OVID'S FESTIVALS, OR Roman Calendar, Translated into English verse equinumerally, By John Gower Master of Arts, and sometimes of Jesus College in Cambridge.  
Nasonem Nasus me fecit penè secundum:  
De te, Lector, erit, si quoque penna facit.  
Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the University of Cambridge. 1640.   

To his much honoured and most Worthy friend Mr John Ethredge, Bachelor of Divinity, and Vicar of Halsted in Essex.  
Reverend Sir,  
I Am bold to present to your favourable acceptance and friendly patronage this worthy translation of Ovid's Festivals. I will beg no pardon for my presumption herein, for that were to traduce a friendly office, and to question the candour of your ingenuous disposition. To you I commit this orphan Muse, which cannot die with the deceased Parent, but under your grave protection will grow up and flourish and wrestle with eternity. To my knowledge, the Author of this Translation in the sincerity of his best affection always honoured you, and I am confident that out of the engagements of those respects he bore you, had dedicated this his ensuing work unto you, had Fate lent him longer life, as a pledge and testimony of his undissembled love. To you therefore, most worthy Sr, I send this his learned Posthume, which humbly imploreth your smile upon it and care over it, and that you would lovingly take it into the bosom of your courtesy and there cherish it. In so doing you shall engage the devoted gratitude of those friends it hath, and satisfy the earnest request of  
Your most respective friend Edward Albiston.   

On Ovid's Festivals translated.  
AS the well-bred Gentleman, whom Nature's hand  
Hath given a taste of something more than land,  
Now travelling to study and learn France,  
Becomes their habits well, their mood and dance,  
And, though translated hence from native place,  
Reteins his virtue still with foreign grace,  
And speaks the language in so acquaint a phrase  
That he both English doth and French amaze:  
So here the Poet which is Sulmo 's fame  
Keeps up in a strange dialect his name;  
Clothed in the Britain garb and modest fashion  
Loseth no virtue of the Latin nation,  
But Arethusa-like, his purest strain  
Preserves, though passing through the English vein.  
So choice had his own words been, if worse meant,  
The Sirens first had suffered banishment.  
Well 'mongst the memorables this shall be  
Involved in future ages registry,  
And give a note unto this year: Who e'er  
Saw such good numbers in a Calendar?  
So sweetly ran those milky streams of old,  
When first the newborn world did shine with gold.  
Such was the subtle thread Minerva spun  
When she the garland from Arachne won.  
So in the rainbow twisted colours shine,  
Whose neat transition who can define?  
Live then, our English Ovid; let thy fame  
Mingle with Naso's, and become the same.  
Challenge thy due: Others do not translate,  
But strip their Authors and excoriate.  
C. M.   

Upon the ingenious translation of Ovid's Fasti, entitled, The Roman Calendar.  
ON this book, Reader, lay thy hand and swear,  
Ovid himself is Metamorphosed here.  
Was his old Roman gown threadbare and old,  
Whom thou hast robbed in cloth of English gold?  
'Twere infidelity to think (I trow)  
His Muse with golden feet a begging go.  
Yet I admire at this unwonted store:  
Poet had ne'er two suits at once before.  
Who views these wel-formed lines with judgement, shall  
Think 't not translated but Original:  
'T is known what blood by these most active strains  
The Muse of Ovid carried in her veins.  
Compare them both and you shall find it true,  
The gold 's the same, but the impression 's new.  
The noble heat of thy inspired brain  
Tried, found it pure, and minted it again.  
'Tis so true done, it seems in every line  
Thy soul was in his breast, or his in thine.  
He 's metempsychosed, and these verses fame  
Speak but old Ovid in a newer name.  
O had my thoughts but seen the sense, when thine  
Untied the knots of every golden line,  
I might have learned to make a verse by thee,  
In viewing Wit in its Anatomy.  
Thy modest Muse doth not know how to roar  
Like a Xantippe or an Oyster whore.  
Thy breath is short but sweet: It shows thy style  
Runs like smooth Helicon, not troubled Nile:  
Not like bold ignorance, whose thundering words  
Strike the sense dead, whose saucy vein affords  
Nothing but wind and storm, at length to have  
Their wit o'rwhelmed in the troubled wave.  
Now Ovid hath his wish, that he may be  
In English read upon a Lady's knee.  
The Roman Caesar's placed their names upon  
The gladded brow of every crowned moon;  
And to preserve their Saints deceased fames,  
Into their Calendar enroled their names.  
Thy name outfaceth all their glories; here  
It fills a Calendar and crowns a Year.  
'T is thou alone dost not subscribe to Fate:  
Thy Calendar shall ne'er be out of Date.  
Isaac Tinckler, Coll. G. & C.   

On the translation of Ovid's Festivals.  
AM I awake! or do mine eyes put on  
Some dreams fantastic apparition?  
My fancy 's much perplexed to find whenever this  
Be Ovid, or his Metamorphosis.  
Just so the learned Roman used to talk,  
With the same voice, with the same steps to walk.  
Just so his Muse did flow, just in such state  
Did sing, when he Rome's Feasts did celebrate.  
There 's not an accent from the Latin fell,  
But here in English 't is expressed as well.  
And I dare hardly call this a translation,  
But the same Latin in the English fashion;  
Decked in such neat attire, so rich, and dear  
That Julia could not choose but love him here:  
And angry Caesar needs must be content  
His exiled Muse to call from banishment.  
Divine Translator! tell me; Didst thou call  
For Ovid's ghost, that he might tell thee all  
His well-spun lines could mean? or hast thou got  
His very soul into thy breast? why not?  
The wise Pythagoras held it might be;  
And it is manifest in Sands and thee:  
Whose quickening Muse and most miraculous pen  
Have made deceased Ovid live again.  
Shine then three glorious stars with equal rays:  
And who have the same soul, wear the same bays.  
Villiers Harrington, Aul. Clar.   

Upon Mr Gower's smooth interpretation of the six books of Ovid's Fastorum.  
CLear was the shadow of the circling year  
In th' emblem of an hooped snake: As clear  
Was th' ancient Mysticks ring to represent  
heavens endless motion and time's sweet consent:  
This was that reverend ring did conjugate  
Dame Vesta to her starre-enamelled mate.  
For fear time 's harmony through pause should fail,  
The yearly snake in is teeth doth bite his tail.  
This was that snake which Naso's Muse did strive  
By her enchanting numbers to revive.  
Event o'ercome her wish; Her ring complete  
She decked with native pearls of rich conceit.  
Cursed be that Ibis, whose devouring maw  
Half of this snake ingorged, ere that it saw  
Great Caesar's face: thrice cursed be that wight  
That half this ring deteins in base despite.  
Perhaps this choler's rash: the Glutton Time  
Himself perhaps did act this cursed crime;  
The cormorant forgot ('t is like) what meat  
Was in his jaws, and so himself did eat.  
howsoever it was, this loss (w' are sure) will be  
Cause of great grief to all posterity.  
They say that snakes divided live: O than  
'T were good if that some nectar-steeped pen  
Would cherish this half-fainting Serpent; so  
This living part might for the whole one go.  
This Gower hath done: by whose most sovereign skill  
This snake hath stripped his Roman skin; whose quill  
Hath bravely clothed his back with English silk,  
And filled his stingless mouth with Muse's milk.  
Each Lady now will Cleopatra prove,  
And yet ne'er hurt herself; each Queen will love  
To feel this serpent in her bosom, yet  
Ne'er shrike, but wear 't as some rare amulet.  
Give me a second Gower, who thus can frame  
Th' Years perfect ring; to him the coyest Dame  
Would yield, to such a mate the chastest Muse  
For such a ring to wed would not refuse.  
Cease tedious Allegory, cease, be plain;  
In brief declare what we by Gower do gain.  
Good 's bettered by diffused community,  
Now Caesar's Calendar may th' Shepherds be.  
Cu. Birstall, Coll. Regal. S●●.   

The Life, Works, and Approof of OVID, Gathered out of his own works and the relations of divers faithful Authors.  
PUBLIUS. Ovid, surnamed Naso (as is commonly supposed, from Nasus a Nose; because his nose did somewhat exceed the ordinary Roman dimensions. Others say that his family were called Nasones, from whom he took that surname: Which may very well be true, and yet no great contradiction; for doubtless Nasus is the Etymology of Nasones: so that some of his predecessors, or himself, or peradventure both his progenitors and himself, had that extraordinary gift of a prodigal Nose. He) was born in Sulmo a town in Peligni the fourteenth of the Cal. of April, 
March 19  the second day of the great Quinquatrian feasts; that year wherein the Consuls Hircius and Pansa perished in the Mutinensian war. His birth was gentile, his father being in the order of Knighthood; and so afterwards was himself. Come to years of discretion, he with his elder brother employed his studies under the most famous Grammarians and Rhetoricians in Rome: but specially himself was instructed by Plotius Grippo; and afterwards became in favour with M. Varro and Corn. Gallus. He bent his studies to the Law; yet more to please his father then his own fancy: where he defended criminal causes; and gave sentence among the Centumviris. His oratory was exquisite and excellent: and therefore not without good cause Seneca ranketh him among the best Orators. At length, his father dying, he returned to his affected Muses, and became entirely acquainted with the Poets of those times, Macer Veronensis, who writ of Herbs, Birds, and Serpents; Ponticus, who penned Thebais; Propertius the Elegiac, Battus the jambick, and Horace the Lyric Poet. At last he followed the wars under M. Varro, and with him traveled into Asia; and before his return to Rome he had got no small acquaintance with the Greek tongue. He married three wives; but enjoyed not the two first very long: The last lived with him lovingly and constantly; to whom he expresseth much true affection in his Tristium and De Ponto, with many praises of her for her love, constancy, etc. By her he had one daughter named Perilla.  
At length, in the fiftieth year of his age, he was banished by Augustus into Tomos among the barbarous nations of Scythia: Where, as some affirm, he continued till the ninth year, and then died: But his own writings make mention but of the seventh year: of which, within the first three years he wrote his Tristium, in the rest his De Ponto. For Trist. lib. 3. Eleg. 12. thus he sayeth, 
Frigora jam Zephyri minuunt, annoque peracto  
Tardior antiquis visa recedit hyems.  
Mild Zephyr breaks the cold, a year is run,  
And winter slowlier than it wont is gone.  By which words he showeth that he had now lived a year in Pontus, and that that winter was much longer than the former which he spent in Rome. Afterward, lib. 4. Eleg. 6. See also Eleg. 7. 
Vt patriâ careo, bis frugibus area trita est,  
Dissiluit nudo pressa bis uva pede.  
Since I my Country lost the floor hath gained  
Two crops, & twice have grapes the winepress stained.  Hence, lib. 5. Eleg. 11. 
Vt sumus in Ponto, ter frigore constitit Ister,  
Facta est Euxini dura ter unda maris.  
Thrice hath the Euxine Sea and Ister been  
Congealed to ice since Pontus first was seen.  By these may we collect that three years passed e'er he ended his Tristium. In his books entitled De Ponto these following are to be read: lib. 1. Eleg. 1. 
Hîc me pugnantem cum frigore cúmque sagittis  
Cúmque meo salo quarta fatigat hyems.  
Here this fourth winter me doth struggling hold  
With my cursed fate, with rattling arms, and cold.  And in this year was the triumph of Tiberius upon the Dalmatians and Illyrians, which he mentioneth in the first and second Elegies of the second Book. After this, Book 4. Eleg 6. he goeth on, 
In Scythia nobis quinquennis Olympias acta:  
Jam tempus lustrum transit in alterius.  
Now have I passed in Scythia this fifth year;  
And time begins another lustre here.  This year Augustus died, and Fabius Maximus also; whom he celebrateth among his special friends, which he mentioneth in the same Elegy. After this, Eleg. 10. 
Haec mihi in Euxino bis tertia ducitur aestas  
Littore, pellitos inter agenda Getas.  
Among the skin-clad Gets in Euxine bay  
At length the sixth year I have worn away.  The like Eleg. 13. of the same book. Nor doth he mention any longer time, except it be thus: In the beginning of the seventh year of his exile, in a congratulation of 
Lib. 4. Eleg. 9  Graecinus his Consulship, he mentioneth also the Consulship of Pompeius Flaccus brother to Graecinus, which was to ensue the next year after; to which time he seemeth to prophesy that he should not live. Wherefore this being the last year which he counteth and speaketh of, it is clear that he lived in Pontus but six year, though seven in relegation: For the first year he spent in his voyage. Beside, seeing that there is no mention made by him of the acts of Germanicus performed in these his last years against the Cattis and Cherusci, (which he would never have omitted had life allowed him the fame of them, especially because he had prophetically forementioned his Triumph yet future, 
Lib. 2. Eleg. 1.  and promised the celebration of it in a poem if life gave leave, and moreover had dedicated to him his books entitled Fastorum in his exile) we may conclude he departed life within the seventh year, or at most in the beginning of his eighth, which the testimony of Eusebius further confirmeth.  

The cause of his banishment  For the cause of his banishment there may be many opinions. Some from the authority of Sidonius affirm that he had amorous dealings with Livia or Julia, daughter to Augustus, whom he masketh under the name of Corinna; and for this cause was punished. But if we well ponder the words of Sidonius concerning Ovid, we shall find it otherwise; 
Et te carmina per libidinosa  
Notum, Naso, Tomósque missum,  
Quondam Caesareae nimis puellae  
Falso nomine subditum Corinnae.  
And thee too, wanton Naso, so renowned  
For amorous verses, and to Tomos bound,  
Too much in love with that Caesarean Maid  
With whom in false Corinna's name thou played.  Upon these last words, Caesareae puellae, they build their argument, opinionating that it was Caesar's daughter. But it is well known that Puella doth not so well signify Filia, a Daughter, or Neptis a Niece, as Ancilla a Maid: as Puer is used both by Poets and Orators as well for a Servant as for a Son, or Young man; yea, rather more frequently: Which also Paulus Jurisconsultus showeth in his De Verborum significatione. And therefore I rather conclude that he loved some (as I may so give the term) Lady of Honour in Caesar's Court; and her he calleth Corinna. Besides, in his books Amorum, of which Corinna is the chief subject, there is no passage mentioned suitable to a Princess. They go to the same supper: It is not likely that he should go with the Princess. He wisheth many imprecations upon her husband: How should he dare to do it to Caesar! She cometh to him: This a Princess would have been ashamed to have done; and many more of the like nature, which plainly prove it could not be the Princess. Moreover, in all his writings, either in his Tristium or De Ponto, he maketh no complaint of Love, but of his Ars Amandi, nor uttereth any thing against his Love: and that which was the cause of his punishment he calleth an error only; no crime or dishonesty: as if he would have said, that by an error he happened to discover another's crime: Which, as some say, was his seeing Julia in her nakedness; or rather he took Augustus in the very act of some ignoble crime: And this we collect from that place, Trist. lib. 2. 
Cur aliquid vidi? cur noxia lumina feci?  
Cur imprudenti cognita culpa mihi?  
Inscius Actaeon vidit sine veste Dianam;  
Praeda suis canibus non minùs ille fuit.  
Why did I slain mine eyes? why did I see?  
Alas, that e'er the crime was known to me!  
Thus poor Actaeon unawares once spied  
Diana naked; yet a prey he died.  Here he showeth that his error was the spying of some secret crime committed by another: and thereupon he adjoineth the example of Actaeon and Diana; That as Actaeon unawares spied that which was not fit for him to see, and so incurred Diana's displeasure and his own destruction; so he happened upon some disastrous fight, thereby incurring his Prince's anger and his own ruin. And this is confirmed by that verse, Trist. lib. 3. Eleg. 5. 
Inscia quòd crimen viderunt lumina, plector:  
Peccatúmque oculos est habuisse meos.  
I am condemned, because I chanced to spy  
A secret act: my crime was but my eye.  Nor was this discovery of any meaner person then either of Augustus himself or some one nearly allied to him: At which the Emperor incensed, banished him, and, to cloak his own shame, for the pretended crime of his wanton verses De Arte Amandi. And this was the reason that Ovid never dared to reveal the other true cause of his banishment, being (very likely) adjured to secrecy by the Emperor: Lib. 2. 
Perdiderint cum me duo crimina, Carmen, & Error;  
Alterius facti culpa silenda mihi.  
Nam tanti non sum, renovem ut tua vulnera, Caesar,  
Quem nimio plus est indoluisse semel.  
Two crimes, my Error, and my Muse, did stroy me;  
But one must never be revealed by me:  
For who am I to dare renew thy wound,  
Whose grieving once I too too grievous found.  And lib. 4. Eleg. 10. in his description of his own life, hereafter subjoined, we may read the like.  
His loss was much lamented, not only by his kindred and allies, but by many others, who highly esteemed him for his excellent parts, and in whose hearts his sweet ingenuity ingraffed a true and sincere love towards him. Yea, he was generally deplored, out of that general love and respect he held with all.  
The manner of his departure himself setteth forth in most pathetical expressions: Which, for the elegance in the lively portraiture of the several parts of sorrow and passion in himself and his friends, I have endeavoured to present it in the truest English colours I could to the reader's view, whose palate may with mine taste some sweetness in the midst of the bitterness of sorrowful expressions: 

CVm subit illius tristissima noctis imago, 
Eleg. 3. lib. 1.   
Quae mihi supremum tempus in urbe fuit,  
cum repeto noctem quâ tot mihi chara reliqui,  
Labitur ex oculis tunc quoque gutta meis. etc.   

1.  
WHhenas the picture of that doleful night,  
In which my utmost limits were,  
My mind beholds, when that time comes to sight  
Wherein I left so many dear,  
Even than mine eyes let fall a tear.   

2.  
Now was the morn at hand wherein my Prince  
Enjoined me to depart away  
From Italy: Nor space, nor mind, nor sense  
Had I to furnish for the day:  
My soul affected dull delay.   

3.  
I ne'er regarded choice of man or mate:  
My clothes for journeying were not fit,  
Nor ought beside: Such was my soul's estate,  
As he that with Jove's thunder smit  
Hath life but doth not know of it.   

4.  
But when at length this agony was past,  
And I my spirits did regain,  
With last Farewell I mournfully embraced  
My weeping friends, whose ample train  
Was now shrunk into one or twain.   

5.  
My loving Wife (in Libya far was she  

* Here is a mistake, where that which belongeth to the daughter is applied to the mother.  Bred up, yet ne'er the more foreskilled  
Of my sad fate) me weeping bitterly  
In her embrace she weeping held,  
With showers of tears from eyes distilled.   

6.  
Loud groans, deep sighs on every side were vented:  
No silent funeral was there.  
Men, women, little children, all lamented  
My fate; each corner had a share  
Throughout the house, and shed some tear.   

7.  
And, may I but compare great things with small,  
This was the face of Troy, that night  
Of treachery: No noise was heard at all  
Of Man or Dog; and Luna bright  
Did guide her steeds by glimmering light.   

8.  
On her I looked up; and beheld (as yet)  
The Capitol (though all in vain)  
Joined to my house: Ye Powers, said I, whose seat  
Adjoins to ours; thou Temple main,  
Which these eyes ne'er shall see again;   

9  
And all ye Gods that live in Rome's great State,  
Whom I must leave; Adieu for ever.  
And though a buckler I take up too late,  
Yet do not ye in ire persever,  
But ease my burden by your favour.   

10.  
Make known my error to that heavenly Man,  
That he may judge my fault at lest  
No wickedness; and so the truth may scan  
As ye have done. That God once pleased  
My misery will soon be eased.   

11.  
Thus did I crave. My Wife more largely prayed,  
Each accent broke with sighs most deep:  
Then falling prostrate, with her hairs displayed  
Before the Household-gods, doth creep  
To kiss the hearth with quaking lip.   

12.  
There pours she forth before the sullen Powers  
A many prayers, not prevalent  
For doleful Husband. But the hasty Hours  
Denied delay: the night was spent,  
And Arotos down the West was bend.   

13.  
What should I do? The love of Country tied me?  
But ah! that night was set to be  
My utmost bound! How oft, when any plied me,  
Cried I, Alas! why hast you? see  
But whence or whither post you me!   

14.  
How oft did I a certain hour feign  
Convenient for my way assigned!  
Thrice stepped I o'er the threshold; thrice again  
Went back: my very foot inclined  
To sloth, in flattery of my mind.   

15.  
Oft Farewell given, I fell to talk again:  
And oft I kissed, as if just there  
I would depart: my will repeat I then  
In self-mistakes; my eyes each-where  
Fixed on my souls engagements dear.   

16.  
Why should I hasten? Scythia is, said I,  
The Country whither I am sent:  
Rome must I leave, and leave perpetually:  
In both respects just argument  
Of our delays, though time be spent.   

17.  
My wife and I are both for ever parted,  
Yet both alive; my family  
With each sweet part, and all my friends truehearted:  
O dear-beloved Souls, to me  
Knit in Thesean amity!   

18.  
Let's change embraces while we may, and make  
The best advantage of the hour:  
Perhaps it is for ever. Thus I spoke  
In halved words, and, in the power  
Of soul, we clasped each friend of our.   

19  
Thus while I talk and we lament, lo now  
Bright Lucifer in th' East appear;  
Sad star to us! Oh! I am rend, as though  
My joints all wrung in sunder were,  
Torn part from part by rack severe!   

20.  
Such woe was Priam's, when that treachery  
That fatal Horse did now confess.  
But than arose a lamentable cry,  
And sobbing groans did souls oppress;  
And heavy hands smote heavier breasts.   

21.  
Then my poor wife, embracing me close to,  
Poured forth these tear-mixed words to me,  
Oh! I cannot part from thee! I will go  
I'll go, I say, I'll go with thee:  
An exiles exiled wife I'll be.   

22.  
The way's as free for me; so is the land:  
Small burden to the ship are we.  
thou Caesar's anger doth (O grief!) command  
To banishment; affection, me:  
Affection shall my Caesar be.   

23.  
Thus did she strive, as she had done before,  
And scarce her hold of me forbears  
By best persuasions. Forth I go adoor  
A walking hearse, with my soiled hairs  
Confused and torn about my ears.   

24.  
Overwhelmed in grief she fell into a swound,  
And head against the hard floor knocks:  
Come to herself at length, and from the ground  
Raised up, with much ado her locks  
With dust bemoiled off she plucks:   

25.  
Now wails her case, then blames with many moans  
The vexing Gods, and oft doth cry,  
My Husband! Oh my Husband! with such groans  
And sobs as if her child or I  
Had been just now in pile to frie.   

26.  
Death she desired, by death her soul to ease:  
Yet for my sake she life did will.  
O mayst thou live! and, since the Fates so please,  
Still live, sweet wife, my ease, and still  
My absent soul with comfort fill!   

27.  
The Boreal Bear-man into sea doth steep  
His joul, and moils the waters there:  
Yet doth our keel plow up th' Ionian Deep,  
Not of our own minds, but we are  
Compelled to boldness out of fear.   

28.  
Oh me! what winds arise! how Sea and Heaven  
Both scoul! the bottom-sands do boil  
Upon the top! huge mountain billows, driven  
Against both sides, our vessel toil:  
Our Gods continual dashes soil.   

29.  
The hatches moil: the beaten sail-ropes roar:  
The very ship doth seem to groan  
At our harsh fate: The doubtful Mariner,  
With terror in his visage shown,  
Gives up and lets his art alone.   

30.  
And as some weak-armed groom the conquered rain  
Resigns unto his stiffnecked horse;  
Even so the Pilot through the toilsome main  
Works on his ship, not his own course,  
But every way the surges force.   

31.  
And had not Aeolus changed his blustering wind,  
Upon the interdicted Land  
I had been forced: for, leaving far behind  
Th' Illyrian coast on our left hand,  
We saw close by th' Italian strand.   

32.  
O do not strive to pitch our vessel there!  
Do ye obey that God with me!  
While thus I cried betwixt desire and fear  
Of being driven back, O what a Sea  
Doth smite the sides most furiously!   

33.  
Gods of the Sea, spare ye this life of ours.  
O do not ye him further grieve  
Whom Jove doth scourge; nor to the Stygian Powers  
This weary soul of mine yet give:  
If one already dead may live.    
For his respect and honour he held all his life-time with those that were his coetaneans, his own works well show: And for the fame and estimation he hath maintained by his Poems through all ages in many parts of the world, let the reader but turn to Mr Sandys his Collection of the Testimonies of divers learned and judicious Authors in the frontispiece of his exquisite Translation of our Poets Metamorph. I will content myself with one only added to his, which is Angelus Politianus his Elegy upon his death, wherein he manifesteth not only his own honour and estimation of him, but also the love, respect and favour he won among the Barbarians with whom he lived, as you may read; 

AH welladay!  
Doth Naso lie in Getick ground?  
Our Roman Muses Joy  
Entombed in barbarous bound!   

That barbarous land  
That lies by Ister's frozen spring,  
Press that sweet Poet's hand  
Whose pen soft Love did sing!   

