[201] Not in Isham copy or ed. A.

[202] "Volturis in ramis et _strigis_ ova tulit."

[203] Old eds. "thy."

ELEGIA XIII.

Ad Auroram ne properet.

Now o'er the sea from her old love comes she That draws the day from heaven's cold axletree.

Aurora, whither slid'st thou? down again!

And birds for[204] Memnon yearly shall be slain.

Now in her tender arms I sweetly bide, If ever, now well lies she by my side.

The air is cold, and sleep is sweetest now, And birds send forth shrill notes from every bough.

Whither runn'st thou, that men and women love not?

Hold in thy rosy horses that they move not. 10 Ere thou rise, stars teach seamen where to sail, But when thou com'st, they of their courses fail.

Poor travellers though tired, rise at thy sight, And[205] soldiers make them ready to the fight.

The painful hind by thee to field is sent; Slow oxen early in the yoke are pent.

Thou coz'nest boys of sleep, and dost betray them To pedants that with cruel lashes pay them.

Thou mak'st the surety to the lawyer run, That with one word hath nigh himself undone. 20 The lawyer and the client hate thy view, Both whom thou raisest up to toil anew.

By thy means women of their rest are barred, Thou settst their labouring hands to spin and card.

All[206] could I bear; but that the wench should rise, Who can endure, save him with whom none lies?

How oft wished I night would not give thee place, Nor morning stars shun thy uprising face.

How oft that either wind would break thy coach, Or steeds might fall, forced with thick clouds' approach. 30 Whither go'st thou, hateful nymph? Memnon the elf Received his coal-black colour from thyself.

Say that thy love with Cephalus were not known, Then thinkest thou thy loose life is not shown?

Would t.i.thon might but talk of thee awhile!

Not one in heaven should be more base and vile.

Thou leav'st his bed, because he's faint through age, And early mount'st thy hateful carriage: But held'st[207] thou in thy arms some Cephalus, Then would'st thou cry, "Stay night, and run not thus." 40 Dost punish[208] me because years make him wane?

I did not bid thee wed an aged swain.

The moon sleeps with Endymion every day; Thou art as fair as she, then kiss and play.

Jove, that thou should'st not haste but wait his leisure, Made two nights one to finish up his pleasure.

I chid[209] no more; she blushed, and therefore heard me, Yet lingered not the day, but morning scared me.

FOOTNOTES:

[204] So Dyce for "from" of the old eds.

[205] This line is omitted in ed. A.

[206] Isham copy and ed. A "This."

[207] Isham copy and ed. A "had'st."

[208] Isham copy and ed. A "Punish ye me."

[209] So the Isham copy. The other old eds. "chide."

ELEGIA XIV.[210]

Puellam consolatur cui prae nimia cura comae deciderant.

Leave colouring thy tresses, I did cry; Now hast thou left no hairs at all to dye.

But what had been more fair had they been kept?

Beyond thy robes thy dangling locks had swept.

Fear'dst thou to dress them being fine and thin, Like to the silk the curious[211] Seres spin.

Or threads which spider's slender foot draws out, Fastening her light web some old beam about?

Not black nor golden were they to our view, Yet although [n]either, mixed of either's hue; 10 Such as in hilly Ida's watery plains, The cedar tall, spoiled of his bark, retains.

Add[212] they were apt to curl a hundred ways, And did to thee no cause of dolour raise.

Nor hath the needle, or the comb's teeth reft them, The maid that kembed them ever safely left them.

Oft was she dressed before mine eyes, yet never, s.n.a.t.c.hing the comb to beat the wench, outdrive her.

Oft in the morn, her hairs not yet digested, Half-sleeping on a purple bed she rested; 20 Yet seemly like a Thracian Baccha.n.a.l, That tired doth rashly[213] on the green gra.s.s fall.

When they were slender and like downy moss, Thy[214] troubled hairs, alas, endured great loss.

How patiently hot irons they did take, In crooked trannels[215] crispy curls to make.

I 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[216] painted stands, All naked holding in her wave-moist hands.

Why dost thy ill-kembed tresses' loss lament?

Why in thy gla.s.s 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[217] 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.

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[210] Not in Isham copy or ed. A.

[211] The original has "colorati Seres."

[212] So ed. B.--Ed. C "And."

[213] "Temere."

[214] Old eds. "They."