue to thee for grace, With arms to conquer armless men is base, Yoke Venus' doves, put myrtle on thy hair, Vulcan will give thee chariots rich and fair. The people thee applauding thou shalt stand, Guiding the harmless pigeons with thy hand. Young men and women, shalt thou lead as thrall, So will thy triumph seem magnifical. I lately caught, will have a new-made wound, And captive-like be manacled and bound. Good meaning, shame, and such as seek Love's wrack Shall follow thee, their hands tied at their back. Thee all shall fear and worship as a King, Io, triumphing shall thy people sing. Smooth speeches, fear and rage shall by thee ride, Which troops hath always been on Cupid's side: Thou with these soldiers conquerest gods and men, Take these away, where is thy honour then? Thy mother shall from heaven applaud this show, And on their faces heaps of roses strow. With beauty of thy wings, thy fair hair gilded, Ride golden Love in chariots richly builded. Unless I err, full many shalt thou burn, And give wounds infinite at every turn. In spite of thee, forth will thy arrows fly, A scorching flame burns all the standers-by. So, having conquered Inde, was Bacchus' hue, Thee pompous birds and him two tigers drew. Then seeing I grace thy show in following thee, Forbear to hurt thyself in spoiling me. Behold thy kinsman's Caesar's prosperous bands, Who guards the conquered with his conquering hands.