Art not ashamed,  
O Rome, to be far more severe  
Than Barbarism untamed  
To thy own Son so dear?   

Ho, Muses, say;  
Was any friend in Scythian shore  
His sorrows to allay,  
Or ease his pains so sore?   

Was any nigh  
His languished joints on bed to lay,  
Or with some melody  
To pass the painful day?   

Was any there  
To feel his fainting pulses beat,  
Or to administer  
Some wholesome drams or meat?   

Or at his death  
What friend did close his dying eye,  
Or suck up his last breath?  
A work of piety!   

None, none there was!  
Thou, thou remorseless cruel Rome,  
Keptest all his friends (alas!)  
That none at him could come.   

None, none, I say!  
His Wife, his little 
* His grandchildren, for he had no son.  Sons, and Daughter  
Were parted far away,  
And could not follow after.   

No friends he had,  
But Bessi and Coralli tawny,  
And Gets in wild-skins clad,  
With arms and shoulders brawny.   

The Sarmats, browed  
With horror and with looks austere,  
That drink their horse's blood,  
His only comfort were:   

The Sarmats grim,  
Whose wiry-harsh and dangling hairs  
Congealed with cold extreme  
Do crash about their ears.   

And yet his fate  
The stern Coralli did deplore:  
The Gets and Sarmats sit  
And beat their bosoms sore.   

Wood-Nymphs and woods  
And mountains did bewail his fall:  
And Ister's swelling floods  
Did bear a part withal.   

Fame doth rehearse,  
That Pontus sealed up with thick ice,  
Dissolved with lukewarm tears  
Of Sea-Nymphs Elegies.   

The gentle Dove  
With mother Venus flying came,  
And into pile did shove  
Their brands to raise a flame.   

And on the stone  
Laid o'er his corpse this verse they sealed,  
Within this tomb lies one  
That was Love's Doctor skilled.   

Even Venus bright  
On him did holy waters pour,  
And washed with hand milk-white  
His body o'er and o'er.   

And, Muses, ye  
On Naso 's hearse fixed each a song;  
But such as cannot be  
Expressed by mortal tongue.   Thus far Politianus. But one thing is remarkable; In which we may say either his desert or his good hap advanced him beyond the fortune of Homer or Maro: Who both, though the very excellence of Poesy, had their detractours; Homer his Zoilus, and Virgil his Bavius: but Ovid (as himself seemeth to vaunt in his own lives description) was never touched with the least detraction, neither in his own time nor in any age since; 
Nec, qui detrectat-praesentia, livor iniquo  
Vllum de nostris dente momordit opus.  
No black detraction to this day hath bit  
With fangs of envy any work I writ.  Such indeed was his estimation and honour among the noblest Citizens of Rome, that, even while he was living, they wore his Picture in rings of gold; as Eleg. 6. Trist. lib. 1. witnesseth: Which being but brief, and tending all to our present purpose of declaring his worth and exquisite parts, I have made bold to trouble thee with the Translation; 
Si quis habes nostris similes in imagine vultus,  
Demetrius meis hederas Bacchica serta comis. etc.  
DEar friend of mine that dost my picture wear,  
Pull off the Ivy-crown from my sad hair.  
For happy brows those happy badges be:  
My fortune with a crown doth not agree.  
Though I conceal thee, yet my meaning 's known  
To thee whose finger wears me up and down:  
Who at the second hand dost me behold  
Thy banished friend engraven in burnished gold.  
Which when thou viewst, perhaps thou oft mayst say so,  
Ah! where is now our old companion Naso?  
Sweet is thy love. But I (such as they be)  
My Rhythmes, my nobler picture, give to thee.  
My Poem that of bodies changed doth sing;  
Made by my exile an unperfect thing:  
This, with the rest, I in my grief and woe  
At my departure into fire did throw.  
So I my books, my bowels, which to die  
Deserved not, did force in flames to fry:  
Because my Muse I hated, as my crimes;  
Or 'cause they were rude and unpolished rhythmes.  
But seeing that they are not quite extinct;  
(Sure they in copies were transcribed, I think)  
Now may they live, and pleasing pastimes be,  
And put the Reader oft in mind of me.  
And yet no man with patience them can read  
If he perceive they are unfinished.  
The work was from the anvil snatched yerwhile,  
And left unpolished by the finer file.  
Therefore for praise I pardon crave: I've got  
Great praise, if, Reader, thou disdain me not.  
And this Hexastich (if you shall think fit)  
Into the Front'spice of our book admit.  
Whatever hand these orphan Rhythmes doth touch,  
Give them some welcome: and the more to crave  
Thy favour, know, they were not published such,  
But even reprieved from their Father's grave.  
Whatever crime therefore you shall perceive,  
Know, he had mended, had the Fates given leave.  But above all, his own works testify of him to this day, and clearly demonstrate, that what respect the world, and what approof and commendations Authors have given him, was not affected but well deserved: For he hath left many fair monuments of his wit, both in Heroick and Elegiac verse, which are no mean ornaments of the Latin tongue. He penned divers Heroical Epistles; III. Books De Arte Amandi; II. Books De Remedio Amoris; II. Books De Amore; Of Metamorphosis XV. Books. He penned also some Tragedies: Of which Medea is highly approved by 
* Quae ostentare videtur quantum vir ille praestare potuerit, si ingenio suo temperare quam indulgere maluisset, Quint.  Quintilianus and Corn. Tacitus, and not without desert; for in it he hath shown the very vigour and quintessence of wit. He composed a book against common Rhythmers, as Fabius Quintilianus witnesseth. He penned an Epistle to Livia in consolation for the death of Drusus. He began a book of the Actium war. He wrote II. Books to Tiberius. In his banishment he wrote V. Books entitled Tristium; IV. Books De Ponto; XII. Books entitled Fasti. He writ an imprecation against Ibis; one Book De Vaticiniis; The Triumph of Germanicus Caesar. He began a work De Piscibus; which after Oppianus imitated. He penned also some works in the Getick tongue, the first about Augustus and his family, as he affirmeth lib. 4. De Ponto, Eleg. 13.  

To his friend Carus.  
NEc te mirari, si sunt vitiosa, decebit  
Carmina, quae faciam penè Poeta Geteses. etc.  
NOr wonder at my verses slips: for know it,  
I am become almost a Getick Poet.  
It shames me much; though in the Getick tongue  
I am so skilled that I have Poems sung,  
And pleased them well: Congratulate my fame;  
Among the Gets I've won a Poet's name.  
You ask the subject. Caesar's praise I chanted,  
And in a Deity 's name my new rhythmes vaunted.  
Therein I prove, though Caesar's body be  
But mortal, yet his soul 's a Deity:  
That he who did the Sceptre long refuse,  
His Father's virtues in his heart renews:  
That Livia Vesta is of Chastity,  
Her Lord and Son becoming equally:  
That those two Sons their Parent did maintain,  
Who gave true symptoms of their noble vein.  
When I this Poem in a foreign tongue  
Had perfected, and it rehearsed among  
The Getick crowd, their curled locks they shake,  
With armed quivers, and a murmuring make.  
Cries one, If Caesar thus employs your pen,  
To Caesar you should be restored again.  
Thus said the Get: yet, Carus, this sixth year  
Deteins me still beneath the frozen Bear.  
At which (as he saith) the Gets murmuring in that manner, to purchase their favour, he wrote another book in the Getick tongue, Of the acts of their king: which pleased them wondrous well. And divers other works he composed; most of which, either by the laziness of some age, or by the negligence of Library-keepers, are become imperfect, or totally perished. His Metamorphose 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 n he finished before his banishment, but left it uncorrected, as is forementioned. He had written XII. Books entitled Fasti, as himself evidenceth. Trist lib. 2. 
Sex ego Fastorum scripsi, totidemque libellos:  
Cumque su● finem mense libellus habet.  
Twelve books of Fasti I in verse have penned:  
And every Volume with his Month doth end.  Divers suppose he began this work at Rome, and not unlikely: but he ended it in Pontus, as may be collected from his Preface, and many other places of his book, but specially from a Distich in the fourth Book; 
Sulmonis gelidi patriae, Germanice, nostrae!  
Me miserum! Scythico quam procul ille solo est!  
Sweet Sulmo's wall, great Prince, my native land!  
Ah me! how distant from the Scythian sand!  There having corrected the first six books, he dedicated them to Germanicus, purposing to proceed with the rest: but death cutting off his days, he left them neither corrected nor published: and so through the carelessness of the times, or ignorance of the Scythians, among whom they were left, they are perished: Yet it was once reported they were all found: which I would I could find not a report but a truth.  
Some deny that this work was dedicated to young Germanicus, but would have it to Tiberius Caesar: which they prove chiefly from that verse in the Preface, Tu quoque cum Druso praemia fratre feres. This Drusus (say they) was brother to Tiberius, and was he that died in his German wars: But this title Germanicus was never known to be given to Tiberius: neither doth Tranquillus mention it in the rehearsal of all his titles. If any say that it hath been read in old moneys and monuments, I answer, that those inscriptions belonged not to Tiberius Caesar, but to this Tiberius Germanicus our Poet's patron, the son of Drusus, who inherited his father's title which he had gained in his German designs. Beside, it is plain that this Germanicus whom our Poet meaneth was grandchild to Augustus▪ by adoption, and not his son: as lib. 1.  Et tuus Augusto nomine dictus avus. 
Then first Augustus was thy Grandsire's name. So that this Germanicus was the son of Drusus Tiberius his brother, and that Drusus whom he calleth Frater Germanici was Tiberius his son and Germanicus his first cousin; our Poet taking liberty (which is very frequent with Authors both profane and divine) to use one title of consanguinity for another. To Augustus' Grandchild therefore not to his Son was this Poem dedicated. Which Ovid might very well do, because this Germanicus was exceedingly well beloved of all his soldiers and all the citizens of Rome for his many rare performances in the wars, and beside was a man of singular learning and an excellent Poet. From this favour that this Prince maintained among all men our Poet had hopes that he might one day come to the crown, and then might favour him so far as to call him home; or at least in the mean time might purchase his release.  
Divers Poets before Ovid assayed this work Fasti, as Ennius, Livius, Andronicus, and others. But Ovid a long time after diligently turning over all the ancient Calendars and Monuments of the Pontifies, and other old Annals which pertained to religious rites and ceremonies, and reducing the Roman year into a more exact order, with an exquisite observation of the Cosmical, Heliacal, and Acronical rising & setting of all the fixed Constellations, composed this memorable Poem with much labour and study.  
Thus have I from the testimony of surest Authors related the principal parts and passages of this worthy Poet's life, as also partly from his own hand-writing. If any desireth to be further informed of him, let him read this following relation of his life, penned by no other hand then his own: which, as perfectly as my faculty permitted, I have presented in our native tongue.   

Ovid to Posterity. Trist. IV. Eleg. X.  

THat aftertimes may know of me each thing;  
I was the man who tender Love did sing.  
My country, Sulmo, fed with fresh springs all;  
Miles ninety distant from the Roman wall.  
Here was I born: The very year to tell;  
'T was when by one sad fate two Consuls fell.  
May that avail, I was a Knight by blood,  
Not only raised by my Fortune's good.  
I was no firstborn child: for one son more  
My father had, born just a year before.  
Both he and I were born upon one day,  
And at one time our natal gifts did pay.  
It was the first day of the bloody lists  
Presented at the great Quinquatrian feasts.  
Our Parents then, to have us trained up well,  
Put us to such as did in Arts excel.  
My brother from his youth did bend his mind  
To Rhetoric, and to the Law inclined.  
But I a child the Thespian sweets did savour,  
And more and more did win the Muse's favour.  
Leave, leave these fruitless Studies, Son, oft cried  
My father: Homer but a poor man died.  
Moved at his words I left the dear delight  
Of Helicon, and began in prose to write.  
Lo, verses of their own accord came fit:  
It was a verse whatever I spoke or writ.  
Years growing on, my brother dear and I  
Together took a Gown of Liberty.  
Rich purple Robes with badges broad we wore▪  
Those studies followed which we used before.  
My Brother now had passed his twenti'th year:  
He dies in whom I lost my souls best share.  
In youth to some preferment raised was I,  
And took the office of Triumvirs.   

Both mind and body were unapt for labour,  
And vexed ambition I could never savour.  
And still the Muses did entice me still  
To their calm sweets, which e'er had my good will.  
I dearly loved the Poets of the time:  
Each Poet was a God in my esteem.  
Oft did I hear sage Macer read his Birds,  
And Serpents, and the help each Herb affords.  
And oft Propertius my companion dear  
With amorous raptures did present my ear.  
Heroic Ponticus, jambick Battus  
With pleasing strains did often recreate us.  
And tuneful Horace oft my ear delighted  
With curious ditties on his harp recited.  
Virgil I only saw: and hasty Fate  
Tibullus friendship did anticipate.  
He followed Gallus; and Propertius, him:  
I was the third man in the rank of time.  
As I my Elders, so my Juniours me  
Adored: my Muse grew famous suddenly.  
Thrice and no more had I shav'n off my beard  
When first my youthful strains the people heard.  
My Mistress, in Corinna masked, did move  
My wits: each village now could chant our love.  
Much did I write: but what I faulty knew  
Into the fault-correcting fires I threw.  
And at my exile cast I into flame,  
Vexed with my Muses, many a work of fame.  
My tender heart oft pierced through with Love  
Each light occasion instantly did move.  
But when I was from Cupid's passions free,  
My Muse was mute and wrote no Elegy.  
A worthless, lovelesse Wife to me but young  
Was matched: with whom I led my life not long.  
My second wife, though free from any crime,  
Yet she continued but a little time.  
My last, with whom most of my days I spent,  
Endured the blemish of my banishment.  
One Daughter have I, which once and again  
Made me a Grandsire, but by husbands twain.  
And now my Father full of silver-hairs  
His days concluded just at ninety years.  
As he'd have mourned for me, so did I mourn  
For him. Next Sorrow was my Mother's urn.  
Both happy sure and in good hours did die,  
Whose death did come before my misery.  
And happy I, in that they both being dead  
No tears at all for my affliction shed.  
Yet if, ye Dead, have aught beside a name;  
If your light Ghosts escape the fatal flame:  
parental Souls, if you have heard of me  
In Styx; if there my crimes related be:  
Be you assured, with whom I cannot lie,  
My crime was Error not Dishonesty.  
Enough for them. To you now I retire,  
My friends, who th' actions of my life inquire.  
The Summer-tropick of my years now gone,  
Declining Age with hoary hairs came on.  
Now since my birth ten times the Horse-courser  
That won the race Pisaean wreaths did wear:  
When ah, offended Caesar doth command  
My doleful exile to the Tomites land!  
The cause of this, too much to most revealed,  
Must be for ever by myself concealed.  
Nor friends, nor servants wrongs will I here vent:  
I've suffered crosses next to banishment.  
To which my mind did scorn to yield; and still  
By its own strength did stand invincible.  
And sans regard of self or calm life led,  
With artless arm the wars 
* Under M. Varro as is forementioned.  I followed.  
As many troubles have surcharged this soul  
As there be stars 'twixt North and Southern Pole.  
Long being tossed about, at length I met  
The surly Sarmat and the bow-armed Get.  
Here, though I'm startled with the noise of arms,  
My Muse with her best skill my sorrows charms.  
And though no ear can relish here one rhythme,  
Yet so I pass and so delude the time.  
For life therefore, and power against my toils,  
For passing of the tedious hours somewhiles,  
Thanks, Muse, to thee: Thou art my sole relief,  
My ease, my physic in my wasting grief.  
Thou me, my Guide and dear Companion,  
Dost raise from Ister into Helicon.  
Thou giv'st me, while I live, a name sublime,  
The rarest gift that scorns both Tomb and Time.  
No black Detraction to this day hath bit  
With fangs of envy any work I writ.  
And though our age so many Poets high  
Hath bred, my fancy Fame did ne'er envy.  
I others honoured: others honoured  
Me with the best; and through the world I'm read.  
If then we Poets can the truth divine;  
Come death whenever, Dust, I am not thine.  
Whether by favour or desert I be  
Thus famed; kind Reader, thanks I give to thee.   Sic cecinit Naso de se.  

CLIO's complaint for the death of OVID.  

Clio. 1.  
AH! with what tears shall I enlarge my grief?  
In what sad accents shall I sigh and groan?  
How vent my sorrows? knowing no relief,  
Nor craving aught, but only to be known  
To all: that all may share with me in moan.   

2.  
Let not Rome only and the Latin train  
Lament and mourn, but all the world beside,  
Sweet Naso 's Death, whose most ingenious brain  
The world with peerless treasures beautified;  
And more had done, had he not timeless died.   

3.  
Ah! how I still remember to my woe,  
In what a happy vein he walked along!  
How readily his fancy quick did flow  
In numbers even and raptures sound and strong,  
Which presently made up some learned Song!   

4.  
Whose melody would make the Hills to ring,  
The Wood-Gods wonder, and the Fauns admire.  
The Dryads, Naiads, them would often sing;  
And every Nymph to hear them did desire:  
Which won the favour of each beauteous Quire.   

5.  
His very youth was ripe in Poesy:  
For all assays he was our witty Page.  
Ofttimes Apollo, when he chanced to eye  
His lines, would say, O thou of youthful age!  
A Boy in years, but in our gifts a Sage!   

6.  
Those amorous raptures which in sport be writ  
When, Venus' servant, he did march yerwhile  
In Cupid's files, what quintessence of wit  
Do they demonstrate! in what curious style  
His verses flow, not fouled with vulgar soil!   

7.  
But now the vigour of his wit at full,  
Like candid Cynthia in diameter  
With her bright Brother, when our Thespian pool  
He in full draughts drew in, O then how clear  
His fancy streamed! what learning flourished there!   

8.  
That Poem of Transformed shapes can show;  
A piece of all applauded, and desired:  
Which whoso reads, his pithy Muse may view  
In beautiful variety attired.  
The acquaint contexture of that work 's admired.   

9  
And when his buskined Muse in garb most grave  
And voice majestic stalked on crowded Scene,  
No Sophoclean strains more height could have,  
Nor weight support. How oft have they between  
Each Act with general shouts applauded been!   

10.  
At length, inspired with a heat divine,  
That worthy work he writ with happy pen  
Of Months, with courses of each constant Sign,  
And Phoebus' toils: Where fitly now and then  
He chants the praises of his countrymen:   

11.  
When in the middle of his fair carrier  
The cruel Parcaes clipped (O grief! O gall!)  
His precious twist: when he scarce half his Year  
Had finished. By which did thousands fall  
Short of their praises; of a jewel, all.   

12.  
O cruel Sisters! Why did you not spare,  
And draw to Nestor's length his sacred twine?  
Or to as large a twisted clue as were  
The lasting Sibylls? 'T was as pure and fine,  
And (if with you that values) as Divine.   

13.  
No work you wanted for your direful knives,  
Their thirst to satiate. Charon 's boat doth groan  
With constant crowds. Ten thousand vulgar lives  
You might have shared off, and let his alone:  
Ten thousand lives might satisfy for one.   

14.  
Why did not I in time solicit Fate,  
Backed with my Sisters, and (had Prayers been able  
Or Gifts to conquer) beg a longer date?  
We would have changed her nature ne'er so stable,  
Before w' had done, and made her exorable.   

15.  
But thou, dire Caesar, most to be upbraided,  
Thy tyranny did cut him off in is prime  
By unjust banishment. His spirits faded  
With blasting griefs, which beware out all his time,  
And i'll distempers of the Getick clime.   

16.  
O well it happened in the midst of ill!  
Of half thy praise his death despoiled thee:  
And what was given thee by his faithful quill,  
The world by this thy unjust act shall see,  
Was not thy merit but his loyalty.   

17.  
Thy thundering blow his dazzled fancy smit,  
That in a trance long time she lay for slain:  
At length revived, (O admirable Wit,  
And even beyond my thought!) amid his pain  
And misery his Muse did sing again.   

18.  
The crime was thine and not his own: How then  
Couldst thou exile him to the furthest end  
Of all the world, 'mong monsters fierce, not men,  
To waste his days? and him (O horrid!) rend  
From Wife, from Children, Country dear, and Friend?   

19  
His eyes beheld too much: Too bold was he  
Into the secrets of a King to pry.  
'T is true, alas! he saw too much of thee.  
Wert thou ashamed that he thy crime did spy?  
That crime then banish more deservedly.   

20.  
O horrid! never call him home again?  
Never afford a milder region?  
Were those sweet expiations all in vain?  
His oratorious Muse, his pleading moan,  
That moved not thee, would move a marblestone.   

21.  
Thy heart was Scythian, barbarous thy deed,  
Just like that place where he was forced to be.  
Thy name Augustus well with thee agreed:  
'T was given in flattery; but by this all see,  
Thou wert Augustus in thy cruelty,   

22.  
Surpassing far the barbarism of Gets,  
Coralli, Bessi, with their snarled hairs.  
For lo, his Muse their rigour mitigates:  
And that which could not pierce thy rockyears,  
Did win their favour and 
* Et tamen exstinctum Bessi & flevere Coralli, etc. Ang. Polit. in his Elegy.  provoke their tears.   

23.  
Oft didst thou vaunt thy love unto our Art  
And didst reward our Priests with wealth and fame:  
Oft didst thou take thy pen to play thy part  
Among our Choir; and with our sacred flame  
Inspired, didst triumph in a Poet's name:   

24.  
How then came all that heat and love so quailed,  
Overwhelmed and quenched? by one dire blast of ire?  
Our Power contemned? which ever yet prevailed  
With stoutest spirits. O why did we inspire  
Thee with one spark, that thus dost slight our Choir!   

25.  
Our force and virtue, that have raised the dead,  

* Carmina de coelo possunt deducere lunam, Virg. Vid. Fast. 2. of Arion. And the power of Orpheus his Harp is a known story.  Drawn down the Moon, erected brazen Towers,  
Tamed Bears and Tigers, moved the Rocks, and stayed  
The running Streams, and 
* This Orpheus did when he went down into the Stygian vaults to fetch back his wife.  charmed the greatest Powers  
In Pluto 's cell, moved not that heart of yours.   

26.  
Jove, Juno, Venus, Janus, Mars, and all  
Ye Powers of heaven, his pen your praises spoke:  
Why did ye let so true a servant fall?  
Why did ye not for your own honour's sake  
With draughts of Nectar him immortal make?   

27.  
And thou great Father of our sacred Choir,  
Let me in Griefs prerogative be bold  
To plead with thee. Thou didst at full inspire  
Thy darling Naso, and hast him enroled  
Among thy most renowned Priests of old.   

28.  
Oft hast thou crowned with immortal Bays  
His sacred brows? he was thy favourite.  
Nor that grand Chanter of Achilles' praise,  
Nor that high pen which sung Aeneas flight,  
Nor that sweet Lyric thee did more delight.   

29.  
Why didst not then with thine Ambrosia feed him?  
(Food which thou giv'st to thine unwearied steeds)  
To large eternity why didst not breed him?  
Then his pure fancy sown with heavenly seeds,  
Had chanted more divine and humane deeds.   

30.  
Thou mightst at least have done the world that favour,  
As to have begged a longer lease of life  
From Jove's own hand O thou hadst been a saver  
Of thine own honour, hadst thou stayed the knife  
(That bloody weapon!) of the Sisters rise.   

31.  
Behold that halved orphan work; a piece  
Almost the last that by his hand was penned:  
That work alone deserved a longer lease  
Of life from thee. See how he did intend  
Thy same and honour through the year to send.   

32.  
Had he accomplished that divine design,  
And reached to his Years end without that wrong  
From Fate and Caesar, that had all been thine:  
Then in thy chariot thou hadst danced along  
Thy Years twelve labours in a constant song.   

33.  
Now is thy race uneven: One half the year  
Thou passest blank. Methinks thy wheels are numb  
Those silenced Months: No song doth calendar  
Thy Signs and days. One side of heaven is dumb.  
Such wrongs to us from Fates thwart actions come.   

34.  
Apollo duly to her plaint gave ear.  
Her grief moved pity, and her words moved grief.  
Much it affects him Naso 's death to hear;  
That envious Fate so short had cropped his life.  
He shakes his firelocks, and replies, not brief;   

Apollo. 35.  
Sweet Clio, Thy complaint is just and true;  
And in thy sorrow I consent with thee.  
The thought of Phaethon's fall doth not renew  
My passion so nor more distemper me  
Then Ovid's death and sad calamity.   

36.  
And had I thought his fatal twist had been  
So near the end, and that the Three consented  
Amid his songs to cut his thread so green,  
I would have tried my skill to have prevented  
That stroke, and got a longer lease indented.   

37.  
But well thou knowst my mind about is hurled,  
Each week, each day, each minute of an hour,  
In general affairs of all the world,  
In meeting out of Time, and keeping our  
Heaven's Complices in their due course and power:   

38.  
That I nor space nor respite have always  
On each particular in this vast All  
To set my thoughts; though men of worth and praise  
Are cropped by Fates, who threads of Virtue gall;  
And oft my friends besides my knowledge fall.   

