BOOK 2, ELEGY 6
In mortem psittaci (On the death of a parrot)
The parrot, from east India to me sent, Is dead, all fowls her exequies frequent. Go goodly birds, striking your breasts bewail, And with rough claws your tender cheeks assail. For woeful hairs let piece-torn plumes abound, For long shrill'd trumpets let your notes resound. Why, Philomel, dost Tereus' lewdness mourn? All wasting years have that complaint outworn. Thy tunes let this rare bird's sad funeral borrow, Itis is great, but ancient cause of sorrow. All you whose pinions in the clear air soar, But most, thou friendly turtle-dove, deplore. Full concord all your lives was you betwixt, And to the end your constant faith stood fix'd. What Pylades did to Orestes prove, Such to the parrot was the turtle-dove. But what availed this faith? Her rarest hue? Or voice that how to change the wild notes knew? What helps it thou wert given to please my wench, Birds hapless glory, death thy life doth quench. Thou with thy quills might'st make green emeralds dark, And pass our scarlet of red saffrons mark. No such voice-feigning bird was on the ground, Thou spok'st thy words so well with stammering sound. Envy hath rapt thee, no fierce wars thou mov'dst, Vain babbling speech, and pleasant peace thou lov'dst. Behold how quails among their battles live, Which do perchance old age unto them give. A little fill'd thee, and for love of talk, Thy mouth to taste of many meats did balk. Nuts were thy food, and poppy caused thee sleep, Pure water's moisture thirst away did keep. The ravenous vulture lives, the puttock hovers Around the air, the caddesse rain discovers, And crows survive arms-bearing Pallas' hate, Whose life nine ages scarce bring out of date. Dead is that speaking image of man's voice, The parrot given me, the far world's best choice. The greedy spirits take the best things first, Supplying their void places with the worst. Thersites did Protesilaus survive, And Hector died, his brothers yet alive. My wench's vows for thee what should I show, Which stormy south-winds into sea did blow? The seventh day came, none following might'st thou see, And the Fates' distaff empty stood to thee, Yet words in thy benumbed palate rung: 'Farewell Corinna' cried thy dying tongue. Elisium hath a wood of holm-trees black, Whose earth doth not perpetual green grass lack, There good birds rest (if we believe things hidden) Whence unclean fowls are said to be forbidden. There harrnless swans feed all abroad the river, There lives the Phoenix, one alone bird ever. There Juno's bird displays his gorgeous feather, And loving doves kiss eagerly together. The parrot into wood receiv'd with these, Turns all the goodly birds to what she please. A grave her bones hides, on her corpse great grave, The little stones these little verses have: 'This tomb approves, I pleased my mistress well, My mouth in speaking did all birds excel'.
BOOK 2, ELEGY 7
Amicae se purgat, quod ancillam non amet (He clears himself of his mistress's accusation that he loves her maid)
Dost me of new crimes always guilty frame? To overcome, so oft to fight I shame. If on the Marble Theatre I look, One among many is to grieve thee took. If some fair wench me secretly behold, Thou arguest she doth secret marks unfold. If I praise any, thy poor hairs thou tear'st, If blame, dissembling of my fault thou fear'st. If I look well, thou think'st thou dost not move, If ill, thou say'st I die for others' love. Would I were culpable of some offence, They that deserve pain, bear 't with patience. Now rash accusing, and thy vain belief, Forbid thine anger to procure my grief. Lo, how the miserable great-ear'd ass, Dull'd with much beating slowly forth doth pass. Behold Cypassis wont to dress thy head, Is charg'd to violate her mistress' bed. The gods from this sin rid me of suspicion, To like a base wench of despis'd condition. With Venus' game who will a servant grace? Or any back made rough with stripes embrace? Add, she was diligent thy locks to braid, And for her skill to thee a grateful maid. Should I solicit her that is so just To take repulse, and cause her show my lust? I swear by Venus, and the wing'd boy's bow, My self unguilty of this crime I know.