39  
Thus Maro, Lucan, by their spiteful hand  
A●n●●ares were banished from my light,  
And that arch-Poet of the Fairy land,  
With divers more. Thus many a Favourite  
Have lost their heads out of their Prince's sight.   

40.  
When I per chance foresee the fatal day  
Of any Worthy, how it me doth pain  
To bring it onward! gladly would I stay.  
And were it not Necessity constrain,  
I should my chariot oftentimes refrain.   

41.  
But, Clio, stay thy tears. 'T is folly, never  
To cease a grief for unreversed decrees.  
'T is wisdom, when Necessity doth sever  
Her actions and our will, when what we please  
We cannot do, to do what most may ease.   

42.  
Though Death hath silenced his facetious quill,  
And robbed him of his life, us of our praise;  
Yet doth his fame, his nobler portion, still  
Survive and flourish like our lasting Bays:  
And through the world his works his worth shall raise.   

43.  
As for his Poeme's loss, it proves his gain.  
'T is greater honour to be much desired  
Then much enjoyed. For that which doth remain  
To be made up, some Fancy well attired  
May be e'er long for that supply inspired.   

44.  
Thus in despite of Fate will we extend  
Our Servants lives, and raise their dying head.  
As for Augustus who did cause his end,  
The world concludes it, Ovid banished  
Th' unworthi'st act that e'er Augustus did.   
Sic questa est: Clio: moestae gemuere Sorores,  
Concussítque comam scitus Apollo Lyrae.    

OVID'S FESTIVALS; OR, ROMAN CALENDAR. The first Book; or, JANUARIE.  
The Argument.  
TH' old Roman year. The several sorts of days.  
Discourse with Janus. Th' Astrosophis praise.  
The feast Agonia. Whence the Altar's filled  
With blood of birds and beasts. Why th' Ass is killed  
To lustful Priap. Queen Carmentis rite  
With her predictions. Great Tyrinthius fight  
With fire-mouthed Cacus. The Augustian name  
Assumed by Cesar. In Carmentis fame  
More sacreds paid. White Concord in white fane.  
Mild Peace her altar. And a prayer for grain.  

Time's with their causes to the Roman year  
Disposed of old, Star's courses sing we here.  
Germanic Cesar, O accept our charge:  
With smooth aspect, and guide my feeble barge.  
Be Patron to this piece devote to thee;  
Let not this gift, though small, rejected be.  
Here holy rites picked out of annals old  
May'st thou read o'er: and why each day's enroled.  
Here may you your domestic feasts adjoynd,  
And here your father and grandfather find;  
And how throughout the Calendar renowned,  
Thy brother Drusus fame with thine shall sound.  
Some Caesar's arms, we Caesar's altars sing;  
What days were hallowed by that sacred king.  
The whiles the glory of thy house I chant,  
Do thou but smile, no fear our Muse shall daunt.  
Your grace gives vigour to my verses poor,  
Our fancy at your eye doth flag or soat.  
The censure of so learned a majesty  
Our Muse doth fear more than Apollo's eye.  
For we did taste those sweets your lips let fall,  
When you did plead in causes criminal.  
But when Apollo thee inspired, O then  
What streams of learning glided from thy pen!  
O Poet, deign a Poet's rain to guide,  
That so our year a sweeter course may slide.   

WHen Romulus the times did first dispose,  
Ten months to number out his year he chose.  
(Forsooth, thou hadst more skill in signs of wars  
To curb thy neighbours, then in signs of stars)  
Yet he by reasons was to this induced:  
His error, Caesar, may be well excused.  
What time the mother in her womb doth bear  
Her breeding child, just that he made his year.  
That time the widow from the fatal burning  
Of her dead mate did wear the signs of mourning.  
These arguments did Romulus' regard  
When he the seasons to his peasants shared.  
Mars had the first, the next was Venus' place;  
He father, and she mother of his race:  
The third from Eld, the fourth from youngth is named:  
The number titles for the rest hath framed.  
But Numa willing Janus to adore,  
And dead men's ghosts, preposed a couple more.  
Now you the duties of each day must know:  
For every day did not the like allow.  
That was Non-leet-day which the three words 'scaped,  
That Leet-day was wherein the courts were kept.  
These offices were not all day performing:  
'Tis Leet at noon, but 'twas a Non-leet morning.  
Before the Praetour pleading then begun,  
And suits of law when sacrifice was done.  
Some days the people in the rails include,  
Some on the ninth day still their course renewed.  
Queen Juno's care our Roman Calends shield:  
A fat white lamb in th' Ides to Jove is killed.  
The Nones are blank, and want a sacrifice:  
Take heed, I pray, the next a black day is.  
The reason's from th'events: In them, they say,  
Our Roman host have often lost the day.  
But once of these it shall suffice to speak  
In all our book, lest I my order break.   

Germanic, lo! our Janus thee doth bring  
A happy year: he is the first I sing.  
Tway-faced Janus, our still-paced years guide,  
Who only of the gods seest thy backside.  
Come gracious to our captains, by whose care  
Both sea and land secure of tumult are.  
Come gracious to our Roman lords and states,  
And in good will unlock thy temple-gates.  
A good day comes; let tongues from hearts salute:  
Good words and greetings this good day do suit.  
Let idle wranglings not molest the ear:  
Ye brawling people now your suits defer.  
See how the heavens with spicy fires do shine,  
And spikenard crackles on the hearths divine.  
Transplendent flames do lash the temples gold,  
A twinkling lustre to the roof extolled.  
White robes now walk to our Tarpeian wall:  
The people's decked in gaytie festival.  
New purple shines: new rods now stalk in state:  
The ivoryed benches bear another weight.  
The fair fat ox, whose neck ne'er felt the yoke,  
Now yields it to the sacrificing stroke.  
Jove when he views the world from towering skies  
Hath nought but Roman to employ his eyes.  
Hail holiday; come always fortunate:  
Deserving worship of a world-great state.  
But, Janus, now what god shall I thee call?  
For Greece hath ne'er a god like thee at all.  
Rehearse the reason why thou hast such odds  
Of looking both ways, more than all the gods.  
I walked, my notebook in mine hand, I mused:  
The temple brighter shines then erst it used.  
Majestic Janus turns immediately  
His double visage to my wondering eye.  
Amazement makes my hairs upright to start:  
A sudden terror chills me to the heart.  
His staff in's right hand, in his left his key;  
From former face he thus replies to me:  
Time's studious prophet, cast aside all fear,  
And from my mouth what thou desirest hear.  
Old times did call me Chaos (I'm a thing  
Of deepest eld) mark what old acts I sing.  
All these four elements, the Air so clear,  
Fire, Earth, and Water, one whole body were.  
When strife they ceased, and this laborious mass  
To several houses separated was,  
Fire mounted heaven; the next the Air possessed;  
The Earth and Water in the midst were pressed.  
Then I, who was a rude and shapeless load,  
Came to the true proportion of a god.  
Because my badge of that rude lump is small,  
My fore and back parts differ not at all.  
The other reason of my shape I'll show,  
Which with my office thou shalt also know.  
Whatever thou seest, heaven, air, and sea, and land,  
Are all locked up, and opened by mine hand:  
This vast world's guard is in my only power:  
The wheeling of the hinge of heaven is our.  
When peace I please into calm courts to send,  
She in safe paths about doth freely wend.  
With fatal blood the world would drenched be,  
Should I not curb stern war with this my key.  
I with the gentle Hours heavens portals guard:  
Jove's self goes in and out too by my ward:  
Thence Janus called. And when the priest doth make  
A wafer for me, and a salt-meal-cake,  
The name doth seem ridiculous: some whiles  
He me Patusius, and then Clusius, styles.  
My double office rude antiquity  
By this alternate name would signify.  
Thou seest my office, now will I make known  
My figure's ground, in part already shown:  
Two fronts (thou knowst) belong to every gate:  
This towards the people, towards the household that▪  
And as the porter at his gate with you  
Does both the ingress and the egress view:  
So I the porter or heavens court survey  
Just at a wink the East and Western bay.  
See Hecate, her faces three ways bends,  
And so she easily three-leet ways defends:  
So without motion I two ways can see,  
Lest loss of time there should in moving be.  
This said, he promised with a courteous eye,  
If more I asked, he would not me deny.  
I courage took, and thanked Sr Janus then,  
And casting down mine eye thus spoke again.  
Why doth the New year in the cold begin?  
The gentle spring a fitter time had been.  
Time's age renews then, and renews all things:  
On swelling twigs the pearly vine-bud springs.  
Leaves deck the trees in summer-green attire:  
Both grass and grain above the ground doth spire.  
Birds descants warble in the calmed air,  
Both birds and beasts do sport about and pair.  
The sun shines warm. Then comes the vagrant swallow,  
And on a beam her morter-work doth follow.  
The farmer's ploughs his fallow grounds manure:  
This should have been the years beginning sure.  
I largely asked, he made no large replies,  
But in two verses doth his speech comprise.  
Sols first and last day doth in winter fall,  
The year the same beginning hath with Sol.  
Then marvelled I why with some suits of laws  
This day is kept: Says Janus, Learn the cause.  
Upon the first day some affairs we raise,  
Lest from the Omen all the year should laze.  
Each in his art for that some business does,  
And by those acts his yearly studies shows.  
But why (said I) do we bring myrrh and wine  
To thee before the other powers divine?  
That you (says he) by me who keep the door,  
May have access to any other power.  
And why (said I) on this first day such greetings,  
And hearty wishes do we use at meetings?  
Replies he, leaning on his staff in's hand,  
In their beginnings do all Omens stand.  
Your jealous ears you turn to each first word:  
The watchful Augur marks the first-spyed bird.  
God's ears and temples all stand open: no tongue  
Makes idle prayers, but every word is strong.  
Thus answered he. I was not silent much,  
For his last word I with my first did touch.  
What means dry figs and palm-fruit I wot not,  
And honey offered in a fine-white pot.  
That's for good luck, that things may savour so,  
And that our year a pleasant race may go.  
This have I learned; but show the reason now  
Of newyears gifts, that I may all parts know.  
He smiled: O how doth thy age thee deceive!  
Honey more sweet than money to believe!  
I scarce saw any in old Satur's reign  
That was not taken with the sweets of gain.  
In tract of time the Having love did grow:  
'Tis now at height, and can no further go.  
Wealth now is far more set by then of yore,  
Rome being a novice, and her people poor.  
When Mars-got Romulus in mean stalls lived,  
And little beds of river-reeds were weaved,  
In narrow court Jove scarce upright could stand,  
And held an earthen thunderbolt in's hand.  
Then leaves for gold the Capitol adorned:  
To keep his flocks the Senator ne'er scorned,  
Nor shamed to sleep upon a lock of hay,  
Or on a pad of straw his head to lay.  
The Praetour kept his court new come from plough:  
A plate of silver as a shame did show.  
But when proud Fate this places head had reared,  
And Rome's top-gallant near the gods appeared,  
Then wealth increased, and wealths unglut desire,  
Men much possessing still much more require.  
To spend what's gotten, and to get what's spent,  
The very course is vice's nourishment.  
So they whose bodies swelling dropsies have,  
The more they drink the more they liquor crave.  
Coin has the count, wealth gets the honour still:  
Wealth gets the friends, the poor shifts where he will▪  
But if thou ask why newyears gifts are sent,  
And why old monies us so well content:  
Yerst brass was given; now better 'tis in gold:  
The newer coin hath taken place of old.  
Gold-temples please us, though the old w'approve:  
The majesty a god doth most behoof.  
We praise old times, but yet make use of new;  
To both their customs like observance due.  
He made an end: When conging courteously  
Key-keeping Janus thus accosted I;  
Much have I learned: but why one side the brass  
Is stamped a ship, and then a double face?  
Seest thou, quoth he, that double picture in't?  
It is my face, but time hath blurred the print.  
The Ships cause learn. A ship old Saturn brought  
On Tuscan stream, the whole world roamed about.  
I well remember since He pitched upon  
These coasts; when Jove the throne of heaven had won.  
The name Saturnia thence this land did bear,  
And Latium too: because he sheltered here.  
But after ages, as a mindful sign  
Of his arrival, stamped a ship in coin.  
I then manured that ground on whose left side  
Sand-guilded Tiber's courteous stream doth glide.  
Where Rome now stands there grew a lofty wood;  
This mighty mass was then but pasture-food.  
Mine altar stood upon you hill, which from  
My name this age doth all Janiculum.  
Then reigned I, when gods did dwell on ground,  
And powers divine in humane seats were found.  
Man's crimes from earth yet had not Justice driven:  
She last of gods withdrew herself to heaven.  
Without constraint shame ruled the hearts of men,  
Not fear: small pains to judge the Commons then.  
I knew no wars, but kept my Peace and Door,  
These arms, quoth he, his key advanced, I wore.  
His lips he closing, mine than opened I,  
My question still provoking his reply:  
Since thou hast many temples, why dost stand  
In this alone, with markets twain at hand.  
He, coaxing then his grave and bushy beard  
Down to his waist, the Tatian wars declared.  
How that light guard enticed with Sabine chains  
Led into tower king Tatius and his trains.  
From thence, as now, where you, quoth he, descend,  
A hill through markets to the vales doth bend.  
Now stole they to the gate, whose fastened lock  
Malignant Juno off the bolts did knock.  
ay, loath to thwart it with so high a power,  
Did slily help them with a feat of our,  
And opened the spring-heads (which my art can do)  
And suddenly let floods of water go.  
First in the veins I sulphur threw about,  
That scalding streams might force the Tatians out.  
By which, the Sabines almost scallt and slain,  
The place its former nature did regain.  
For this good turn they me a Chapel raise,  
Where cakes and barley on my altars blaze.  
But why in wars unbolted are thy gates,  
And locked in peace? The reason he relates:  
In time of war I set my doors wide open,  
To make retreat for every marched forth troop.  
In peace I'm barred, lest forth stern war should flee:  
And long in Caesar's empire barred I'll be.  
This said, he lifts his all-way-looking eyes,  
And views what ever in the broad world lies.  
'Twas peace, O Cesar, and subdued Rhine,  
To raise thy triumphs, paid his tribute then.  
Peace and peacemakers, Janus, deathless make:  
Let not the author ere that work forsake.  
Now let me tell what registers do say;  
Our fathers gave two temples on this day.  
The isle where Tiber in two parts doth run,  
Did welcome Aesculapius Phoebus' son.  
Jove hath a part: one place them both contains:  
The grandchild's temple to the grandsire's joins.  
What lets to sing the stars ascent and set?  
This is a piece on which our Muse must treat.  
Blessed souls who first did this rare science love,  
And strived to climb those crystal courts above!  
From worldly vices and all base toys  
They (doubtless) their diviner thoughts did raise.  
Nor wine, nor love, nor wars, nor court-affairs  
Did break those lofty-towring minds of theirs:  
Nor varnished glory, nor ambition light,  
Nor thirst of riches did distract their spirit.  
They drew the stars familiar to our eyes,  
And to their knowledge did submit the skies.  
So heaven is scaled, not as Olympus yerst  
Did Ossa bear, the clouds with Pelion pierced.  
We by those guides will meet those heavenly lines,  
And point each day to his associate signs.  
The third night come before the Nones ensue,  
When earth is dabbled with the morning dew,  
To seek eight-footed Cancers arms were vain,  
He headlong falls into the western main.  
Much rain doth threat from hover clouds to flow:  
The Nones, the Harp arising, signs will show.  
Let four days from the Nones be past, then shall  
Old Janus have his service Agonall.  
The girt-up priest, who at the altar slays  
The beast to him, may be the titles cause:  
Who being about to drench his knife in blood,  
Agóne cries, nor strikes till he's allowed.  
This feast Agnalia they did term (some say)  
In ancient times, one letter ta'en away.  
Some think, because the beasts are driven, they call  
This day from cattle-driving, Agonal.  
Or else, because knives laid in water scare  
The wary beast, 'tis called so from that fear.  
Some hold that from those games the Greeks did make  
In former times this day the name did take.  
Which games old language did Agonia call:  
And in my mind this ground is best of all.  
Howe'er 'tis doubtful. But the great King-priest  
With sacred ram to Janus now must feast.  
By hands victorious victima doth fall:  
From slaughtered host the beast we hostia call.  
In times of eld men pleased the powers of heaven  
With crumbs of salt, and meal of barley given.  
No foreign vessel through the swelling seas  
Brought in sweet myrrh wept from the rinds of trees.  
Euphrates incense, Ind no cost did send:  
None did the strings of tawny saffron tend.  
From Sabine weeds the altars fumes did rise,  
And bay-boughs burning with a crackling noise.  
If any in his flow'r-pranked chaplets than  
Could violets put, he was a wealthy man.  
The knife that now the ox's flesh doth slice,  
Then had no office in a sacrifice.  
First Ceres in the greedy swine's blood joyed,  
Him well requiting who her wealth destroyed.  
For in the spring her tender juicy corn  
She found up-rooted by the swine and torn.  
He punished was. Sir goat, you might have learned  
To keep from vines by his example warned:  
Whom one beholding on the vinetree feeding,  
Did vent these words from no still grief proceeding;  
Well goat gnaw on, yet when at th' altar thou  
Dost stand for death the wine shall wash thy brow.  
Truth proves his speech: to thee that foe of thine  
Sir Bacchus, given, his horns are dashed with wine.  
The swine's fault wronged him & the goats: ye flocks  
What did ye merit? or the useful ox?  
The shepherd Aristaeus mourned and pined  
His bees all dead and combs decayed to find.  
Whom his blue mother comforted in grief,  
And in the end did give him this relief;  
Son, stay these sorrows: Proteus thee will show  
Thy loss to cure, and thy dead stock renew:  
But bind him sure in fetters strong, lest he  
With his transformed shapes should cousin thee.  
The young man to the Ocean Sage makes haste,  
And fast asleep his arms he shackles fast.  
His shape he changes, and transforms by charm;  
Strait tamed with shackles comes to his own form,  
And raising his drenched face with his blue beard,  
Dost seek, quoth he, to have thy stock repaired?  
An ox's carcase bury in the field,  
And thy desire that buried ox shall yield.  
This did the youth: The putrid corpse doth glow  
With swarms; from one life do a thousand flow.  
The saucy sheep cropped vervine in the spring,  
Which good old wives to countrey-gods did bring.  
What beast's secure, when profitable flocks  
Are slain at altars, and the toilsome ox?  
Beam-girt Hyperion Persians please with horse:  
No dull beast suits a god so swift in course.  
The hart that did to triple Diana fall  
Once for a maid, now dies for none at all.  
Sabeans and i'll Aemus have I seen  
Dogs entrails offer to the Trivian queen.  
The ass unto the Garden-god is killed:  
The cause obscene, yet such this god doth yield.  
To ivied Bacchus Greece a feast did make,  
Which each third year a constant course doth take.  
The gods that kept about Lyceus' side  
And all the neighbours to the banquet plied;  
The Fauns and Satyrs with obsceneness fired,  
The Nymphs that haunt fresh springs and shades retired:  
Silenus' sage on bow-backt ass was there,  
And he whose red flank frightful birds doth scare.  
Who choosing in a grove a fitting place  
For such a feast, sat down on turfs of grass.  
Th'had wines from Bacchus: each did bring his crown:  
To cool their cups a brook hard by ran down.  
The Fairies some in loose and careless hair,  
Some in their artificial tires, were there.  
Some with their coats tucked up unto the knee,  
Some naked-breasted in the service be.  
Some with bare shoulders, some in garments side  
Did sweep the grass: their feet no sandals tied.  
Hence secretly at some the Satyrs glow;  
And thou who with a pine-wreath bindest thy brow.  
And thee, Silenus, quenchless lusts still hold:  
'Tis lechery that makes thee never old.  
But Priap's love, the dun-thighed garden-guard,  
‛ Mongst all the rest was bend to Lotis-ward:  
For her he longs, for her he sighs and pines,  
To her he winks, and sues with nods and signs.  
Pride fills the fair, and beauty breeds disdain:  
She laughs at him, and slights his suits but vain.  
Night came, and sleep by wine provoked: they  
Each in his place to rest, being drowsy, lay.  
Beneath a maple Lotis on the grass,  
Quite tired with sport, on th' outside tumbled was:  
Her sweetheart rising holds his breath, and goes  
Most slily, creeping on his hands and toes.  
Her private lodging soon as he came nigh,  
He holds his wind from breathing out too high.  
His bulk he lays down easily on the ground  
Close to her side, yet she asleep was sound.  
Full blithe, her coats above her knees he drew,  
And luckily his business 'gan pursue.  
When lo! just then from his unpleasing throat  
Silenus' ass brays out an ugly note.  
Up starts the nymph affrighted much, and shoves  
Sir Priap off, and flying wakes the groves.  
The god too forward with his tool obscene,  
Was sound jeered at, by the moonlight seen.  
This cost the braying ass his life, who is  
To Lampsacs' God a pleasing sacrifice.  
Wood-haunting birds, the country's solace, ye  
(A harmless brood) were yet untouched and free.  
That build neat nests, and eggs with tender wing  
Hatch up, and in melodious accents sing.  
This nought avails: the Gods your tongues do find  
Too faulty in discovering their mind.  
And true it is; with wing and tattling bill  
You near to heaven disclose their secret will.  
The kind of birds, long free, at length yet died,  
And Gods their traitors entrails gratified.  
Thence on the burning hearths the milk-winged dove  
Is sacrificed, snatched from her tender love.  
Nor can the guarded Capitol release  
The goose's liver from choice Inach's mess.  
The cock by night to Night's black Queen they slay,  
Because his watchful bill doth wake the day.  
Mean while the Dolphines glittering snout doth rise  
From native seas, and scales the azure skies.  
Next day doth winter equally divide:  
What past made even to what remains beside.  
Next days Aurora rising views in sight  
Th' Arcadian Ladies pontificial rite.  
This day Juturna to a chapel took,  
Where Mars his field is girt with maiden broo●.  
From whence shall I their cause and customs take?  
My doubtful barge who guides amid this lake?  
Tell thou, who from thy verses tak'st thy name,  
My task assist, lest I should wrong thy fame.  
Before the Moon Arcadia did derive  
Her name from Arcas (may we her believe.)  
Here lived Evander honourable in  
Both pedigrees,, but most in mother's kin.  
She, when her breast with heavenly fire was filled,  
From full-voiced mouth true prophecies did yield:  
That troubles did herself and son pursue,  
With much more news, which time approved true.  
For he with his too-skilfull mother, beat  
From Arcady, forsook his native seat:  
And weeping (cries his mother) Do not mourn,  
My son; these fates must manfully be born.  
'Twas thus enroled in Fate: from thine abode  
No crime hath driven thee, but an angry God.  
Thou sufferest not thy merits, but heaven's wrath:  
Clean innocence in woe much comfort hath.  
As is the conscience, so the mind doth breed  
Or hope or fear for every acted deed.  
thouart not the first that hath such evils born:  
These tempests have the greatest worthies torn.  
This Cadmus' banished from the Tyrian bay  
Endured, then settled in Aonia.  
This was both Tydeus and Jason's state,  
And divers more, too many to relate.  
As seas to fish, to birds as air and wind,  
All lands are native to a noble mind.  
Nor shall this winter last perpetually:  
Believe me, son, there is a spring for thee.  
Evander raised by his mother's speech,  
Ploughs up the waves, and Italy doth reach.  
Then by her guidance to our river came  
Of Tiber, and so sailed up the stream.  
The river's margin on Tarentums side,  
And scattered stalls on desert plains she eyed.  
With hairs about her shoulders poured she stands  
O'th'poop, and scowling stays the pilots hands.  
Her arms extended to the right side banks,  
With frantic feet thrice stamped she on the planks.  
Scarce could Evander scarce with might and main  
Her leaping hast'ly on the bank restrain.  
Hail Gods (cries she) of this desired place;  
Hail land, the mother of a heavenly race:  
Ye springs & rivers of this land hospitious,  
Ye Fairies feat, and water-nymphs delicious,  
With good luck of my son and me be seen:  
With happy foot may we all touch this green.  
I err, or else these hills huge walls shall see,  
And to this land all lands shall subject be.  
The world's engaged to yonder mountains state:  
Who'uld think this place should comprehend such fate?  
Troy's ships now shortly here arriving are:  
Here shall a woman cause a second war.  
Dear Pallas, why do fatal arms array thee?  
Well, put them on; no common hand shall slay thee.  
Yet conquered Troy shall conquer: fallen shall rise:  
Her ruins shall subdue her enemies.  
Ye conquering flames the Dardan towers devour:  
Their dust, now small, shall here the world o'repower.  
Aeneas now his gods and father brings:  
O Vesta, entertain those holy things!  
Time comes when one shall Earth with you defend;  
That god himself shall sacrifices spend.  
The Caesar's then their country shall maintain:  
That noble house must guide the kingdom's reign.  
That god-born prince (although himself deny)  
His father's weight shall manage piously.  
As sure as altars me perpetually  
Shall worship, Julia shall a goddess be.  
As with these words she came to these our times,  
Her tongue prophetic stayed amid these rhy'mes.  
A board on Italy these exiles went:  
Right blest; to whom that land was banishment!  
Straight rise new walls. Nor could that clime afford  
A greater Hero than th' Arcadian lord.  
Lo, great Tyrinthius, as he now did rove  
The world, his Spanish oxen thither drove:  
And being here entertained by king Evander,  
His beasts unkept about the plains do wander.  
The club-armed Heros, when the morn appeared,  
Arose, and missed two oxen in his herd.  
He searched, but finds no tract of beasts nor men;  
Fell Cacus dragged them backward to his den:  
Cacus, the fear of Aventine, and woe;  
A plague to strangers and to natives too:  
Stern-looked, strong-limbed, a most prodigious mass:  
Black Vulcan sire of this vast monster was.  
In stead of house a desert cave, huge, vast  
And far retired, by which no beast yet passed.  
men's sculls and limbs were hanged about his door:  
The clottered ground was strewed with bones all o'er.  
Jove's son departing with his ill-kept crowd,  
The oxen stolen unto their fellows lowed.  
Oh, I'm recalled, quoth he: and following then  
The sound, through woods he rustles to his den.  
A piece of rock barred up his wide-mouthed gate:  
Ten yoke of oxen scarce could move the weight.  
He shoves with shoulders which the heavens could bear,  
And with the motion up the load doth tear.  
Which tumbling down, the noise doth heaven affright:  
The powerful mass the yielding ground doth smite.  
First Cacus gives the onset with heaved hands,  
And fiercely deals with stones and burning brands:  
Which being but vain, his father's art to use  
He strains, and fires from thundering throat he spews:  
You would have thought 't had been Typheous blast,  
And clattering volleys out of Aetna cast.  
Alcides drives on, and with knotty bat  
Three or four times doth dash him o'er the pate.  
He falls, and forth fire-mingled blood doth pour,  
And, dying, with his huge bulk beats the floor.  
One of these heads to Jove he offers then,  
And calls Evander with the Countrymen;  
And builds his Altar which is called the Great;  
Here where the street derives the name from Neat.  
Nor was Carmentis mute, but said, ere long  
The gods Alcides should be ranked among.  
But this heaven-loved Prophetess more blessed  
This day, engoddessed, in this month possessed.  
In th'Ides the holy Priest for sacrifice  
In Jove's great court a wether's entrails fries.  
Then to our nation every province came.  
Then first Augustus was thy grandsires name.  
Search, read the statues through the ministers old;  
So great a title hath no prince extolled.  
One Africks' conquest titles: these are named  
To show the Cretians, or Isaurians tamed:  
Numidians this, and him Messanians raise:  
From curbed Numantia hath another praise.  
Germania was both Drusus death and name:  
Ah me! how short a virtue was that same!  
Should Caesar's conquests give him appellations,  
He'd have as many as the world hath nations.  
From some one action some renowned grow;  
From bracelets ta'en, or from a lucky crow.  
Magnus, thy name's the measure of thy deeds:  
Yet he that conquered name and thee exceeds.  
Above the Fabii's name there's no degree;  
For their great acts Great fames that family.  
Yet all these humane celebrations are:  
With Jove himself Augustus name doth share.  
Old times Augusta called all things of state,  
And temples which the Priest did consecrate.  
From this words theme is Auguries descent,  
And whatsoever Jove's bounty doth augment.  
May he augment our Prince's years and states,  
May oaken garlands still protect our gates.  
Still may this large names heir the city's weight,  
By heaven's aid, manage in his father's fate.  
The third day after that the Ides are gone,  
Th' Arcadian goddess hath more sacreds done.  
In cars at first our wives did ride about:  
(Th' are called so from Carmentis out of doubt.)  
This privilege ta'en from them, all agreed  
No children for such thankless men to breed.  
And, to prevent, her embryo every mother  
Forced from her womb by some close means or other.  
They chid their wives for this their act abhorred;  
But yet their custom was again restored.  
Then to Carmentis they consent to raise  
Two sacrifices, both for girls and boys.  
No beast self-dead her chapel will endure:  
Because, unclean, it stains her altars pure.  
Who e'er thou art that lov'st old rites, the prayer  
Assist; unhear'd-of names you now shall hear:  
Postverta since, & Porrima w'appease;  
Carmentis sisters or her mates were these:  
The first, because she speaks of future things;  
The last, because of matters past she sings.  
Next day White Concord in a white church placed,  
Where tall Moneta on high steps is raised.  
Now be protectress of the Latin train,  
Now sacred hands have reared thee up again.  
The Tuscan conqueror Furius of eld  
Did vow thee, and his solemn vow fulfilled.  
The cause; The commons 'gainst the nobles were  
In arms, and Rome did her own greatness fear.  
This last is best: Brave Prince thy thundering knocks  
Made Germany cut short her dangling locks.  
Then gav'st thou gifts of that triumphed nation;  
And rais'd'st a church for Concord's adoration.  
This did thy mother, Jove's bed-worthy bride,  
Endow with altars and rich gifts beside.  
These things thus past, Sol leaving Capricorn,  
His race-horse to the Water-boy doth turn.  
The seventh day hence, when Sol his fiery wheels  
Cools in the sea, the Harp a part conceals.  
Next morn to this the bright star that doth shine  
In Leo's breast, is quenched in Neptune's brine.  
Three or four times I searched the Calendar,  
But could not find a Seed-day any where.  
My Muse perceiving, said, Seek thou always  
For Holidays: that's but a Bidden day.  
The day's uncertain, certain is the time,  
When seed-big fields do sprout forth in their prime.  
Crowned oxen now at full-stuft mangers feed:  
The thriving spring more work for you will breed.  
His well-wrought plough the farmer on a post  
Hangs up: the ground fears every wound in frost.  
Farmers, let plowmen and manured soil  
(Your seedtime finished) rest and sport a while.  
Now plowmen feast, and now surround your corn;  
And yearly gifts on Countrey-altars burn.  
Ceres and Terra mothers of your seed  
Please with big sow and fruits themselves do breed.  
These two one common benefit maintain;  
This yields the place, and she the cause of grain.  
These two co-workers ancient times renewed;  
That nobler food condemned acorns rude.  
Fill up the Farmer's gapings with rich crops:  
Yield some requital to their pains and hopes.  
With constant growths increase you still their corn:  
Let not i'll snows the blade yet tender bourn.  
In sowing seed let smooth gales open the skies:  
Rain down soft showrs when underground it lies.  
Scare grain-devouring flocks of birds away:  
Because that they our Cereall wealth destroy.  
Ye toiling pismires, spare the corn new sown:  
In harvest-time more plenty will be grown.  
Thus let it thrive from rusty blasting free;  
Nor by the heaven's distemper sickly be.  
Not too too thin, nor yet too rank, whereby  
To faint through too much prodigality.  
Free all the grounds from eye-annoying darnel:  
Let not an ear bring forth a chaffy kernel.  
Let fields all yield in huge increase rich wheat,  
And rye, and barley, twice enduring heat.  
Thus I for you, thus for your own affairs  
Ye Farmers pray: may both Powers hear our prayers!  
Wars long have vexed us; swords were more in course  
Then shares; the ox gave place to th' haughty horse.  
Rakes idle lay, and mattocks turned to piles;  
In fire the spade to make a helmet boils.  
Thanks to the Gods and to thy house, that long  
Wars under foot have lain in fetters strong.  
Let th' ox be in his yoke, in soil the seed:  
Peace, Ceres' mother, Ceres still doth feed.  
The fifth before the Calends first begins,  
Were temples raised to those Ledean twins.  
Two brother-Gods to brother-Gods did make  
These fabrics seated near Juturna lake.  
To Peace her altar hath our verse us brought,  
Which is one day before the month goes out.  
Sweet Peace, approach with Actium garlands crowned,  
And through the world continue thou renowned.  
Adieu all foes, though here no triumphs be;  
Peace more than War doth Princes magnify.  
Let soldiers carry arms, arms to confound:  
Let blaring trumpets nought but pomp resound.  
Let Troy's brave race the world with terror move:  
Let every land that dreads not Rome, her love.  
On peaceful flames, ye Priests, sweet incense lay,  
And cattle with wine-dabbled forelocks slay.  
Let pious prayers the yielding Gods attend,  
That this calm house in Peace may time transcend.  
But now the first piece of my task is done:  
And, with our book, we through this month are run.   
The end of the first Book.   

OVID'S FESTIVALS; OR, ROMAN CALENDAR. The second Book; or, FEBRUARY.  
The Argument.  
THe Etymology of this month's name.  
St Safety's chapel. And Arion's fame.  
Great Caesar's title. Nymph Calisto fair.  
The Fabiis slain. The Crow. Lupercals bare.  
Pan's love; the cheat. A Wolf the Martial twins  
Exposed doth nurse. Wives pregnant made with skins.  
Quirinus' deified. Fools-Holy-day.  
To Parent's tombs and Silence rites they pay.  
Charistia. Terminus. Young Tarquin's lust  
Lucrece from life, himself from's throne doth thrust.  

JAnus is done: Our year with rhythmes doth run;  
And with the Month another book's begun.  
Now Elegies your sails you begin display:  
Me thoughts you were but little flags to day.  
You were my nimble pages in my love,  
When first our Muse in youthful sports did rove:  
Now Calendary Holy days you sing:  
How should this new from that old subject spring?  
This is my chivalry: these arms I wear:  
Our hands not void of all employments are.  
What though our arm no javelins flight doth force,  
Nor check the chide of a foaming horse,  
Nor girt with sword, nor with a helmet fenced?  
(None but may vaunt in those habiliments)  
We studiously, brave Cesar, search thy names,  
And trace the Titles thy desert proclaims:  
Accept this service with a calmed brow;  
If freed a while from curbing of the foe.   

Old Romans did Purgations Februa call:  
And now good signs they guard this word withal.  
The Nobles from th' High Priest, and Flamen by  
Took locks of wool, called Februa anciently.  
Thus were those purge styled, that hot-salt cake,  
Which at some houses Lictours used to take.  
The bough was termed thus which was cut down  
From Laurel-tree the Priests chaste brows to crown.  
I've seen a Pine-branch to Flaminia's hand  
Delivered, when she Februa did demand.  
whatever, lastly, us doth purify  
Was styled thus by unshorn Antiquity.  
Hence comes this month, because Luperci run  
With goat skin-thongs in that purgation:  
Or else because the baleful days now rid,  
The season's pure, and grave-ghosts quieted.  
By due purgation men in times of eld  
All crimes and evils expiable held.  
Greece thought (which first this custom did begin)  
By sprinkling men were quitted from their sin.  
Once Peleus did Patroclus purge in water,  
And him Acastus purged from Phocus slaughter.  
Fond Aegeus vainly Phasis purified,  
Who on curbed dragons in the air did ride.  
Alcmaeon did to Achelous say,  
Purge me from sin; he purged his sin away.  
Ah, too too silly, who imagine water  
Can wash away that heavy crime of slaughter!  
But, that you may the ancient order know,  
Know Janus, as before, the first is now.  
The next to Janus was the old years last:  
And Terminus did end the rites all past.  
Janus the first month is, as 't were the Gate:  
The next was last, to Ghosts being consecrate.  
Long after, our Decemviri ('t is thought)  
These months farre-distanced both together brought.  
In this month's entrance, near the Phrygian Dame,  
New Temples once enlarged St Safety's fame.  
Where are those buildings in these Calends raised,  
If you inquire: Time them hath quite defaced.  
Our sacred Prince's Care and Providence  
Our other from the like decay prevents;  
And lets no wrong to them be done by time:  
Obliging Gods, as well as men, to him.  
Great Temple-founder and repairer too,  
Still may the Gods have mutual care of you!  
May Gods those years which you give them give thee,  
And for thy house stand to eternity.  
Then is the Grove solemnised, and th' Asyle,  
Where foreign Tiber to the sea doth toil.  
At Numa's shrine and in the Capitol  
Of thundering Jove a two-yeare-sheep doth fall.  
Ofttimes great gusts the mantled heavens do shed;  
Or feath'ry snow the earth doth overspread.  
When next days Titan dives the western stream,  
And pearly harness takes from purple team;  
That night one lifting to the heavens his eyen,  
Says, Where's the Harp which yesternight did shine?  
And seeking for the Harp, spies suddenly  
The Lion's middle drenched in western sea.  
The starre-embossed Dolphin, which to night  
Is seen, the next night after shuns our sight.  
For being Neptune's faithful spy fixed there;  
Or 'cause he did the Lesbian Harper bear.  
What sea or land but rings Arion's fame,  
Whose sweetest strains the swiftest streams could tame?  
The wolf oft coursing silly lambs to kill,  
The lamb oft running from the wolf, stood still:  
Oft dogs and hares beneath one covert lay;  
And hearts by lions on a bank did stay:  
At sight of th' owl the jackdaw made no prate;  
And by the dove the puttock quiet sat.  
'T is said that Cynthia did as much admire  
Arion's music as her Brother's lyre.  
Arion's fame had filled the Sicil sea;  
His lyric songs did charm Ausonia.  
He, with his riches purchased by his art,  
Took ship into his country to depart.  
Perhaps, poor man, thou dread'st the waves and wind!  
But thou the sea more safe than ship didst find.  
For lo, the Pilot, now a Pirate, stands,  
And all his crew with naked swords in hands.  
Pilot, what mak'st thou with a sword? throw't from thee,  
And guide thy ship: those tools do more become thee.  
He pale with fear; For life I do not pray:  
But on my harp let me rehearse one lay.  
They in derision yielded. He puts on  
His laurell-crown which might become the Sun:  
Then dons his gown in Tyrian purple died:  
The fingered strings in measures due replied.  
He sings in mournful numbers, like a Swan  
Whose hardened quills have pierced his aged brainpan:  
Then into water thus attired doth skip:  
The battered billows all bedash the ship.  
Whom on his arched back (most strange to say!)  
The Dolphin takes, and bears him on his way.  
He sits, and for his portage-wages sings:  
The melting waves are ravished at his strings.  
Jove and the Gods this piety beheld,  
And with nine stars in heaven the Dolphin sealed.  
Now, grand Maeonian, I a thousand veins  
Could wish, with thine Achilles-blazing strains.  
Whiles holy times we sing on varying quill,  
Still more renown our Calendar doth fill.  
My breast falls short: beyond my strength I strive:  
We special numbers to this day must give.  
Ah fool, to elegize a weight so great!  
This should have walked upon Heroic feet.  
Hail, Pater Patriae! thee this title grave  
Both Court, and Commons, and our Order gave.  
Yet 't was too late: Thy deeds e'er that claimed more:  
Thou wert the world's great Father long before.  
Jove's name in heaven is thine on earth: small odds;  
Thou Father of mankind, he of the Gods.  
Yield, Romulus: Our Prince thy walls doth keep  
Invicted; Remus over thine could leap.  
You curbed small Cures, Tatius, and Caenine:  
His Roman reign out-starts Sols farthest line.  
You but in small epitome did reign:  
All under Jove doth Caesar's power contain.  
He honours Chastity, defiled by thee:  
Your grove did hatch, he stabs Iniquity:  
He fosters Laws; you nurtured Violence:  
You styled but Lord; he, Universal Prince:  
You taxed by Remus; he is his foes Saviour:  
Thy father thee; he deifies his father.  
The Trojane Lad now to the waist appears,  
And soaks the earth with store of Nectar tears.  
Now all whom Boreas rigid blasts made quake,  
Cheer up; for Zephyr milder air doth make.  
When Lucifer his sparkling crest doth raise  
In this fifth morn, the Spring begins straightways.  
But yet take heed; there still remains some cold:  
For waning Winter still harsh signs doth hold.  
The third night after we may see in skies  
The northern Bearward with his feet to rise.  
Calisto was the prettyest Lass among  
The Nymphs of quiver-girt Diana's throng.  
Her Lady's bow she takes: This bow, quoth she,  
I hold here witness my virginity.  
This Cynthia praised: Thy vow, quoth she, maintain,  
And thou shalt be the Lady of my train.  
She had kept her promise had she not been fair:  
All men she scorns; but Jove doth her impair.  
From hunting thousand games in forests vast  
Diana comes about noontide or past.  
Now in her grove with holms all overgrown,  
Amid the which a clear-cool spring ran down,  
Come Tegean Maid, and in the cool, she said,  
Let's wash. She blushed at that false title, Maid.  
The Nymphs, all bidden, laid their coats away.  
She grew suspicious by her shamed delay.  
Her clothes pulled off, the swellings of her womb.  
An open traitor to her shame become.  
Avaunt, false Strumpet, from our virgin-train,  
The Goddess cried, nor these pure waters slain.  
Ten times the Moon her horns to orbs had brought;  
She's now a mother who a maid was thought.  
Wronged Juno storming changed the wench's shape:  
(O spare! She strove: it was thy Husband's rape)  
And as the maid an ugly bear did turn,  
Let Jove, saith she, in those embraces burn.  
The shapeless beast in forests wild doth rove,  
Which did erewhile enamour mighty Jove.  
The Bastard-boy his fifteenth year did run,  
When lo! by chance his mother met her son.  
She, as she him had known, stood still (poor wretch!)  
And groaned: groaning was her only speech.  
Her deadly wound the ignorant lad had given,  
But that they both were taken up to heaven;  
Joint constellations: One we Arctos read:  
The next Boötes doth behind succeed.  
To hoary Tethys Juno vexed more went  
To banish Arctos from her watery tent.  
Wild Faunus Altars in the Ides do glow,  
Where parted streams about the island flow.  
This is the day wherein the Fabii's train,  
Three hundred six, were by the Veians slain.  
One House a city's weight and burden bear;  
And kindred-armies arms professed wear.  
All out of one tent march courageously;  
Of whom there's none but might a Captain be.  
Carmentis Gate's right hand to Janus leads;  
(Go no man that way: it an omen breeds)  
Forth by that portal marched this noble House:  
The Gate's not faulty; yet 't is ominous.  
Soon as to rapid Cremera, whose banks  
Were now brimful, they came in speedy ranks,  
Their tents pitched down, they rush with blades in hand  
In Martial prowess through the Tyrrbene band,  
Like lions of the Libyan breed, which tear  
The scattered herd about the fields each where.  
The routed foes base wounds on backsides bide:  
The blushing ground in Tuscan blood is died.  
Thus oft they fall. Now when by chivalry  
They nought could do, to policy they fly.  
A plain there is enclosed on every side  
With hills and woods; close coverts beasts to hide,  
Amid this field few herds and men display:  
Among the woods the rest in ambush lay.  
Lo, like a torrent puffed by sudden storm,  
Or banks of snow dissolved by Zephyrs warm:  
O'er corn and hedges it doth range and rage;  
Nor can the banks its luxury assuage:  
Even so the Fabiis range about the field;  
And, fearing nought, whoms'ere they met they killed.  
O whither royal brood? O trust them not!  
Right noble blood, beware their treacherous plot.  
Fraud murders valour: th' ambushment unseen  
Rush into open fields and hem them in.  
What could so few against ten thousand swords?  
What help was there which misery affords?  
Like as a boar chased by a cry of hounds,  
The yelping curs with thundering tusks wounds;  
Yet falls at last: so they with vengeance die;  
And take and deal their wounds alternately.  
One day the Fabiis did in arms array:  
In arms arrayed they all were slain one day.  
'T is said the Gods provided that some seed  
Might still be left in this Herculean breed.  
For one young stripling of the Fabian race,  
Unfit for feats of arms, surviving was.  
Which, Maximus, was thee to propagate,  
Who by delaying didst restore the State.  
Three constellations near: the Snake, the Crow,  
And then the Cup that's couched between the two.  
In th' Ides they are concealed, but next night rise:  
We'll tell the cause of their societies.  
It chanced that Phoebus gave to Jove one day  
A solemn feast: (My tale shall make no stay)  
Go, Bird, that nothing may be wanting, bring,  
Quoth he, some water from a running spring.  
The golden tanker in his claws the Crow  
Takes, and through air with waving wings doth row.  
A figtree full of figs yet green there stood:  
He pecks off one: it was not fit for food.  
His errand slighted, he among the twigs  
Sits loyt'ring, till the season ripped the figs:  
Then fills his crop, and, catching up a Snake,  
Comes to his Master, and this lie doth make;  
Lo, here my let, the springs usurper, who  
Kept me from water and my duty too.  
D' you add a lie to this vile trick of your?  
Dare you delude an all-beholding Power?  
For this no water shalt thou drink, quoth he,  
Whiles figs in ripening hang upon the tree.  
This Phoebus said: Crow, Snake, and Cup, all shine  
Near-neighbouring stars, the deeds eternal sign.  
The third day next the Ides Luperci bore  
Run, and horned Faunus' rites solemnised are:  
Relate, ye Muses, their original,  
And whence derived to the Roman wall.  
The old Arcadians much did Pan adore:  
Who but Sr Pan in all Arcadia's shore?  
Stymphalian waters, & green Pholoe,  
And swift-streamed Ladon may my witness be.  
Pine-stately Nonacrine the same doth know,  
And high- Troezene, and Parrhasian snow.  
Hards, Groves, & Springs Pan's power there did keep:  
Pan had large offerings for protected sheep.  
His country God's Evander did translate  
To this our city, than a city's plat.  
Thence we that God with Grecian rites adore:  
Here's still Jove's Flamen, as was there of yore.  
Why run they then about (you ask) so fast?  
Why run they naked all their clothes offcast?  
The God himself o'er mountains doth delight  
To run, and force men to a sudden flight.  
The God self-naked naked makes his fry:  
Clothes are a hindrance to agility.  
Before Jove's birth Arcadians tilled the land:  
They say that nation ere the Moon did stand.  
At first rude Boors devoid of wit and art,  
Like bruits unexercised in reason's part:  
Boughs were their house, roots were the food they knew:  
With both their palms for drink they water drew:  
No oxen panted at the crooked plough:  
No landlord as his own a field did owe:  
No horse was used; legs were in stead of steed:  
Sheep wool for none but for themselves did breed.  
With bodies naked they the air endured,  
To nipping frosts and sturdy storms inur'd.  
Therefore they naked run, in sign and honour  
Of hardiness and that old bare-skinned manner.  
Yet for the chief cause why Pan doth detest  
All clothes, Tradition tells a merry jest.  
Perchance Tirynthius by his Sweethearts side  
Walked, whereas Faunus on a bank them spied.  
He eyes and fries, and, Countrey-lasses, cries,  
None for my diet; here my Cupid lies.  
The Lydians shoulders with perfumed hair,  
Her breasts with glittering gold begaudyed were.  
A golden fan Sols rival heat repelled,  
Which Hercules kind hand before her held.  
To Bacchus' groves and Tmoles vineyards now  
They came when Hesper in the West did glow.  
A cave, by which there plays a cheerful brook,  
With topazes and pumice arched they took.  
Now, while the servants had prepared the feast,  
In her attire her Hercules she dressed.  
She puts on him her purple waistcoat slender,  
And girdle, which embraced her body tender.  
Her zone's too little; and her waistcoats bands  
He stretches out to thrust forth his huge hands.  
Her bracelets break, not made for that intent:  
His huge plaice-foot her pretty sandals rend.  
His weighty club and lions spoils she tries,  
And quiver-weapons of a lesser cise.  
Thus, supper ended, both themselves apply  
To sleep, and on two several couches lie,  
Because next day some rites to Jove's Wine-sonne  
They should perform, which must be purely done.  
Pan comes (What dares not venturous love assault?)  
In midnight-darknesse to the silent vault:  
He finds the servants clogged with wine and sleep,  
And hopes the same clogs did the Lovers keep.  
In comes the Lecher bold, rome's here and there:  
His groping hands his wary ushers were.  
At last he on the Lady's bed lays hold,  
At first right happy in his venture bold.  
Soon as he touched the lions bristly hide,  
He plucks his hand back greatly terrified.  
Then trembling comes again, again goes back:  
Just like a traveller that spies a snake.  
Then feels he to the softer-clothed bed,  
Which stood at hand, by cozening signs misled.  
Up crawls he, and on th' hither side lies down:  
His member stiffer than his horns were grown.  
Mean while the feet he softly doth uncover:  
His thighs with bristly hairs were harsh all over.  
Attempting more, Alcides from the couch  
Throws him quite off: down lumps the lustful slouch.  
Maeonia at the noise for lights doth cry;  
Which brought there make a strange discovery.  
He, with his fall much bruised, groans and moans;  
And, much ado, heaves up his heavy bones.  
Alcides' laughed, and all, at that night-rover;  
And Omphale laughs at her goodly Lover.  
The God by garments cheated, hates them all,  
And none but naked to his rites doth call.  
Muse, to these foreign add our country's cause,  
And let our steed in his own barriers race.  
A goat to Faunus slain, as was the manner,  
Invited neighbours came to that small honour.  
And while the priests th' embowelled beast do roast  
On willow-spits, about noontide almost,  
The Martial twins and Countrey-lads begun  
Some sports all naked in the fields and sun:  
And with swift whorlbats, casting stones and darts,  
They exercised their body's strength and parts.  
Behold a Shepherd on a mountain high,  
Help, Sirs: thiefs drive away our beasts, doth cry.  
'T were long to arm: two several ways both run;  
And Remus first the prey recovered won.  
Returned, he draws from spits the hissing meat:  
Quoth he, Let none but those that conquered eat.  
Thus did the Fabiis too. Quirinus there  
Came now devoid, and spies the boards all bare.  
He laughs; yet grieved that Remus Fabii  
Should win the game, not his Quintilii.  
The fame continues: they all naked race;  
And he that got the day hath got the grace.  
But why and for what cause, perhaps you'll say,  
Do we Lupercal call that place and day?  
Nun Sylvia at one birth two God-got twins  
Brought forth, her uncle then the country's Prince.  
He charged his men i'th' river them to drown.  
O spare! what meanest thou? Romulus is one.  
Th' unwilling men obey the tragic King;  
And th' infants to the place they weeping bring.  
Then Albula (from Tyberine there drowned  
Called Tiber since) had overflown the ground.  
Here where now streets are and the valleys low  
Of th' ample Circus, cockboats than did row.  
Being hither come (nor could they further go)  
In bitter grief thus burst forth one or two;  
Alas, how fair! ah me, how like they be!  
Yet this of both the perkest is to see.  
If that the face the pedigree may show,  
Unless I miss, a God is one of you.  
Yet were a God the author of your race,  
He sure would help in such a desperate case.  
Your mother would: but help herself doth need;  
One day made mother and unmothered.  
True twins in birth and death; together drown  
In this sad stream. He ceased, and laid them down.  
Both cried alike, as if they knew their wo.  
These to their homes with watery cheeks do go.  
A rush-boat on the top the babes upholds:  
O how much fate that little cratch enfolds!  
The boat by littles floating to the wood,  
The flood decreasing, pitched upon the mud.  
A figtree stood, the stump remains this day,  
Then Rumina, but now called Romula.  
To these poor Barns there comes a she-wolf wild:  
Most strange a wild beast should not hurt a child!  
Yet that was nothing; she assists and nurses  
Those whom their kindred to their death enforces.  
She stands and fawns upon the nuddling twins,  
And with her tongue licks o'er their tender skins.  
Mars-got you'll say: They boldly draw the teat,  
And so are nourished with unhop'd-for meat.  
The Wolf that place, that place Lupercals named:  
She for her nurs'ry well is paid, she's famed.  
Some draw Lupercal from th' Arcadian hill,  
Where Pan Lyceus hath a chapel still.  
Good wife leave craving; neither charms, nor vows,  
Nor herbs can make thee mother of thy house.  
Take patiently stripes from the fruitful hand;  
Thy father then shall be a father grand.  
For 't was that time whenas their issues rare  
Good wives with sad tormenting pangs did bear.  
My rape of Sabine maids was all in vain,  
Cried Romulus, (This happened in his reign.)  
If from my wrong not strength but strife is grown,  
I had far better let those Dames alone.  
A wood there grew to Juno's power divine,  
An age's growth, beneath mount Esquiline.  
Both men and women, all convented hither,  
Right humbly fall down on their knees together.  
Lo, suddenly the tops of trees did quake,  
And in her grove strange things the Goddess spoke;  
The Latin Dames, cries she, apply a Goat.  
All stood amazed at that ambiguous note.  
There was a Soothsayer (time conceals his name)  
Who newly banished, from Hetruria came:  
He kills a goat: the women, as was willed,  
To th' goat-thong-lashes their bare backs did yield.  
Ten times the Moon her waned light did gather,  
The wife's a mother, and the man a father.  
Thanks, O Lucina! thee thy grove thus styled,  
Or 'cause thou first giv'st light to every child.  
O spare, Lucine; and when wives bellies swell,  
Bring their ripe burden easily forth and well.  
When day appears, trust thou the winds no more:  
That season hath deceitful been before.  
The wind's not certain, and for full six day's  
King Aeolus his castle-gate displays.  
Aquarius with his stooping pitcher now  
Falls off, and Phoebus makes the Fishes glow.  
He and his brother (for joynt-stars they shine)  
Bore on their backs (they say) two Powers divine.  
Dione flying terrible Typhone,  
When Jove waged war for heavens imperial throne,  
Comes to Euphrates with her little son,  
And on the banks of Palestine sits down.  
Tall canes and poplars on the margin grew,  
And sallows hopes of her concealment show.  
There hid, the trees did rustle in the wind:  
She pale with fear supposed her foes behind:  
And, in her bosom culling her young son,  
Cried, Nymphs, O aid two Deities undone!  
Thus leaps she in; these Fishes her did bear:  
For which in heaven now deified they are.  
Hence Syrians hate to eat that kind of Fishes:  
Nor is it fit to make their Gods their dishes.  
Next day is void. Quirinus he doth hold  
The third, whose name was Romulus of old:  
Either because the Sabines old that spear  
Did Quiris call which him to heaven did rear;  
Or his Quirites styled him thus their King;  
Or cause the Curets he to Rome did bring.  
For when God Mars beheld new walls to stand,  
And great acts done by Romulus his hand,  
Great Jove, says he, the Romans powerful are;  
And my own blood hath in their deeds a share.  
Let me enjoy one Son; the other's dead:  
Stand he in's own and in his brother's stead.  
You promised me one of those brothers you  
Would raise to heaven: Be Jove's word ever true.  
Jove gave a grant, and with his beckon shaked  
Both Poles: tall Atlas with his burden quaked.  
There is a place called Caprean lake of old:  
There Romulus then chanced a court to hold.  
About sunset gross clouds heavens face withdrew;  
A showering storm doth instantly ensue.  
It thundered; lightning cracks the heavens. All fly:  
The King on's father's horses mounts the sky.  
The Lords all mourn for his supposed slaughter;  
Which thought perhaps might have remained long after.  
But Julius Procul from long Alba came;  
The Moonlight scorned the use of torches flame:  
Lo, suddenly the left-hand-hedges quake:  
He with his hairs turned bolt-upright starts back.  
Quirinus' larger than a man, and fair  
In's Consuls robe, doth in the path appear;  
Bid my Quirites not to mourn for me:  
Their tears, quoth he, disgrace my Deity.  
Bring pious spice, and Romulus adore:  
And practice prowess with the Roman lore.  
This charged, he vanished into gloomy air.  
He calls a court, and doth his charge declare.  
They build his temple, give the hill his name,  
And on set days adore him in the same.  
Now learn thou why this day they also call  
Fools-holy-day: the reason's apt, though small.  
There were no skilful husbandmen of old:  
Our sturdy father's toilsome wars did hold.  
The sword was then in more request than plough:  
Grounds unmanured small profit did allow.  
Yet did our ancients sow and mow some barley:  
Of barley Ceres had her first-fruits early.  
This on their hearths to mend the taste they dried:  
In which much loss for want of skill they bide.  
For sometimes they sweep up dead coals for corn;  
Sometimes the fire their cottages did burn.  
Hence Goddess Fornax came; to whom the Boor  
Doth gladly pray his corn to dress and cure.  
Th' Archcurate then bids Fornacalia  
In form of words, but makes no Holiday.  
And in the courts with marks for all men's view  
The pendent tables several wards do show.  
But simpler folk, who their own wards know not,  
The day's last part devote, the first forgot.  
To Parent's tombs now orisons they pay,  
And on friends urns some little offerings lay.  
Small things please Ghosts; in Styx none greedy be:  
Gods for great gifts accept true piety.  
A tilesherd covered with a flowery crown  
Sufficeth, with some salt and meal thrown down.  
Loose violets, corn steeped in wine a while:  
Leave these i'th' midway heaped upon a tile:  
More I forbid not; yet thus pleased are they:  
And on built piles prayers and words suited say.  
These rites Aeneas, piety's true mould,  
Brought into just King Latin land of old.  
To father's ghost he paid solemnities:  
Of whom our Country learned this pious guise.  
But while successors in long wars did blaze  
They quite neglected these parental days.  
It cost them dear: For that offence (some tell)  
Rome all on fire from piles of dead men fell.  
Old fables bruit (but I can scarce believe it)  
At this did dead men's shapeless ghosts much grieved  
Creep from their tombs and moanful howl made  
About the streets and groves in nights dull shade.  
Thenceforth to tombs were due solemnities  
Restored; which ceased those ghostly prodigies.  
These days, young wives, keep from your bed-desires:  
The marriage-lamp a purer time requires.  
And maids, in your fond mother's eyes so fair  
And wedlock-ripe, now lay you out no hair.  
Hymen, put out thy lamps in these black days:  
The mournful tombs have other lights to blaze.  
Let all the temples of the Gods be shut;  
Nor fire nor incense on their altars put:  
For now the flitting souls of ancients dead  
Walk all about and feed on victuals spread.  
But these sad rites no further may extend  
Then till this month eleven days hath to end.  
The latter day, which to the Ghosts they pay,  
From bringing gifts is called Feralia.  
Lo, now a grandam sits with maiden's young,  
And worship's Silence with no silent tongue.  
First in a mousehole on the groundsil she  
Three spice-grains lays ta'en up with fingers three.  
Then strings enchanted tied to lead doth hold,  
While seven blue beans about her mouth are rolled.  
The head compact of mint and well bepitched  
She heats by th' fire, with brazen needle stitched:  
Then drops on wine; the remnant in the cup  
She and her mates (yet she the most) drink up.  
Departing then, W' have tied the tongues of foes,  
She cries: then out in drunken garb she goes.  
You ask it may be what this Muta is?  
List what I tell, an old man's tale I wis:  
Jove deeply wounded in Juturna's love  
Endured much care, not fit for mighty Jove.  
She in the woods among the hasils lay,  
And sometimes in her kindred-springs would play.  
The Nymphs he summons that in Latium dwell,  
And to the choir his counsel thus doth tell;  
Your sister-Nymph refuses (her own foe)  
Her greatest good, the greatest God to know.  
Befriend us both: for that which my great pleasure  
Will be, shall prove your sister's peerless treasure.  
When me she flies then stop her in a ring  
Upon the bank from leaping into spring.  
To him the Nymphs of Ilia divine  
Agreed, with all the choir of Tyberine.  
One maid there was called Lara, but of yore  
The former syllable was doubled o'er.  
A vice her named: Ofttimes cried Almon old,  
Wench hold thy tongue; but yet she could not hold.  
To mate Juturna's spring she goes; Avoid  
The banks, says she; and than Jove's mind bewrayed:  
Then goes to Juno, pitying wives hard case;  
Your Jove, quoth she, Juturna would embrace.  
Jove much enraged, the tongue she did employ  
So ill takes from her: then calls Mercury;  
Convey that wench to hell: hell fits the dumb:  
Let her, if Nymph, a Nymph of Styx become.  
His will's fulfilled; they come into a grove:  
Her keeper now with her doth fall in love.  
Who forces her: For words with looks she prays,  
And with dumb tongue to plead in vain assays.  
Conceived, she brings two Lar forth: who guard  
Our streets, and houses ever watch and ward.  
Next day dear kinsmen do Charistia call.  
Now have we meetings in our houses all.  
For 't is meet time from friends laid in their urn  
On living kin our eye forthwith to turn;  
And next those many whom black death hath slain  
To count all ranks that of our blood remain.  
Come loving kinsmen all, but spiteful brothers  
Keep off from hence with all inhuman mothers;  
Who grieve at fathers or at mother's lives;  
The stepmother that with her step-child strives;  
Tantalian brothers, and Medea vile;  
And she that scorched the farmer's seed i'th' soil;  
Tereus, and Progne, and mute Philomela,  
And all that friends for gain do basely sell.  
Kind kindred, spice to Gods allied now give;  
(This day meek Concord most of all doth thrive)  
As symptoms of your love together feast,  
And range your dishes neatly sauced and dressed:  
And when at night you go to sleep, all stand  
To make a vow with lustier bowls in hand,  
And mount this prayer, all drinking off the Health,  
Heavens prosper us, and Cesar Rome's chief wealth.  
That night now past, the God that doth divide  
men's land possessions is solemnified.  
God Terminus, whether a Stone or Block,  
Thou wert a God too with the ancient stock.  
Two several lords on several parts thee crown,  
And lay two garlands with two offerings down.  
An altar's raised: the Countrey-wife doth come  
With fire brought in some broken pan from home.  
Th' old man cuts wood and piles it up on high,  
And sticks in boughs about the ground thereby;  
Then kindles up the fire with tinder sear:  
His young son stands and holds the basket there.  
Then when three grains he into fire doth fling,  
His little daughter honycombs doth bring.  
The rest hold wine: Each on the fire is laid:  
The white-clad crowd with joyful voice applaud.  
This God is sprinkled with a young lamb slain:  
A sow-pig offered, he will not complain.  
The homely neighbour's feast with cheer they bring,  
And, Terminus, thy sacred praises sing.  
Thou lands and cities and large realms dost bound:  
Without thee suitfull would be every ground.  
From avarice and all ambition free  
Each tenement thou keepest faithfully.  
Hadst thou assigned but that Thyrean plain,  
Three hundred men had not yerwhile been slain;  
Nor heaps of arms had crushed O tryad brave:  
Oh what a flood of blood his land he gave!  
And when the royal Capitol was raised,  
All Gods to Jove gave way and were displaced:  
But Terminus (says fame) being seated there  
Would not remove, but in Jove's house hath share.  
And now, lest aught but heaven he view, right over  
His head the roof is framed without a cover.  
Since, Terminus, be thou by no means light,  
But keep the station where thou once art pight:  
And let no landlords tricks nor suits thee move,  
Lest thou prefer a man before great Jove.  
And maugre thou art scratched with rake and plow,  
Cry, This is yours, and this belongs to you.  
There is a way leads to Laurentian plain,  
Where once Aeneas pitched with all his train:  
There, on the sixth stone from the city, I  
To Terminus have seen sheep fibres frie.  
All other lands have certain limits given:  
Our Rome with all the world's wide room is even.  
Now Muse relate the Regifuge; the fame  
Of which the three and twentieth day did name.  
King Tarquin did Rome's Monarchy conclude,  
A valiant soldier, but a Prince most lewd.  
Some cities had he captived, some razed down,  
And by a wile the Gabii overthrown.  
For lo his young son and his own son right,  
Came into their foe's garrison by night.  
They drew their swords; cries he, Me armlesse kill:  
This is my fathers and my brothers will,  
Who piteously have mangled me all o'er:  
(For which pretence he had been lashed sore.)  
He's viewed by Moonlight: Up their swords they put;  
And stripping him beheld his body cut:  
And weeping simply they his aid request  
In war: He subtly promises his best.  
And now in power he sends his father word,  
Fair way was made to put them all to th' sword.  
A garden stood with savoury flowers arrayed,  
About the which a prattling current played:  
There Tarquin had this private news made known,  
And crops with wand the highest lilies down.  
The scout brings word, He cropped the highest lilies:  
I know, saith Sextus, what my father's will is.  
Forthwith the Gabine Captains all they slay,  
And Roman colours on the walls display.  
Behold a snake (most strange!) from th' altar crept,  
Which quenched the fires and up the victuals slapt.  
Apollo 's sought to; whose reply was this,  
He conquers who his mother first doth kiss.  
The company Apollo's meaning missed:  
Each man ran hast'ly and his mother kissed.  
Brute was a fools wise counterfeit, to free  
Himself from Tarquin's direful treachery.  
He strait falls down, as stumbling with his feet,  
And with a kiss our mother Earth doth greet.  
Rome's conquering Eagles in the mean time over  
The city Ardea in a long siege hover.  
The foe, not daring battle, couched in forts:  
Our soldiers revel in their tents with sports.  
Young Tarquin makes a feast to all his lords:  
‛ Mongst whom in mirth he falls into these words;  
Whiles in dull war this Ardea us deteins  
From carrying trophies to our countrey-fanes,  
Do any of our wife's mind us? or are  
They careful of us who for them take care?  
Each praised his own, and very earnest grow:  
The frolic bowls make lungs and tongues to glow.  
Up starts Lord Collatine, Few words are best:  
But come to trial; nights not yet deceased:  
Mount we our steeds and to the city all  
Carrier. Content: They for their horses call;  
And strait were galloped by their speedy feet  
To th' royal court. No watch was in the street:  
Lo there the King's sons jovial wives they find  
With garlands crowned, at midnight up, well wined.  
Thence to fair Lucrece post they out of hand;  
By whose bedside the wool and baskets stand.  
At little lights their task her maidens spun:  
To whom she softly thus these words begun;  
Maids, we must make (ply, ply your business faster)  
A coat to send in haste unto your master.  
What news hear you? for more than I you hear:  
How long will't be e'er wars be ended there?  
Well, Ardea, thou that keep'st our Lords from home,  
Thy betters thou affront'st, thy fall will come.  
Be they but safe! but my Lords blood's so high,  
That with his sword he anywhere doth fly.  
My heart doth fail quite chilled with frozen fear  
When-e're I think of his encounters there.  
Tears were the period: She le's fall her thread,  
And in her bosom hangeth down her head.  
This was a grace; her tears became her well:  
Her beauty was her minds true parallel.  
Fear not, sweet wife; I'm come, cries he. She meets  
And hangs on's neck, a burden full of sweets.  
Meanwhile the young Prince furiall lust doth move;  
His boiling spirits are fired in secret love.  
Her lily skin, her gold-deluding tresses,  
Her native splendour slighting art him pleases.  
Her voice, her stainless modesty he admires:  
And hope's decay still strengthens his desires.  
Day's horn-mouthed harbinger proclaimed the morn;  
The frolic gallants to their tents return.  
His mazing fancy on her picture roves;  
The more he muses still the more he loves:  
Thus did she sit, thus dressed, thus did she spin,  
Thus played her hair upon her necks white skin;  
These looks she had, these rosy words stilled from her;  
This eye, this cheek, these blushes did become her.  
As billows fall down after some great blast,  
Yet make some swelling when the wind is past:  
So though her person from his sight was ta'en,  
Yet did that love her person bred remain.  
He burns; and pricked with spurs of basest lust,  
Against her chaste bed plots attempts unjust.  
Th' event's ambiguous, yet we'll throughly tri't:  
That she shall see. Fate helps the venturous spirit.  
We slaved the Gavines by a daring deed.  
Thus girts he on his sword and mounts his steed.  
Into Collatia's brazen ports he came  
About the time Sol hides his glowing flame.  
A foe the Court doth enter as a friend,  
And there was welcome: For they were a kind.  
Ah blind mankind! she thinking nought, good woman!  
Provides good cheer to entertain her foeman.  
The supper's ended: time to sleep invites;  
In all the houses now are seen no lights.  
Up starts he, and draws forth his gilded blade,  
And chaste Lucretia's chamber doth invade.  
Laid on the bed; Lucretia, no denial:  
Here is my sword: I'm Tarquin of blood royal.  
Nought she replies; nor had she power to say  
Or plead, but stupid and quite senseless lay.  
And like a lamb that from the sheepfold rambles,  
Now caught in claws of ravening wolf, she trembles.  
What dares she? fight? ah, he could overmatch her!  
Cry out? alas! his sword would soon dispatch her.  
Fly? how? his arm is linked about her waist:  
Her waist then first by stranger's hand embraced!  
The Lecher pleads with proffers, threats, entreats:  
She's no whit moved with gifts, entreats, nor threats,  
Yield, or I'll damn thee for a whore, cries he,  
And thee accuse for base adultery:  
I'll kill the man, with whom I'll bruit thy shame.  
She yielded, conquered by the fear of fame.  
Why triumphest thou? thy conquest is thy fall:  
Ah, what a price boughtst thou that night withal!  
Now day appeared: with scattered hairs she lies,  
As doth a mother when her dear son dies.  
For her old father and dear husband home  
She sends: To her without delay they come.  
Whose grief they seeing ask the cause of it,  
Whom she laments, and with what evil smit.  
She veils her modest face, nor any thing  
Would utter; tears as from a fountain spring.  
Her sire, her husband comfort her sad tears,  
Pray her to speak, and weep in hidden fears.  
Thrice she assayed to speak, thrice stopped; yet tries  
Once more, but shamed to lift up her eyes.  
Shall we owe Tarquin this too? ah! shall ay,  
Shall I here publish my own infamy?  
Something she tells, and for the period weeps,  
And her grave cheeks in pure vermilion steeps.  
They both forgive her forced adultery.  
That pardon you give, ay, cries she, deny.  
Forthwith herself she stabs with hidden knife,  
And at their feet powers forth her crimson life;  
And even in Fate's last act, as she did die,  
Expressed a care to fall with modesty.  
Her Sire, her Lord self-carelesse both fall down,  
And o'er her corpse their common loss bemoan.  
Brute came, whose mind at length his name deceived,  
And from her dying breast the knife reprieved:  
There holds it spewing of her noble blood,  
And dauntless threatenings breathed forth as he stood;  
By this chaste noble blood I vow to thee  
And thy dear ghost, which as my God shall be,  
Proud Tarquin with his seed for this shall pay:  
No longer I the counterfeit will play.  
She at his words her sightless eyes doth move,  
And shook her head as seeming to approve.  
The manly matrone's exequys are done,  
Endowed with tears and emulation.  
The wound lies open: Brute calls all the States,  
And to their ears the King's base act relates.  
Proud Tarquine's house all fly. Two Consuls sway:  
And that became the last Monarchick day.  
Hark, hear the Swallow, herald of the Spring,  
Adieu to Winter cheerfully doth sing.  
Yet, Progne, thou of haste dost oft complain:  
Thy husband Tereus' joys at thy chilled pain.  
Now two days of this month are still behind:  
To Martial chariots are the race-horse joined.  
Which games from thence are called Equiria:  
Mars in his field spectator is that day.  
Hail, welcome Mars; thy time a place doth claim:  
The month's at hand that's honoured by thy name.  
Now strike we sail: Our Month and Book both done:  
My boat shall in another channel run.   
The end of the second Book.   

OVID'S FESTIVALS; OR, ROMAN CALENDAR. The third Book; or, MARCH.  
The Argument.  
THe Martial Prince's birth and pedigree.  
This Month's Protector, and priority.  
Why women sacrifice to Mars do bring.  
And why the Salii do Mamurius sing.  
The Pontificial title. And Vejove.  
The Gorgon courser. And Lyaeus love.  
More Horse-races. Perennall Anna's rites.  
Th' old wife to Bacchus-hony-cakes invites.  
Games in the honour of th' Athenian Dame.  
Now blazing Phoebus' backs the Phryxean Ram.  
MAn-slaughtering Mavors, cast aside thy spear,  
Thy shield, and helmet, and a while draw near.  
Perchance thou'lt say, With Mars what make the Muses?  
This Month we sing his name from thee deduces.  
Thou seest Minerva hath her bloody fights;  
Yet she sometimes in liberal arts delights.  
Have thou, as Pallas, some void time assigned:  
For out of arms thou mayst employment find.  
Thou armlesse to the Roman Nun didst come,  
And layd'st in her the royal seeds of Rome.  
Nun Sylvia (here our sail we hoist) something  
To wash, i'th' morning went unto the spring.  
Now when she came unto the wriggling brook,  
Her earthen pitcher from her head she took.  
There tricking up her flowing hair she sits,  
And amorous air to her bare breasts admits.  
The streams soft music, and the plumy choir,  
With cheerful shades egged on a sleeps desire.  
Inveigling sleep creeps on her yielding eyes,  
Her hand slips down on which her cheek relies.  
Mars sees and lusts, and in his lust doth speed,  
And cunningly conceals his juggling dead.  
She wakes conceived, and in her pregnant womb  
Contains the Founder of imperial Rome.  
She rises faint, but did not know the cause;  
And leaning to a tree she makes this pause;  
Pray heaven this dream doth happy fortune bring  
And good betid; Or is't some higher thing?  
Me thoughts my garland, as I stood beside  
My Lady's altar, from my head did slide.  
From which two palms alike, (a wondrous thing!)  
Yet one of them more eminent, did spring;  
Whose fertile branches all the earth o'erspread,  
And reached the welkin with their mounting head:  
When lo, my uncle fain would them have cropped,  
Smit at the sight, my heart for terror hoped:  
A Pie Mars bird, a Wolf too having young  
Did take their parts, and rescued both from wrong.  
This said, she weakly up her pot doth take  
With water filled; she filled it as she spoke.  
Time runs on; Romulus and Remus breed;  
Her belly's swelled up with celestial seed.  
Now had the God whose rays the world unmask  
Two signs remaining of his yearly task;  
The Maid's a Mother. Vesta's statue shamed  
With virgin-hands did veil her face; ('Tis famed.)  
The altars trembled as her pangs began;  
The frighted flames beneath the ashes ran.  
To tyrannous Amulius this made known,  
Who had usurped his brother's wealth and crown:  
He gives command to drown the Brats. The flood  
Abhors the deed, and sets them on the mud.  
'T is known, these Infants sucked a wildbeasts teat,  
And that a Pie did daily bring them meat.  
Thee, Nurse Laurentia, I will not pass by,  
Nor, Faustulus, thy plain rusticity:  
The Laurentalian feasts shall sound your praise,  
Kept in December's joviall-geniall days.  
These sons of Mars to man's estate now grown,  
On whose fair chins did bud the silken down;  
The husbandmen and shepherds round about  
To them for justice, in contention, sought.  
Oft came they home all drenched with robbers bloods;  
And seized their cattles as their proper goods.  
Their pedigrees made known: Mars raised their spirits:  
In stalls now scorned they to enlarge their merits.  
Amulius falls by Romulus his sword:  
And to his Grandsire is the realm restored.  
The wall is raised; which though it were but small,  
'T was ill for Remus that he leaped the wall.  
Where woods yerst grew, & beasts their dens did make,  
The lasting City raised, the Founder spoke:  
Arms-Arbitratour, of whose seed divine  
I sprung, and will thereof give many a sign;  
With thee will we begin our Roman year,  
And our first Month thy noble name shall wear.  
His word's made good: this Month he thus did call,  
And pleased his Father very well withal.  
Yet their forefathers Mars especially  
Adored, in honour of their Chivalry:  
Th' Athenians, Pallas; Crect, Diana's Choir;  
The Lemnian Isle adored the God of Fire:  
Mycenians, Juno, and the Spartans too:  
And Arcady Pan crowned with pine-tree-bough:  
Our Latium honoured Mars, war's powerful King:  
Wars to our land both wealth and fame did bring.  
Yea, if we read but foreign Calendars,  
There we shall find a month surnamed from Mars.  
Faliscanes fifth month, and the Albans third:  
By Hernians 't is the sixth month registered.  
The Aricinians, and high Tusculum,  
And Albans all to one account do come.  
The fierce Aequicolis tenth month it was:  
Laurentians fifth; the Sabines fourth in place.  
Pelignian Nobleses with those Sabines old  
Consent, and this month for their fourth they hold.  
But Romulus, to go beyond them all,  
This his first month by's Father's name did call.  
Nor months so many had our ancestors  
As we: their year fell short two months of ours.  
Greece, than a well-learned but an ill-armed land,  
No arts had yielded to the Conquerors hand.  
The Roman art was all to fight and fence;  
To throw a dart, the only eloquence.  
What man the Axle, and two Poles, or Hyadeses,  
Did know in those times, or old Atlas Pleiades?  
Who had the Bears, Charls-wain or Dogs-tail spied,  
This Sidon's Pilot, that the Grecians guide?  
That Cynthia's chariot in a month doth run  
Those signs which all the year do task the Sun?  
Throughout the year starts noteless razed and free:  
Yet men were conscious of Divinity.  
For signs of stars the signs of wars did they  
Regard; whose loss was shame and great dismay.  
Which, though of hay, yet made as great a show  
And were as dreadful as our Eagles now.  
They hung in bottles on a pole huge tall,  
From whence our soldiers by that name we call.  
Thus learning-void and rude Antiquity  
Did make their Lustres ten months less than we.  
Ten courses of the Moon a year was then:  
Men much accounted of the number Ten;  
Either because we with ten fingers tell,  
Or 'cause ten months a woman's womb doth swell,  
Or else because our digits reach to ten,  
From whence our number is begun again.  
Thence Romulus did rank his centuries  
By ten: Ten Pikemen to a rank did rise.  
The Pileman and the General ten bands,  
And he that did on horseback serve, commands.  
Ten companies he gave the Tatians,  
Ten to the Ramnes, ten the Lucerans.  
This usual number kept he in his year:  
Which time a widow mourning-weeds did wear.  
And that this month (all question to remove)  
Was first of old, plain arguments shall prove.  
The Flamens laurel, hanged up all year long,  
Is now ta'en down, and fresh boughs up are hung.  
The Royal Court is decked with Bay-boughs green:  
The like before the Old-Court-Gate is seen.  
The old dry Bays from Vesta's Trojane fire  
Are pulled, and now she's pranked in green attire:  
Besides, fresh fuel in her inward shrine  
Is kindled, and the fire renewed doth shine.  
'T is no weak proof, that th' old year here began,  
In that we now adore Perennall Anne.  
This month our Ancients chose their officers,  
Until the perjured Carthaginian's wars.  
In fine, the fifth month hence we Quintil call;  
Hence have the rest their numbers titles all.  
Pompilius first from Sabine confines brought  
To Rome the error of two months found out:  
Whether by that twice-born Pythagoras,  
Or from Aegeria thus informed he was.  
Yet after him times still erroneous were,  
Until reformed by Caesar's skilful care.  
That God, the author of so great a race,  
Did not account this task for him too base:  
But studied to acquaint himself with heaven,  
And know that Court to him by promise given.  
He by exact accounts Day's golden King  
In his just time to every Sign did bring.  
His year had days three hundred sixty five;  
And to the Leap-yeare one day more did give.  
Which piec'd-up day must to the Lustre come.  
This is the year's exactest count and sum.  
If Poets may (as fame abroad doth give)  
Some private notions from the Gods receive;  
Mars, tell me why thy feasts observed are  
By Wives, when thou art all for manly war?  
As thus I spoke, Mars laid aside his shield;  
But in his right hand still a javelin held:  
Lo I, the God of War, to Peace's gown  
Now first invited, march to tents unknown.  
Nor think I much some time here to bestow,  
Lest Pallas think she only this can do.  
Thou studious Prophet of the Roman year,  
Learn thy desire, and these my sayings hear.  
Rome's elements were at the first but small:  
Yet had that small great hopes of this great wall.  
Those walls for Founders were too large a room;  
But yet too straight for Citizens to come.  
Ask you, where stood my Nephew's Court of old?  
That thatch there, made of straw and reed, behold.  
On locks of hay he laid his sleeping head:  
Yet heaven he mounted from that strawy bed.  
And now the Romans name was spread and gone  
Beyond his place: nor had he wife or son.  
The fruitful neighbours my poor race did flout;  
And I ill author of a stock was thought.  
In dwelling in plain stalls, in tilling ground,  
And feeding sheep more hurt then good was found.  
Both birds and beasts do couple with their make;  
Engendering fellows hath the basest snake.  
In other lands each man enjoys his woman:  
But none there be to marry with the Roman.  
I grieved; and with my spirit endued my son:  
Cease prayers (said I:) it must with arms be done.  
Keep Consus feast: that day, in which his feast  
You solemnize, he will suggest the rest.  
The Curets and the rest rose up in storms:  
Then first the father 'gainst the son took arms.  
Now were the ravished almost mothers made:  
The kindred-battel still is long delayed.  
The wives assembled all to Juno's Fane:  
To whom my daughter boldly thus began;  
My ravished Mates, 't is all our case: behold,  
We can no longer piously be cold.  
The battle's pitched: Now choose for whom ye'll pray:  
That side our fathers, this our husband's fray.  
We now must widows or else orphan's live.  
To you I'll good and noble counsel give.  
They took her counsel; and their hairs let down,  
And mournful bodies clad in mourning gown.  
Now stood the bands, resolved for arms and harms,  
Expecting signals of the trump's alarms:  
The wives came running, with their babies dear  
Culled in their arms, amid the armies there.  
So soon as e'er they came amid the field,  
With locks all torn and scattered, down they kneeled.  
The babes (as sensible) with moving cries  
Held out their little arms to grandsires eyes.  
All those that could cried, Ave, presently:  
Those that could not their mothers forced to cry.  
Down fell their arms and anger; and, their swords  
Put up, they all shook hands in kind accords.  
Each hugged his daughter, and his grandchild held  
Upon his shield: the sweetest use of shield.  
Thence Sabine wives no small advantage challenge  
To keep a day to me on my first Calends:  
Because on naked swords they venturing  
Themselves, our wars to friendly peace did bring:  
Or, 'cause Nun Ilia mothered was by me,  
The Mother's honour my solemnity:  
Or 'cause I'll Winter now takes his farewell,  
And Sols warm beams the languished snow expel:  
Frost-barbed trees their opening leaves renew,  
The widowed vine-branch pearly buds doth show:  
The thrifty herb, within the ground long penned,  
Into the air now finds a private vent:  
Now frolic cattle breed, and fields all yield;  
And birds on boughs their fost'ring nests do build.  
Good cause have Wives, who vows and vigour spend  
Upon their young, my pregnant times to tend.  
Besides on that hill where that Son of mine  
Kept Excubies, thence called Esquiline,  
The Latin wives this day (or I mistake)  
A public temple did to Juno make.  
In brief, and not to load thy memory  
With many words, the plainest reason see;  
My Mother loves them, therefore they frequent me:  
This pious cause doth most of all content me.  
Bring flowers, ye Dames; with flowers fresh garlands make:  
In flowers your Goddess great delight doth take:  
Say, Thou Lucine giv'st light to all our eyes:  
Thou helpest the woman that in travail lies.  
But let the big with loosened tresses pray,  
So may her child more easily come away.  
Who tells me now why Salii in a ring  
Dance with heaven's Buckler, and Mamurius sing?  
Thou Nymph that Diana's grove and spring dost haunt,  
King Numa's Wife, teach me: thy feast I chant.  
A lake, much honoured in religion stale,  
Begirt with woods, stands in th' Arician vale.  
Hippolytus, whom frighted steeds did tear,  
Was hid herein: For whom no horse comes there.  
There tapes, on which are many tablets hung  
To this good Goddess, veil the hedges long.  
Ofttimes have women, mistress of their vows,  
Brought hither lamps with wreaths about their brows.  
Men stout of hand and swift of foot are kings:  
Each king at last his mate to ruin brings.  
A giggling brook doth on much gravel fall:  
I oft have drunk there in a draught but small.  
Muse-loved Aegeria yields those waters clear;  
Who was king Numa's Wife and Counsellor.  
She first the Peers, too prone to live at odds,  
With laws did temper and the fear of Gods.  
Thence Laws (that Strength might not bear all the sway)  
Were made, and men their vows did purely pay.  
Wrath laid aside, most powerful Peace became:  
‛ Mongst Citizens a skirmish was a shame.  
At th' Altar's sight the furious man was turned:  
And Wine and Wafers on the embers burned.  
Behold, Heaven's Monarch lets his lightning fly  
Through crowding clouds, and reins the welkin dry.  
A flaming city makes not such a blaze:  
The King and People stood in great amaze.  
The Nymph cries, Thunder (be ned too much afraid)  
Is placable: Jove's ire may be allayed.  
Yet must the means from Faun and Picus come,  
Two Powers that live within the lands of Rome:  
Yet not without constraint: First catch them you,  
And bind them sure. And then she tells him how.  
A black grove stood beneath mount Aventine,  
At whose first sight you'd say, 'T is sure divine:  
I'th' midst of which a pure perpetual rill,  
O'ergrown with moss, from stony veins doth still.  
Here Faun and Picus used to drink. The King  
Come hither kills a sheep unto the Spring.  
There sets down wine perfumed with spice, and then  
Takes up a cave in ambush with his men.  
The wood-Gods to their old wont came: the bowls  
They turned off, blithe, and quenched their thirsty souls.  
Wine winneth rest. From's cave doth Numa creep,  
And bound them fast while they were fast asleep.  
They raised from rest, strive much themselves to free:  
The more they strive the more they gyved be.  
Ye Gods, cries Numa, pardon my bold act:  
Ye know't no wicked, though a subtle fact.  
Tell us which way may thunder be allayed.  
Thus Numa. Faunus shook his horns, and said,  
Great is thy question: We cannot aread  
This hard precept: our power is limited.  
Grove-Gods are we; to us the rule is given  
But of vast Hills: Jove order all in Heaven.  
Him you alone from heaven cannot call down:  
Perhaps you may when our direction's known.  
Thus Faunus said; and thus said Picus too.  
But yet, said Picus, first these cords undo.  
By special art Jove charmed (you shall see)  
Shall hither come: let Styx my witness be.  
Unbound, they teach them what to do, which way  
To draw down Jove, and what strange charms to say.  
We licence have to know; a pious pen  
May chant such rhythms unfit for other men.  
Jove is drawn down. Hence after-ages all  
In celebration him Elicius call.  
'T is said the tops of Aventine did move;  
The earth shrunk down pressed with the weight of Jove.  
King Numa quaked at heart: his blood affright  
Ran from his veins: his hair stood bolt upright.  
Come to himself, Great King of heaven, cries he,  
Inform's how thunder may appeased be:  
If we frequent thine altars with pure hand;  
If our petition may with piety stand.  
Jove yields; but yet doth in short riddles blind  
The truth, and with dark doubts distracts his mind.  
Cut off a Head, cries he.— It shall be done,  
Replies the King: I'll cut an Onion.  
Of Man, says Jove:— I'll take the hair, he cries.  
The soul, quoth Jove. He, Of a Fish, replies.  
Jove smiles: O Man that canst discourse endure  
With Gods! do this: this will my thunder cure.  
But when to morrow's Sun is raised full-faced,  
A pledge I'll give thee that thy realm shall last.  
This said, he mounted with a mighty thunder  
Th' acquainted heavens, and left the King in wonder:  
Who straight returns with joy, and tells his Lords  
The passages. They scarce believe his words.  
But ye'll believe it if th' event proves true:  
Mark what, says he, to morrow will ensue.  
So soon as Sol to morrow leaves the land,  
Jove gives a pledge that this our realm shall stand.  
All doubtful part. The promise seems too far.  
The day appears. Their faiths suspended are.  
The ground was soft, with drops of pearl bedewed:  
To Numa's gate there flocks a multitude.  
Forth comes the King, and takes his maple-throne:  
A mighty crowd, all whist, about him run.  
The Sun appears but only on his brim:  
'Twixt hopes and fears their beating spirits swim.  
His head with white veil covered, up he stands,  
And lifts to heaven his God-familiar hands.  
This is the hour of that thy promised sign,  
Great Jove, cries he, confirm those words of thine.  
As thus he prayed the Sun was fully raised;  
Huge cracks of thunder through the heavens were noised.  
Thrice in clear air he roared; thrice did he fling  
His bolts. Believe me, tho●gh a wondrous thing.  
Behold, the heaven just in the midst doth open!  
Down to the ground both Prince and People stoop.  
A shield from thence, turned with a gentle gale,  
Falls down. A shout the welkin clear doth scale.  
He takes it up, a bullock first knocked down  
Whose youthful neck a yoke had never known.  
'T is called Ancile, 'cause it was pared round  
About the brims; no corners to be found.  
Then, knowing that his kingdom's fate did lie  
In that, by counsel of great policy,  
Of shields like-shaped he bids to make a dozen,  
That so an error might the cozener cozen.  
Mamurius, a man of great desert  
As well for manners as his manual art,  
Performed this work. To whom the bounteous King,  
As I am true, 't is thine; ask any thing.  
Now he from dancing had the Salii named;  
Their Arms appointed, and their Cantos framed.  
Mamurius said, I ask no meed but fame:  
At their Songs end let them but sing my name.  
From thence those Priests perform King Numa's grant  
To that old merit, and Mamurius chant.  
Would any marry? Though you both make speed,  
Deferreed: small stay sometimes great good doth breed.  
Arms cause a strife; strife wedlock should abhor:  
The time's more fit when th' are laid up therefore.  
Jove's Flamen's wife, till these days be expired,  
Must also go undressed and unattired.  
Now, when this Months third night from heaven doth fall,  
One of the Fishes is not seen at all.  
Two Twins they be: this to the South inclined,  
That to the North; both named from either wind.  
When Tithon's Bride her tulip-cheeks bedews;  
And from the Orient porch the fifth day shows.  
Whether the Bearward or the Car-man slow,  
He dives the waves, and will no sight allow.  
Yet may we still behold the Vintager:  
I'll briefly sing the reason of this Star.  
Young Bacchus once loved hairy Ampelon  
Of Ismarus, a Nymph and Satyr's son.  
To him his Elm-enamoured Vine he gives  
To keep, which vine its name from him receives.  
He falls down dead by climbing ventrously  
For ripened grapes: Whom Bacchus fixed in sky.  
When next day's Phoebus steep Olympus' scales,  
And up the hill his winged race-horse hales,  
You that adore chaste Vesta's shrine, now joy,  
And incense heap upon the fires of Troy.  
Now Caesar's endless styles, which he counts little,  
Of gift, received their Pontificial title.  
Eternal Caesar's Deity doth cure  
Eternal Fires, his kingdom's pledge most sure.  
Ye Trojane Gods, your Porter's worthy prey,  
Which grave Aeneas kept from hostile lay;  
A Priest, from that Aeneas sprung, doth tend  
Your hearth. O Vesta, his dear life defend.  
Live long ye Fires fed by his hand divine:  
Your flame his fame shall unextinguished shine.  
One note's in Marches Nones: 'Twixt those two groves  
Now hallowed was the Temple called Vejoves.  
When Romulus his rock girt grove had ended,  
Said he, Who hither flies shall be defended.  
How grew the Romans! from what small foundation!  
How clear of envy was that ancient nation!  
But if this mystic name thou dost not know,  
Learn who this God is, and why called so.  
This Jove is young: behold his youthful parts!  
Behold his hand devoid of thunder-darts!  
When those bold Giants would the heavens have pierced,  
Then Jove took arms; who was unarmed at first.  
Then Pelion, Ossa and Olympus toiled  
With his vast load, in new fire-volleys boiled.  
The Goat stands by which did allow her teat:  
The Cretan Maids the Infant fed with meat.  
But for the Name: Vegrandia farmers call  
Their ill-thriv'n corn; and Vesca, kernels small.  
If this the word imports, as well may I  
The name Vejove to little Jove apply.  
Now when the stars embosse the gaudy sphere,  
Look up and see the Gorgon Courser there.  
From pregnant neck of wild Medusa slain  
('T is said) he leaped out with a bloody mane.  
Heaven was his footing, and his feet his wings,  
Whiles 'twixt the sky and ruffled clouds he springs.  
Then first a bridle curbed his nostrils fell,  
When his light foot digged up th' Aonian well.  
Now heaven he holds, which oft his wings had mounted:  
In whose possession fifteen stars are counted.  
Next night thou Ariadne's Crown mayst see  
Installed Divine by Theseus' perjury.  
Now she that gave her thankless Love the thread,  
Had changed for Bacchus that perjurious bed:  
Joyed in her match, Fool that I was to mourn:  
'T is my advantage that he proved forsworn.  
The long-locked Indians Liber i'th' mean time  
Subdued▪ and came enriched from th' Eastern clime.  
Among the captive Maids which did excel  
In beauty he the Princess loved too well.  
His Wife bewails, and, wand'ring on the shore  
With scattered hairs, her case doth thus deplore;  
Once more, ye waves, hear my old mournful cares:  
Once more, ye sands, swim in a flood of tears.  
I Theseus once accused for perjury:  
He's gone; and Bacchus proves as false as he.  
Once more I cry, No Woman trust a Man:  
In change of names my act is new begun.  
Oh, that my fate had its first course held on!  
Now had my essence with my woes been done.  
Why didst thou, Liber, me from dying save?  
My sorrows then but one release did crave.  
Light Bacchus, lighter than thy brow bound leaves!  
O Bacchus, known, but to my tears and griefs!  
Why hast thou brought before my nose a whore  
To vex a bed so well composed before?  
Ah! where's thy faith? those solemn vows indented?  
Ah me? how oft have I these Dirges vented!  
Thou blamedst Theseus, and him false didst style:  
In thine own judgement thou art far more vile.  
In secret griefs I burn, and dare not tell:  
Lest it be thought I am thus oft served well.  
O let not Theseus know't, of all; lest he  
Triumph the more in thy society.  
Perhaps her white complexion you prefer  
Before my tanned: that colour be to her.  
But what's all this? She's liked the better in  
Her black defects: take heed she stains thy skin.  
O keep thy vow; nor stranger's beds approve  
Before thy wife's! A man I e'er did love.  
The white Bull's horns my mother caught; thine, me:  
But this thy base love wounds me heavily.  
Make not my love my bane: thine did not prove  
So when to me thyself confessed thy love.  
Thou burnest me; 't is not strange: Thou wert conceived  
In fire; from fire by Father's band reprieved.  
To me, O Bacchus, thou betrothedst Heaven:  
Ah me! for heaven what dowries here are given!  
She ended. Bacchus' all the while did mind her  
Lamenting, as by chance he came behind her.  
He eclipse her waist, and tears with kisses dries:  
Let's both, quoth he, together mount the skies.  
Our beds are one, our names shall be the same:  
And Libera shall be thy changed name.  
Thy Crown with thee a monument shall be:  
What Vulcan gave to Venus, she to thee.  
This said, her pearls to stars in number nine  
He changed; with which she now in gold doth shine.  
When that swift Coach which purple Day doth guide  
Six Suns hath hurried through the Welkin wide,  
More Horse-races in Mars his flowery green,  
Which wriggling Tiber laves, are to be seen.  
But if the river overflows the place,  
Then smouldry Caelius entertains the Race.  
Perennal Anna's genial feast in th' Ides  
Is kept hard by where foreign Tiber slides.  
All sorts together flock; and on the ground  
Displayed, each marrow by his make drinks round.  
Some sit in open air; some build their tents;  
And some themselves in branchy arbours fence.  
For solid beams some stick in canes, and over  
Their heads spread cloaks and blankets for a cover.  
Yet Sun and Wine inflames. They drink by tale;  
And for each bowl pray for a whole-yeare-hail.  
Some tipplers there will drink to Nestor's time,  
And with their cups to Sibyll's years will climb.  
There what is learned upon the stage each chants,  
And hands full nimbly to their numbers dance.  
Bowls set aside, each with his trick'd-up Lass,  
Whose hairs are loosened, trips it on the grass.  
As home they come they stagger, viewed of all  
The town for sport, which them doth happy call.  
Yerwhile I met this pomp ('t is worth the reading)  
An old wife drunk her drunken husband leading.  
But what she is (because reports thus flit)  
In telling I no fable will omit.  
Sad Dido in Aeneas love yerwhile  
Was burned, and burned upon her fate-built pile.  
Her ashes urned, and on her marble chest  
That verse engrav'n, made by her dying breast;  
HERE LIES QUEEN DIDO BY HER OWN HAND KILLED:  
DEATH'S CAUSE AND WEAPON DID AENEAS YIELD.  
Numidians straight sans let the realm invade:  
jarbas Lord of captive walls is made.  
Who, thinking of her old contempt, Now see,  
Her bed is mine, though not herself, quoth he.  
The Tyrians fly, each as his fortunes led;  
As bees do wander when their king is dead.  
Three crops to th' barn the barbed fields did yield;  
Three vintages had fuming hogsheads filled:  
Poor Anna is expelled; and weeping flies  
Her Sister's walls: first pays her obsequies.  
The ashes soft drink up her oil mix'd-tears,  
And entertain her sacrificed hairs.  
Thrice did she kiss the urn; thrice cried, Farewell.  
Her Sister seemed to her as sensible.  
A ship and mates ta'en up, she fails on clear,  
Those walls reviewed, her Sister's fabric dear.  
Near lean Cosyra lies a fertile seat,  
Isle Melite, which Libyan surges beat.  
There Battus reigned, whose stores much wealth did fill.  
Here pitched she, trusting in his old good will.  
Who hearing of these Sister's fates, This land,  
Said he, whatever, is at thy command.  
And this had lasted to the utmost hour,  
Had he not feared Pygmalion's armed power.  
Twice through the Zodiac Sol had run his race:  
She now must seek another exile-place.  
Her brother armed there claims her: Battus he  
Abhorring wars, and weak, said, Escape thou free.  
Her ship she yields to wind and sea in flight:  
No sea so cruel as her brother's spite.  
Near stony Cratis fishie rivers lies  
A little ground, there called Cameres.  
To this their ship was bound. And now they came  
Within nine furlongs of their wished aim:  
Sails struck, they sally in uncertain gales.  
Fall, cries the Pilot, to your oars for sails.  
And while to hale their tackling down they hast,  
Their ship is smitten with a thwarting blast.  
In spite of Pilotes power or skill it flies  
Into the main: the shore forsakes their eyes.  
Up start the waves; and up-side down they wallow:  
The leaking keel the foaming streams doth swallow.  
Wind's Nonplus Art. The Pilot now is pressed  
To use, for rudder prayers with all the rest.  
The Tyrian Exul wanders up and down  
The ways, her apron o'er her moist eyes thrown.  
That time first Dido, and all those that were  
Entombed in earth, were Happy called by her.  
The ship is hurried to the Latin ground,  
And all aland is swallowed up and drowned.  
Now good Aeneas with his Wife and throne  
Had well increased and made two peoples one.  
Whiles with Achates on his land desired  
He walked barefoot in a path retired,  
He spies Anne wand'ring, nor could think 't was she:  
What cause should bring her into Italy?  
While thus he mused, 'T is Anne, Achates cries.  
She at her name lifts up her mournful eyes.  
Oh! should she fly? or how? what cave at hand?  
Before her eyes her Sister's fate doth stand.  
She known, the Lord accosts her in her fears;  
Yet at the thought of Dido's death sheds tears:  
Anne, I protest by this land, which of late  
Thou oft didst hear was given me by kind fate;  
By my associate. Gods upon this bay  
New placed; they often chid my slow delay.  
Nor could I dream that death pursued her grief.  
Ah me! her courage was beyond belief.  
Relate thou nothing: Those unworthy wounds  
I saw, whenas I walked the Stygian bounds.  
But thou, did Will or Fortune thee here board,  
Partake of all my kingdom can afford.  
Much thou, the utmost Dido's merits make:  
Welcome for thine and for thy Sister's sake.  
To his kind love (nor comfort had she else)  
She yields herself; and all her fortune tells.  
The Court now entered in her Tyrian weeds;  
The rest all whist, Aeneas thus proceeds,  
Just cause have I, sweet wife, to bring to thee  
This Queen: in shipwreck she relieved me.  
A Tyrian born: Her walls in Libya were.  
I pray affect her as a Sister dear.  
Lavinia promised; and her forged wound  
In secret lodged, her jealousy doth drowned.  
And, seeing tokens sent before her eyes,  
She more suspects in subtle secrecies.  
Still vexed with doubt, she hates her like a fiend,  
And plots how with revenge to work her end.  
At night, lo, Dido with besoiled hairs  
Before Ann's bed all smeared with blood appears;  
Fly, Sister; use this sullen house no more:  
Fear not. Thus speaking, th' air did turn the door.  
Up starts she, and as nimbly as she could  
Leaps down the window low: fear made her bold.  
And winged with terror, in her tuck'd-up coat  
Runs like a roe that hears the wolf's hoarse note.  
Whom horny-browed Numicius (it is said)  
Catched up in's stream and to his spring conveyed.  
Next day lost Anne with calls and cries each-where  
Is sought: th' impression of her feet appear.  
Come to the banks, her footsteps there are seen.  
The conscious stream his murmuring noise held in.  
She seemed to speak; Numicius Nymph I live here:  
Perennall Anne of this Perennall River.  
Strait feast they in those wandered fields with joy;  
And tippling cheer their spirits and the day.  
Some think her Luna, of whose months years grow:  
Some say she's Themis; some, th' Inachian Cow:  
Some one of Atlas' daughters her would prove,  
And that she first gave food to sucking Jove.  
Besides, a story I have read, which you  
Shall hear rehearsed: nor doth it seem untrue.  
Th' old Commons once, without their Tribunes still,  
Fled, and so pitched upon the Holy hill.  
Now was their meat and useful corn all spent,  
Which they had carried when they thither went.  
An old wife Anne lived in a suburb-stall;  
A thrifty housewife, though her means were small:  
She, in a hood her grey hairs having dressed,  
Made countrey-Cymnels with her palsie-fist;  
And dealt each day her dole to all men there  
Hot from the oven; wherewith refreshed they were.  
Peace made at home, the people did erect her  
For this kind office a Perennall picture.  
Now hear the reason why the maids in throngs  
Between themselves sing certain wanton songs.  
Mars comes to Anne, a Goddess newly made,  
And taking her aside thus to her said,  
My month thee worships; my own times I've joined  
To thine; great hopes on thy good will I bind.  
I King of Wars with Pallas Wars great Queen  
Am fallen in love, and long inflamed have been.  
Kind Soul, this office well becomes thee: see  
If thou canst win my mate to wed to me.  
With promise feigned she yields to what he says,  
And feeds his foolish hopes with long delays.  
At length he urged: W' have done't; she's won, cries she,  
And much ado hath given her hand to me.  
He credulous his chamber beautified:  
Anne veiled is led in like a youthful bride.  
About to kiss her, Anne he doth descry.  
Both shame and anger do his visage die.  
Dear Pallas Sweetheart this fresh-Goddesse gulled:  
No action better please Dame Venus could.  
For this old jests and songs obscene they chant:  
Her jest on that great God is now her vaunt.  
I thought t' have passed the Emperor's Murder by;  
When from her hearth thus Vesta did apply.  
Fear not to mention it: he was my Priest:  
Those sacrilegious arms did me arrest.  
I caught him thence, and left his picture bare:  
'T was Caesar's shape those weapons dire did tear.  
He, placed in heaven, admires Jove's Court of gold:  
And in the Great Street doth a temple hold  
But those, who dared against the Gods, and did  
That act, defiled his Pontificial head.  
Just death rewards them: Let Philippi show,  
And those whose scattered bones the ground do strew.  
'T was Caesar's work, his piety, his first grounds,  
To justly vindicate his Father's wounds.  
When next Aurora dews the meadows green,  
The dreadful Scorpions cleyes are to be seen.  
The Ides third day doth Bacchus' service bring:  
Assist me, Bacchus, while thy rites I sing.  
I sing not Semele, to whom if Jove  
Had not come armed, thy name but small might prove:  
Nor thee, an Embryon in thy Father's thigh  
Enclosed, to grow to full maturity.  
Sithonians and thy Scythian triumphs famed  
I pass, with Indians or Arabians tamed:  
Or Pentheus torn by mother's cruelty:  
Or mad Lycurgus wounding of his knee.  
Those Tyrrhene Pirates made Sea-monsters well  
I might (but 't is not now my task) here tell.  
My task is this: To show th' original  
Why th' old wife neighbours to her cakes doth call.  
Before thy time on hearths of Gods all cold  
Grass grew: no honour did the Altars hold.  
Thou having Ganges and all India beat,  
Didst give the first-fruits to thy Father great.  
Thou captive Spice and Incense sanctifi'dst,  
And first in triumph Bullocks entrails fry'dst.  
Hence from the Author Libum takes the name,  
By consecrating part on holy flame.  
These Cakes are made to Liber, 'cause he loved  
Sweet juice, and Hony first of all improved.  
From sandy Heber with his Satyrs he  
Did walk. My tale shall not unpleasant be.  
To Rhodope and the Pangean Spring  
Being come, their cymbals all his followers ring.  
Lo, troops of bees with that shrill Music charmed  
Fly after, as the noise did lead, and swarmed.  
These Bacchus gets and in a tree-stock hives,  
And so the glory of that gift receives.  
When bald Silenus and the Satyrs tasted,  
To seek bees nests about the groves they hasted.  
In hollow Elm th' old God a swarm doth hear,  
And sees the combs, but takes no notice there.  
Anon he comes and ties his lazy mate  
Fast to the Elm, as on his back he sat.  
Up clambers he, and on a green-bough stands,  
And to his booty thrusts his greedy hands.  
Out of the hole a thousand Hornets spring  
About his ears, and 's bald crown all besting.  
Down tumbles he: his Ass about him laid  
His heels: there lies he yawling out for aid.  
The Satyr's flock, and laugh their Sire to see  
With face swollen up. He halts on's Asse-kicked knee.  
The Wine-God laughs, and tells him mire is good  
Applied: He simply daubs his face with mud.  
Since, Hony is Bacchus due. A reaking Cake  
With Honey moistened to the God they make.  
Why Women deal therein, the reason's plain:  
His ivy-staff spurs up their frantic train.  
But why old Wives? That age most bouzie proves,  
And most of all the pleasing vine-juyce loves.  
And why with Ivy dressed? This God that tree  
Loves well. The reason strait shall rendered be.  
The Nysian maidens Ivy-leaves about  
His cradle hung, when him vexed Juno sought.  
Now must I show why Gowns of Liberty  
Are given to striplings on thy feast-days free.  
Because, fair Bacchus, thou art always seen  
A Boy, or Youngman, or an age between:  
Or 'cause, thou being a father, to thy care  
All fathers do commend their children dear:  
Or else because a gown and life more free  
Is given by thee, the God of Liberty.  
Or, when old times the ground more earnest tilled,  
And Senators themselves wrought in their field:  
When Plowmen oft did take a Consul's place;  
And thick-skinned hands were counted no disgrace:  
The Countrey-folk to see these Games would make  
To th' town; yet for the Gods not pleasure's sake:  
And Liber, who is now accompanied  
With Ceres, than these feasts alone enjoyed:  
Therefore, that more Youth might these games frequent,  
'T was then thought best to give this ornament.  
Kind Sr, your head and gentle antlets veil,  
And guide my fancy with a prosperous gale.  
On these two days (as I suppose) they go  
To th' Argive Brothers, whom their Leaf will show.  
The Puttock verges towards Lycaon's Bear,  
And on this night begins he to appear.  
If you will know what him advanced to Heaven:  
When Saturn from his throne by Jove was driven,  
He in his rage the sturdy Titans armed,  
And tries the aid the which the Fates had charmed.  
An earth-bred Monster was there, wonderful,  
Behind a Serpent but before a Bull.  
This in a wood stern Styx enclosed in three  
Huge bulwarks, by the triple Fates decree.  
Such was the fate: He that this Monster slew  
And burned the inwards, should the Gods subdue.  
This Briareus with Diamant-ax did foil,  
And was just now his guts about to broil:  
Jove bids the Fowls to catch them up. The Kite  
Did his command, and so in heaven was pight.  
Next day but one Minerva's feast revives,  
The which from those five days the name derives.  
The first no blood nor sword-play doth admit,  
Because Minerva was brought forth in it.  
The four next days the scaffolds all are filled:  
This warlike Queen delights in weapons skilled.  
Come Boys and Maids, your gifts to Pallas bring:  
Her favour gives great skill in every thing.  
In Pallas favour let the Lasses learn  
To empty distaffs and to twist their yarn.  
She also learns to make the Shuttle play  
About the web, and how to fill the Stay.  
Fuller's and Dyer's, give her honour both;  
You that do white, and you that die the cloth.  
No Shoemaker a shoe can fashion well  
Without her help, though Tychius he excel.  
He that Epeus shames in Carpentry,  
Becomes a dunce if Pallas angry be.  
And you Physicians that diseases cure,  
Salute this Lady with some gifts of your.  
Dull Scholars curbed in cursed Schoolmasters lore,  
Your wits she quickens: honour her therefore:  
Ye that meet heaven, and ye that Pencils use;  
And he that stones to curious statues hews.  
A thousand Arts she skills. She Verse doth savour:  
Inspire my song, if I may ask that favour.  
Where Caelius to a vale declineth prone;  
The Vale's a level, yet no perfect one;  
There Capt Minerva's Chapel you may see,  
To her devote on her Nativity.  
The reason's doubtful: She's the Mineral  
Of wit, which quick is called Capital:  
Or else because her Fathers a king head  
Her armed with shield sans help of wife did shed:  
Or'cause she captived with Phaliscanes came  
To Rome; the foremost letter shows the same:  
Or else because her law is capital  
For sacrilege within her Temple-wall.  
whatever reason thee this name affords  
Still keep thy Aegis, Pallas, for our Lords.  
The last day bids to purge and round the green  
With trumps, and offer to that warlike Queen.  
Now may you lift your eyes to heaven, and say,  
Sol backed the Phryxean Weather yesterday.  
The seeds all scorched by wicked Ino's wile,  
No fruits would grow, as they were wont yerwhile:  
A message is to Delphian Tripos sent,  
To beg some help for souls with famine spent.  
He, with the seeds corrupt, brought word; Fates stood  
To have both Phryxus and his Sister's blood.  
Time, People, Ino, all do urging stand  
Th' abhorring King t' obey the sad command.  
Phryxus and Helle crowned with flowers stand by  
The altars, moaning their joynt-destiny.  
Their Mother spies them, as in th' air she hung;  
And hands against her frighted bosom flung:  
Leaps into Thebes, girt with a troup of clouds,  
And snatched her Children from amid the crowds.  
And, for their flight, the Ram with golden fleece  
Was given to both; which bears them o'er the seas.  
The fainting Maid with weak lefthand the Ram  
Held by the horn, when she that Sea did name.  
Her Brother, whiles he strained to help, and gave  
His hand stretched to her, scarce himself could save.  
He for his double-dangers-mate miscarried  
Laments, not knowing Neptune her had married.  
Ashore, the Ram was to the heavens extolled;  
And Colchis kept his precious fleece of Gold.  
When Lucifer hath thrice appeared in heaven,  
The balanced hours of Night and Day are even.  
Hence, when the Shepherd four times folds his flocks,  
And four times Earth bedews her pearly locks,  
Then Janus and Rome's Safety are adored,  
With Altar of mild Peace and meek Concord.  
The Moon doth guide the Months: The Moon in fine  
Concludes this Month, adored on Aventine.  
The end of the third Book.   

OVID'S FESTIVALS; OR, ROMAN CALENDAR. The fourth Book; or, APRIL.  
The Argument.  
THe pedigree of Romulus and Rome.  
Fair April's name from Venus' fair doth come.  
Male Fortune's Incense. Atlas' daughters rise.  
Grand Cybel's feasts. Nun Claudia testifies  
Her Chastity. Some Stage-games. Feasts divine  
To Ceres, and her search of Proserpina.  
A Fordy Cow is sacrificed to Earth.  
Now glowing Sol on Taurus back rides forth.  
Palilia and Vinalia feasts. A prayer  
To hurtful Rust. A feast to Flora fair.  

ALme Queen of pairing Love, Assist, I cried:  
To me she straight her cheerful eye applied,  
What news with you? you had another strain:  
What? touched, saith she, with your old wound again?  
Madame, said I, you know my wound. She smiled:  
And strait that way the air grew clear and mild.  
Or sound or sore, I ne'er forsook thy tent:  
Thou art my daily task, my ornament.  
I played my part throughout my youthful prime:  
But now our quill a higher strain doth climb.  
Times with their causes picked from Annals old,  
Stars sets and risings doth our Muse unfold.  
We come to th' fourth month, which doth thee renown:  
You know, sweet Lady, Priest and Month's your own.  
The Goddess pleased doth lightly touch my head  
With Myrtle-bough, and bade me still proceed.  
I felt the virtue: All things strait grew clear.  
Hoist up our sails then, while the wind blows fair,  
And, Caesar, thou maintein'st as good a share  
In April as in all the Calendar.  
This Month descends to thee by pedigree;  
Thine by adoptive great-nobilitie.  
This Romulus knew when he did compound  
The year; and thence his Parents both renowned.  
And as he gave to Mars the foremost place,  
Because he was next Author of his race;  
So Venus many ranks before his mother  
He Mistress made of this next following other.  
And turning o'er Times rolls to find the ground  
Of his descent, the Gods his Parents found.  
Who knows not Dardan from Electra's seed  
Did spring, whom she, conceived by Jove, did breed?  
Hence Erichthonius, who begat King Tros  
Assarac's Sire: hence Capys next arose.  
The next Anchises, with whom Venus fair  
Did not disdain a Parent's name to bear.  
Aeneas' next, whose Piety tried in fire  
Brought several Sacreds', both his Gods and Sire.  
Now come we to julus' blessed name,  
Where Teucrian Sages meet the Julian fame.  
Next Posthumus, who was, being born among  
The woods, called Silvius in the Roman tongue.   

Another Silvius of his father's name  
Joined with Aeneas, from this Silvius came.   

He was Latinus father. Alba's time  
Succeeded his; and Epytus next him:  
This man the names of Troy revived again.  
Then Calpetus his grandchild next did reign.  
Next Tyberine his father's throne employed;  
Who, drowned in the Tuscan river, died:  
Yet saw his son Agrippa, and grandchild  
Stern Remulus, who was with lightning killed.  
Then Aventine, whose mount doth still maintain  
His name, succeeds. Next Proca took the reign.  
Next Numitor unjust Amulius brother,  
Whose Wife was Lausus and Nun Ilia's mother.  
Amulius Lausus slays. Mars Ilia loves;  
Who big by him with those twin-brothers proves.  
Thence Romulus always for Parents chief  
Held Mars and Venus, and deserves belief.  
And that succeeding times might know the same,  
These Months he joined in both his parent's name.  
But sure this name of Venus-month doth come  
From that Greek noun that notes the waters foam.  
Nor wonder we at this Greek word at all;  
For Italy old times Great Greece did call.  
Here came Evander with his fleet well manned;  
Here came Alcides: both of Grecia land.  
That clubbed Pilgrim did his herd display  
On Aventine, and drank of Albula.  
Ulysses too, the Lestrygons' can tell,  
And that same shore where Circe once did dwell.  
The walls of Telegon and Tybur stand  
Still extant, raised by a Grecian hand.  
Halesus, forced by Atrides fate, here came;  
From whom Phaliscanes did derive their name.  
Antenor too, who would Troy's peace have won:  
And Diomedes Appulian Daunus Son.  
Aeneas late behind Antenor came,  
And hither brought his Gods from th' Ilian flame.  
Sr Solemus from Phrygian Ida tall  
Came in his train, who named Sulmo's wall:  
Sweet Sulmo's wall, great Prince, my native land!  
Ah me! how distant from the Scythian sand!  
Well, Muse, suppress these long complaints, nor sing  
These sacred strains upon a mournful string.  
What will not Envy reach? Some, Venus, would  
From thee the honour of this month withhold.  
For 'cause the season opens every thing,  
Gross cold departs, and plants begin to spring;  
From th' Open time they challenge April's name,  
Which Venus with an earnest hand doth claim.  
She pleasantly doth temper all the year,  
And rule inferior to no God doth bear:  
She governs Heaven, and Earth, and native Seas,  
And by her work mainteins each Species:  
She all the Gods begat ('t were long to tell:)  
And with warm seeds makes Herbs and Trees to swell:  
She brought rude men to one harmonious mind;  
And to his proper make each male she joined.  
What but soft Pleasure Birds to breed doth move?  
Nor would Beasts couple if there were no Love.  
The surly Ram will with a Ram knock horns;  
But yet to hurt his lovely Ewe he scorns.  
The Bull, whose majesty doth awe the grove,  
With smoothed brow doth gently woe his Love.  
The same instinct doth guide marinall things,  
Which fills with thousand fish the Water-springs.  
She first Mankind's more savage life refined,  
And first to comely habits men inclined.  
A Lover in an ill-sped night his fate  
First wailed in verse at's Sweethearts bolted gate,  
To woe his Wench Love made him eloquent:  
And in his cause each man was excellent.  
She hath discovered thousand arts: Love did  
Find many a notion which before lay hid.  
Who then this Month to Venus dares refuse  
To give? Avaunt that folly from our Muse!  
Beside, she is a general Power frequented  
With numerous Fanes: but most in Rome augmented.  
She for thy Troy, O Rome, did weapons wear,  
When her soft hand was wounded with a spear.  
She put two Ladies down (a Trojane, Judge:)  
Ah, may those twain not think of that old grudge!  
Assarac's daughter she became, that so  
Great Caesar might the Julian Fathers ow.  
Nor can she have a fitter time than Spring,  
When earth grows gay, and jocund fields do sing.  
The heads of plants above the cracked ground perk:  
The vine begets new pearls in swelling bark.  
So fair a season fits so fair a Queen;  
Here joined with Mars, as she before hath been.  
She now the wary Mariners calls down  
To native seas, not fearing Winter's frown.  
Ye Latin Maids and Wives, and all that wear  
No veil nor stole, adore this Goddess fair.  
Your golden fillets from white necks unbind:  
Let other flowers, and roses fresh be joined.  
You she invites with Myrtles veiled to lave:  
Attend: the reason's certain that I have.  
Her dropping locks once on a bank she dried;  
The wanton Satyrs her all naked spied:  
Which known, she with a myrtle hides her breast,  
And was concealed. Which is by you expressed.  
Learn why ye Incense to Male Fortune bring,  
Near to the banks of Tiber's gelid spring.  
That place receives you all stripped to the skin,  
Where each defect in every part is seen.  
Male Fortune, pleased but with a little spice,  
Hides from your husbands all deformities.  
Pure milk may ye and seeds of poppy ground  
With honey squeezed out of the comb compound.  
When Venus to her boorish Mate was led,  
She drank of this, and left her Maidenhead.  
With humble prayers adore her: She procures,  
That beauty, carriage, and good name endures.  
Through abstinence Rome's youth in time decayed;  
Our fathers searched the old Cumaean Maid.  
She bids a Chapel unto Venus build:  
Which finished, Venus did her favour yield.  
Sweet Queen, to thy son's race thy kind eye bend  
Thus always, and thy numerous Dames defend.  
But see! the Scorpion with his dreadful tail  
Advanced, falls headlong to the waters pale.  
This night once past; when heaven is died again  
With purple blush; and dabbled birds complain:  
When watchful travellers their lights half-burned  
Have quenched; and Peasants to their work returned:  
Old Atlas' Daughters o'er his head are mounted;  
Which are but six in sight, though seven accounted:  
Because but six did match with Powers Divine:  
For Sterope (they say) with Mars did join;  
Neptune did Halcyon and Celaeno love;  
Taygeta, May, Electra lay with Jove.  
With mortal Sisyphus matched Merope:  
For which she grieving loves obscurity.  
Or, at the ruins of her Trojane race  
Electra grieved, with hands did hide her face.  
Thrice more let Heaven on constant axles course;  
Let Sol thrice harness and knock off his horse:  
Then strait the Phrygian Hornpipe doth resound,  
Th' Idaean Grandames feast is now renowned.  
Her eunuches marching beat their tabrets hollow:  
From brasse-knocked brass a noise a noise doth follow.  
She, carried on her servants necks in pride,  
About the streets is whooted to, and cried.  
Resort, ye Nobleses; Scenes and Shows do call:  
Now in the Court be there no suits at all.  
More I should mention; but the brasse-shrill sound  
And horrid Lotos-pipe doth me confound.  
Help, Cybele. She cast her courteous eye  
On her learned Nieces, and bade them apply.  
Ye Thespian Sisters, mindful of her voice,  
Show why she's pleased with such continual noise.  
Thus I. Then Erato, (This month to her  
Gives place, because the name of Love she bore.)  
This Fate was given to Saturn; Mighty King,  
A Son of thine thou from thy throne shall fling.  
He fearing this devoureth every child  
As it came forth, and in his guts it killed.  
Oft Rhea mourned she could no Mother be,  
Though pregnant; and bewailed fertility.  
Jove's born: Antiquity's the Testament:  
Why should we tax a truth so ancient?  
His throat almighty gulps a swathed stone:  
Fates did allow this cheat of him alone.  
Long had a tinkling rung in Ida tall,  
That so the Infant might in safety brawl.  
The Corybantes and Curetes, some  
On ringling helmets, some on bucklers drum.  
The Child's concealed. In sign of this therefore  
Her followers make their brass and parchments roar.  
For helmets, cymbals; drums they beat for shields:  
The pipe those ancient Phrygian tunes still yields:  
She ceased: I asked, But why do Lions stout,  
Which scorn the harness, draw her coach about?  
I ceased: She answered, She Ferocity  
Restrains; and this her coach doth testify.  
Why wears she on her head a towered Crown?  
Because she first gave towers to every town?  
She liked. Said I, Whence comes that fury then  
To geld themselves? The Muse replied again,  
Young Atys beauty all the woods surpassed:  
He joined with this towered Queen in love most chaste.  
Be e'er a Boy; reserve thyself for me;  
And take, quoth she, my Temple's custody.  
His troth he plighted: If, said he, I lie,  
Be that my last Love for my falsity.  
He lied; and with the Sangaritian Maid  
Was stained. The Goddess vowed revenge, betrayed.  
The Nymph, by cutting off her tree, she gives  
A fatal wound. Their fates were relatives.  
He runs stark mad; and, thinking o'er his head  
His house beat down, to Dindymus he fled.  
Sometimes he roars, O hold your lashes fell!  
O stay your brands! I feel the Hags of hell!  
Then launched his flesh with stones, and on the dirt  
Drags his long locks: O this is my desert!  
And with my blood deserved revenge I press:  
Confounded be those parts which did transgress!  
Confounded be they. And so off he reft  
His shame: No symptoms of his sex were left.  
This is their pattern: Her gelt Priests from hence  
Pluck off their locks and cut their Pudiments.  
Thus by the music of th' Aenian Choir  
I did enjoy the cause of my desire.  
Now, Lady Muse, relate: Whence came this Queen?  
Or hath she ever in our city been?  
Grove-gaudy Ida, Dindym, Cybele,  
And wealthy Troy she loved perpetually.  
And when Aeneas Italized Troy,  
She was about to follow him on's way:  
But Fates informed her, that as yet that nation  
Required her not. And so she kept her station.  
But when rich Rome had now five ages viewed,  
And raised her crest above the world subdued,  
The Priest our Sibylls fate-recording lines  
Reads o'er, and there this grand instruction finds;  
You want your Mother: Romans, her in haste  
Go seek, and give her entertainment chaste.  
The fathers in these dark Maeanders were  
Confused: What Goddess to be sought? and where?  
They send to Phoebus: Seek the Mother grand  
Of Gods, saith he: She's in th' Idaean land.  
Lords are dispatched. Then Attalus was King  
Of Phrygia; who denies to them the thing.  
Strange things I sing. The rumbling ground doth shake;  
And thus the Goddess from her chapel spoke,  
Make haste, and send me: My desire's to Rome:  
Rome is a place that doth all Gods become.  
He, frighted at the voices fear, cries, Go:  
Ours thou shalt be; Rome from our stock doth grow.  
A thousand axes strait those Pine-groves smite,  
Which good Aeneas yerst employed in flight.  
Thousands are mustered: And a painted barge  
Of Heavens great Grandam now doth take the charge.  
She sails most safely through her Nephew's rea'm,  
And salleys o'er the Hellesponts long stream:  
Then passed Rhoeteum and Sigeum o'er,  
And Tened, and old Etion's wealthy shore:  
Then fetched the Cyclads, Lesbos at their backs,  
And where Caristo's shore the waves refracts:  
Then sails Icarium, where the molten fall  
Of Icarus the waters so did call.  
Crect on the left, o'th' right hand Pelop's main  
She leaves; then lanches to Cithaeron's plain:  
Hence to Trinacria, where in boiling steel  
Steropians, Brontians, and Acmonians deal:  
Then ploughs the Libyan sea, and o'th' left hand  
Sardinia views; hence reached th' Ausonian land.  
There sounds that mouth, where Tiber to the main  
Pays rend, and ranges in a broader plain.  
The Peers and Commons with the Senate's ranks  
Came forth to meet her at the Tuscan banks.  
The matrons with their husbands and their sons  
Went forth, and all the holy Vestal Nuns.  
The strained ropes men's toilsome hands do wring;  
Yet to the port the Barge they scarce can bring.  
The time was dry; much heat had parched the land:  
The laden Barge sinks into miry sand.  
Each Labourer more than his share doth toil;  
And with loud whoots helps his stout hands each-while.  
That, like an island in the sea, to th' ground  
Sticks fast. The wonder strikes them all astounded.  
Nun Claudia sprung of Clausus progeny,  
Whose beauty equalled her nobility:  
A maid, but not so counted; being abused  
By base report, and wrongfully accused.  
Her habits brave, and music so delicious,  
And spruce attires did make her more suspicious.  
Her conscience clear derides the lies of fame:  
Yet we are prone to credit words of blame.  
She steps before the Nuns religious train,  
And in her hands takes up some water clean:  
Thrice dews her head; thrice lifts her hand to th' sky.  
All think her frantic that her gestures eye.  
Then on her humble knee with loosened hair  
She eyes the Goddess, and thus makes her prayer,  
Alm Mother of the Powers celestial,  
Accept thy suppliants prayers conditional.  
My shame is taxed: I yield if thou accuse:  
If thou condemn me, death I'll not refuse.  
But if I'm clear, then give a real sign:  
chaste Mother, follow these chaste hands of mine.  
This said, she drew the rope with strength but small;  
(I speak a truth, though strange, yet general.)  
The Goddess follows, and therewith commends  
Her Leader: Joy to heaven a huge shout sends.  
Now came they to the bending which old days  
Called Tyber's Court: hence turns he left-hand-wayes.  
Night came: The rope t' an oaken stump they tie;  
And, being repasted, down to sleep they lie.  
Light came: The rope from th' oaken stump th' untied;  
But incense first on altars built applied;  
And crowned the ship: Then kill a heifer clear  
Which never bull nor servile yoke did bear.  
There is a place where Almo doth resign  
His stream and name to nobler Tyberine:  
There doth the Priest, in purple robe most grave,  
In Almo's stream her and her Sacreds' lave.  
Her followers hollow. Furious pipes resound:  
And velome thumped t' her Eunuches hands redound.  
Joyed Claudia honoured walks before, at last  
By heavenly witness scarce concluded chaste.  
She in her wain into Capena- gate  
Is brought; her oxen strewed with flowers in state.  
Nasica takes her, not her Temple's author:  
Metellus was; but now Augustus rather.  
Here Erato stayed, till I questioned more.  
Show why small toll, said I, augments her store?  
With coin collected, answered she, her sane  
Metellus raised: thence is that custom ta'en.  
But why, said I, do men, now frequent Guests,  
By course solemnize her appointed feasts?  
Because that she so happy a change did make  
Of places, they this varying omen take.  
Why then are her games Megalesia  
By Rome kept first? To this my Muse did say,  
She bred the Gods: They give their Mother place:  
And so the first Games celebrate her grace.  
Why then do they her Eunuches Galli call;  
When Phrygia is so distant from the Gaul?  
A frantic stream called Gallus runs between  
Celenae high and Cybel's verges green:  
It causes madness: Fly it all, in sadness,  
That love your wits: The water worketh madness.  
Upon her table 't is, said I, in season  
To set herb-puddings: Is there any reason?  
Old times, said she, of milk and herbs did feed,  
Such as the earth without control did breed.  
Curds mixed with boiled herbs serve her board; that so  
An ancient Power those ancient meats might know.  
When stars are banished, and Pallantias shines  
In th' East, and Luna her white teem disjoins,  
Upon Quirinus we may truly say  
Was Public Fortune consecrate this day.  
The third to this brings Stage-games; which as I  
Beheld, thus spoke a grave Gentile placed by,  
This day did Caesar on the Libyan ground  
Perjurious Juba's stubborn arms confound.  
I served a Tribune under Caesar's banner  
Lord of my actions; which I count my honour.  
My warfare me, this place thy Gown gave thee,  
Both raised to th' office of Decemviri.  
From this discourse w' are called off by a shower:  
The pendent Tankard airy drops did pour.  
But e'er the evening doth the sights conclude,  
Sword-armed Orion in the waves is stewed.  
When next Tithonia views victorious Rome,  
And posting stars give place to Titan's Groom,  
Large pomps, with ranks of Gods, the Circus grace,  
And aire-foot Coursers for the first prize race.  
Then Ceres games. The Cause need not b' expressed:  
Her favours of themselves are manifest.  
Green Herbs at first were hungry father's food,  
To them afforded from the earth unwooed.  
Sometimes young stalks they gathered here and there:  
And tender sprouts did make them goodly cheer.  
They thought them well when they had found out Mast▪  
The Oak did yield them many a rich repast.  
First Ceres men with nobler meats did store;  
And into better food turned acorns poor.  
She oxens brawny necks to th' plough subdued.  
Then first the launched ground Sol's lustre viewed.  
Then Brass was prized; Steel great content did yield:  
Ah, would that stuff had ever been concealed!  
She joys in peace: No prayers, ye Farmers, cease  
For peace perpetual and our Prince of peace.  
Meal mixed with salt to her may you present,  
And make th' old altars fumes of incense vent.  
Or else for incense light your tapers greased.  
With little gifts, if pure, is Ceres pleased.  
Priests, spare the Oxens harmless lives; They plough:  
Present the lazy soil-bemoiling Sow.  
'T is pity an industrious life be slain:  
Let it subsist and in her fields take pain.  
This place invites the Virgin's rape to show.  
Hear many things comprised in a few.  
A land with three rocks crowds into the sea,  
From its Triangle called Trinacria:  
Beloved of Ceres; plentifully towned:  
There stands fair Enna on a fertile ground.  
Cold Arethuse the Dames of heaven invites:  
The corn-crowned Goddess comes to those delights.  
Her Daughter, tended with her usual train,  
Walked barefoot up and down her flowery plain.  
Hard by a grovy vale a flat doth lie,  
Well watered with a sources fall from high.  
The gaudy mead her pride much varied, clad  
With all the colours Lady Nature had.  
Which soon as spied, Come Playfellows, cries she,  
And fill your aprons full of flowers with me.  
Young Maidens minds delight in trifling spoil;  
And fond desire calls off the sense of toil.  
This fills her basket of fine osiers made;  
This stores her apron; she her coats doth lad.  
This Marigolds; she plies the Violet-beds:  
Her dainty finger crops the Poppy-heads.  
On Hyacynth and Amaranth some dote:  
Some Thyme, some Crowfoot, some love Melilote  
And other flowers: The Rose doth much delight:  
She plucks the Saffron and the Lily white.  
Her busy mind still further off doth bear her;  
And (as it chanced) none of her mates were near her:  
Her Uncle spies her, and on sooty steeds  
Rapes her away, and to his kingdom speeds.  
She cries, and calls out, Io my Mother dear,  
I'm forced away; and off her clothes doth tear.  
Forthwith the vault of Pluto doth display:  
His light-auk steeds could not abide the day.  
Her Maids, their baskets filled with flowery treasures,  
Cried, Ho Persephone, come see thy pleasures.  
When nought was heard, with cries they fill the dale,  
And smite their hands against their bosoms pale.  
Ceres' amazed at this to Enna flies;  
And strait, Ah woeful! Where's my Girl? she cries.  
About she hurries in a dead distraction,  
Like shrews of Bacchus in their frantic action:  
Or as a Cow, robbed of her late-calved Love,  
Runs sadly lowing all about the grove;  
So she could neither sighs nor flight refrain,  
But runs, and first begins at Enna's plain.  
There first her daughter's footsteps she doth note:  
The ground betrays the passage of her foot.  
Perchance she then had searched the furthest ground,  
Had not some swine disturbed the tract she found.  
The Leontini, and Anisus mazes  
She searched, with all the medow-grounds of Acis:  
Then Cyane, and mild Anapus fount,  
And over Gela's dangerous gulf doth mount:  
Then o'er Orlygia and Pantagia goeth,  
And Megara; then o'er Simethus mouth:  
Next to the Cyclops sooty forge she hy'th;  
Thence to that place named from the crooked scythe.  
Then Himere, Didym, Agrigentum, and  
Tauromenus; thence to Mela's Holy-Ox-land.  
Next Camarine with Swanny Tempe fair,  
And Thapsos; Eryx free to Western air:  
Then searched she Pachyne, Pelore, Lilybe,  
Her country's horn-like promontories three.  
Each nook she fills with moanful Elegies,  
As when the Lapwing to his Itys cries.  
Sometimes, Persephone; sometimes she cried,  
My Daughter; and by course both names employed:  
But no Persephone could Ceres hear;  
Nor Daughter, Mother: Vain both titles were.  
When she a Shepherd or a Ploughman spied,  
Saw you no Damsel pass this way? she cried.  
Night's coal-black colour now alone possessed  
All things: now watchful tongues of dogs did rest.  
Where Aetna high Typheous vast bulk tires,  
Whose ground is scorched with ever-spuing fires;  
Here for her torch two Pines she doth inflame:  
Hence in her rites the Torch's custom came.  
There is a cave of rugged pumice made,  
Which neither man nor beast could e'er invade:  
Here when she came, her bridled snakes she ties  
TO her coach, and dryfoot o'er the water flies.  
Next reached the Syrts, and to Charybdis passed,  
And those naufragious Dogs of Scylla vast;  
The spacious Adriack, and Corinthum bound  
Within two seas; hence reached the Attic ground.  
Sad, on a stone here rests she first of all,  
Which stone th' Athenians hence from Sadness call.  
There many days in th' air she did remain  
Unstirred, and patient both of cold and rain.  
No place but hath its fate. Now Cereall  
Eleusis then was Celeus farm but small.  
He home was trudging with a truss of wood,  
With mast and berries from the hedge, for food.  
His daughter with two goats from field did come:  
His young son lay in cradle sick at home.  
The Wench said, Mother (Her that name did move)  
What d' ye alone here in this desert grove?  
Th'old man too stands there (though his load were sore)  
And prayed her enter to his Cottage poor.  
She now an old wife in a mitre dressed,  
In these sad words denies his urged request,  
Go safe, blessed Parent, my poor Daughter's gone:  
Ah, sweet condition far above mine own!  
She wiped her eyes; a pearly drop came from her  
Much like a tear: for tears did not become her.  
Th' old man and maid, both tenderhearted, make  
A part in tears. The downright Sage then spoke,  
God keep, God keep thy daughter safe from harm:  
Come, pray, arise; reject not our poor farm.  
Replies the Dame, Thy argument is strong.  
So rising up she follows him along.  
As on they walked, he this to her expressed,  
His Son was sick and could by no means rest.  
She, as she went into his little mound,  
Sleep-poring poppy gathers on the ground.  
Thewhiles she plucked she tasted it ('t is said)  
And unawares her long-long fasting stayed.  
The which because she in the Evening did,  
Her supper is not till the sun is hid.  
Being entered in, great mourning she beheld:  
No hope of life was in the senseless child.  
Th' old wife saluted (called Menaline)  
She deigns the boy's mouth to her own to join.  
His strength and colour instantly renewed:  
Such vigour her celestial kiss ensued.  
The whole house joyed; to wit, the parents dear,  
And little maid: these three the whole house were.  
Forthwith they set the board; curds, apples, plumbs,  
And golden honey in the hony-combs.  
But Ceres fasted, and in milk lukewarm  
Gives poppy to the boy, his sleep to charm▪  
Sleeps midnight-Silence did all things enwrap;  
Triptolemus she takes into her lap:  
Thrice stroked him with her hand: three charms she sung,  
Not to be uttered by a mortal tongue:  
Then raked up in hot embers him doth lay,  
That fire might purge his humane dross away.  
Up starts the fool-kind Mother, and stark wild  
Cries out, What mean you? and snatched up her child.  
Said she, The art evil in not being so:  
By thy fond fear my gifts are frustrate now.  
Now he is Mortal: But he first shall till  
The earth, whose plenty shall his garners fill.  
Thus forth she goes, and with a cloud attended,  
Her winged-Dragon-mounted coach ascended.  
Exposed Sunion and retired Piraeum  
And right-hand-ports she searched, and passes by 'em▪  
Then from th' Aegean all the Cyclads eyed;  
Hence passed th' Icarian and Ionian wide.  
And through all Asia's towns the Hellespont  
She reached, and over several climes doth mount.  
For spiced Arabians she beholds awhile;  
Then Ind, Libs, Meroe, and the thirsty soil:  
Then passed Hesperia, Po, the Rhine, and Rhode,  
And Tiber, since a powerful River's God.  
O hold! our pen in counting all would tyre:  
No place on Earth was left unransacked by her.  
Yea, Heaven she searched: and asked the signs that roll  
(Expelled from th' Ocean) next the frozen Pole;  
Ye Northern Stars, (ye sure all actions know,  
Because ye never dive the seas below:)  
Tell what's become of my Persephone.  
To her demand thus answers Helice,  
The Night's not conscious of her: ask the Sun,  
Who sees whatever in the Day is done.  
Sol asked, answered, Toil no more in vain:  
Thy Daughter's married to the Tertian reign.  
Long having mourned to Jove she pleads her case;  
Deep characters of sorrow in her face:  
Had you remembered who my Proserpina  
Begat, your care of her had equalled mine.  
The whole world's search affords me nought but this,  
To know my wrong. The Pirate hath his prize.  
This forced match my child deserved not;  
Nor I, to have a Son-in-law thus got.  
What heavier thrall could Gyges conquest bring  
Then now sh' endures the while her Father's King?  
Shall he go scot-free? we revengeless mourn?  
Make him repent his crime, and her return.  
Jove pacifies: Let Love excuse, saith he;  
Nor be ashamed of his affinity.  
He is our Equal. Heaven's my throne: One Brother  
Reigns in the Ocean; and in Styx, the other.  
But if no reason can thy will persuade,  
But thou wilt break a match already made;  
We'll try this means: She is thine, if meat sh' abstain:  
If not, she must th' Infernal Bride remain.  
Caduceus sails to Styx on nimble wings,  
And quick as thought eye-witnessed tidings brings;  
She had her stomach stayed with kernels three  
Of th' apple plucked from the pomegranate-tree.  
She mourns as much as if herself had now  
Been forced away, and scarce could grief out-grow:  
And thus she cries, Your heaven to me is hateful:  
Let me go live in Tartary more grateful.  
This had she done too, but that Jove did swear,  
In heaven her Daughter should be half the year.  
With this was Ceres cheered and comforted,  
And put a corn-eared garland on her head.  
The rested fields gave huge increase of grain,  
Whose crowded treasures barns could scarce contain.  
White pleases Ceres; in her Cereals wear  
White vestures: black is out of date with her.  
Jove surnamed Victor April's Ides doth owe:  
This day a Temple unto him did vow.  
And Liberty, most fitting for our Nation,  
This day (unless I err) enjoyed her station.  
Next day let Seamen in their ports strike sail:  
Out of the West come vapouring storms of hail.  
And be it so: yet in these stony storms  
Did Caesar quell the Mutinensian arms.  
Now when the third day next the Ides doth rise,  
A Fordy Cow the high Priests sacrifice.  
A Cow they Forda and Foecunda name  
From Fero: Hence some think that Foetus came.  
Now beasts are pregnant; pregnant are all seeds:  
Please pregnant Earth a pregnant beast must needs.  
Some in Jove's Tower are offered: Thirty more  
Dye in the Wards, whose blood doth drench the floor.  
And when the Priests have drawn the young calves forth,  
And laid the Cow's sliced entrails on the hearth,  
The eldest Nun the Calves to ashes dry  
Doth burn, on Pales day to purify.  
In Numa's time the Earth the Ploughman's pain  
Did not requite; but all his prayers proved vain.  
Sometimes 'twas feared with cold raw Northern drought:  
Sometimes 't was dropsied by th' excessive South.  
Corn in the blade did oft delude the Lord;  
And Oaten stalks did nought but husks afford.  
Beasts slunk their young with most untimely throws:  
The Ewe in giving life her own did lose.  
A wood devoted to Menalian Pan  
There stood, not lately cut by any man:  
There he his notions to the soul asleep  
By night infused. Here Numa kills two sheep:  
The first to Pan, the next to Sleep they slay;  
And both their fleeces on the ground display.  
Twice with spring-water he bedews his brows;  
And twice his temples binds with beechen boughs.  
Flesh-meat and Wives that night they must forbear;  
Nor any ring upon their fingers wear.  
At even to th' God in his set form he prays,  
Then on those new skins down himself he lays.  
Anon comes poppy-headed Night, and brings  
Calm Sleep and floating Dreams on mortal things.  
Pan comes, and trampling on the sheepskins spread  
With horny hoof, thus on the right side said,  
The Earth, King Numa, must be reconciled  
With two kine's lives which one alone must yield.  
Fear shakes off sleep. About his thoughts he rolled  
The Mystery, the meaning to unfold.  
Grove-loved Aegeria doth the meaning show:  
A Cow with calf is claimed, saith she, of you.  
A Cow with calf is sacrificed: The year  
Becomes more fruitful: Ground and cattle bear.  
This day once Venus did compel to run  
Full speed, and spurred the horses of the Sun;  
That this style Emperor might Augustus young  
Salute next day from his Victorious throng.  
But when the fourth morn from the Ides gives light,  
The Hyads enter Doris court that night.  
The third day next the Hyadeses are gone  
The Race-horse in the lists are placed to run.  
Here let me tell why Foxes in the rails  
Run loose with fire-links at their backs and tails.  
Through cold Carseoli, a soil but slow  
In olives thrift, but apt for corn to grow,  
I took my journey to my native seat  
Pelignus small, but fed with waters sweet:  
Into an old acquaintance-house I turned  
Just as Sol's coach-horse had their day's task journeyed.  
He many stories used to tell me there:  
'Mong which was this, which I must mention here,  
Here in this field, says he, and shows the field,  
A hardy peasant with his housewife dwelled.  
He in his ground continually did work  
With ripping plough, with sickle, spade or fork.  
She in the meadows would sometimes make hay,  
Or trodden eggs beneath her clock hens lay:  
Or mushrooms bald or mallows would she pluck;  
Then makes a fire at her low chimney's stock.  
Yet every day she at her wheel did stint her,  
To arm herself against the frowns of winter.  
A son some dozen years of age they had,  
That kept the fields, a perk unhappy lad,  
Beyond the furthest willows in yond field  
He caught a Fox that had much poultry killed:  
His prisoner up he wraps in straw and hay;  
Sets it on fire: the Fox escapes away,  
And fires the fields of corn wheres'e'er he came:  
The winds advantaged that pernicious flame.  
That's still remembered: for now when they burn:  
This beast with stubble as he burned the corn,  
It is a law amongst our Carseoli,  
To keep no fox on purpose so to die.  
When Memnon's gold-locked mother next comes forth  
In crimson coach to view th' uncovered earth,  
Sol, leaving that fair Ram that Helle lost,  
Is entertained by a stouter Host:  
Yet doubt I whether't is an Ox or Cow:  
None but the former parts thereof do show.  
But be it Bull or Cow, I'm sure of this,  
At that preferment Juno vexed is.  
Next morning comes: Palilia now requires me.  
I'll make reply if Pales but inspires me.  
Kind Pales, help: Thy pastoral rites I sing:  
As I devoutly do discharge each thing.  
I oft Calves-ashes and Bean-straws have held,  
With burned purgations in a hand well filled:  
Oft o'er the bonfires have I ta'en three hops,  
And dewed myself with Holywater drops.  
The Lady moved did my petition mind.  
Our ship is launched forth, and hath got fair wind.  
Sirs, fetch perfume from Vesta's Altars: she  
Affords it you, yourselves to purify.  
With these three Simples fumigate you must,  
With Horse-bloud, Bean-straw, and a slunk Calf's dust.  
In th' evening, Shepherds, purge your pastured Sheep:  
First sprinkle waters, and your stall-floores sweep:  
Trim up your sheepfolds with green herbs and boughs,  
And with long garlands hang your gates and house:  
Raise up blue fumes of brimstone pure and clean,  
And smoke your cattle till they bleat again.  
Gum, Sabine weeds, and barren Olives lay  
Upon the fire, withal the crackling Bay.  
First-fruits of Millet, with the basket, fire:  
This countrey-Dame that meat doth much desire.  
Then add the Milk-bowl with her cates, and pray,  
To her presenting lukewarm milk, and say,  
Great Queen for ay both Sheep and Shepherd's shield:  
Be all offences from our stalls expelled.  
If under holy trees I've laid my head;  
If flocks on holy ground or graves have fed,  
Or entered groves divine; if that cur eye  
Have made the Goat-foot-God or Nymphs to fly;  
If that my hook your groves of boughs bereaves,  
To feed my sick sheep with a truss of leaves:  
Forgive the crime: and when it hails, my crowd  
Admit with me into Pan's caves to shroud.  
Forgive, O Nymphs, if we your fountains sweet  
Have troubled, or our cattle with their feet.  
Dear Queen, thou all the Fountains with their Powers  
For us appease, with Gods of grovy Bowers.  
Nor Nymphs, nor Cynthia in her cistern play  
Let us not see, nor Pan in fields all day.  
Let men and beasts be hail and freed from griefs:  
Preserve our dogs, that us preserve from thief's.  
Let's not at even bring tale uneven with morn,  
Nor sadly show the skins of cattle torn.  
Keep off base Dearth: let grass and trees spring fresh,  
And springs of water, both to drink and wash.  
Let kine give milk, milk cheese, and cheese good coin:  
Let wholesome whey through osier-cheese-bowls drain.  
Let rams be frolic, and the ewes their seed  
In time bring forth and many young lambs breed.  
All yield full fleeces, work, not harsh, but fine  
For maids, and pliant to the fingers twine.  
Grant these our prayers, and we will every year  
To thee the Queen of Shepherds make this cheer.  
Thus pray: And turned to th' East, four times this matter  
Repeat: then wash thy hands in fresh spring-water.  
Then in a beaker, or a milk-dish for it,  
Carouse milk mingled with decocted claret.  
Then o'er the crackling stubble at the last  
Your sturdy bodies in a quick leap cast.  
The manner's told: th' original remains:  
Whose number troubles and our work deteins.  
Fire is a purger; it refines each metal:  
Therefore may purge the Shepherd with his cattle.  
For since all things have two contrary seeds,  
The Fire and Water, whence each compound breeds;  
These Simples, Fire and Water, Father's old  
The best purgations for our bodies hold.  
Or 'cause these are the very grounds of life;  
The exiles loss; the portion of the wife.  
I scarce believe 't: Some think there's understood  
The fire of Phaethon and Deucalion's flood.  
Some say a Shepherd striking of a flint  
Perceived some sudden seeds of fire within 't:  
The first spark died; the next doth tinder take:  
This th' argument of Pales fire they make.  
Or from Aeneas, to whose flight the flame  
Did give a harmless way, this custom came.  
This is the likelier: Rome now raised, the King  
Commands his Gods to their new seats to bring.  
The Shepherds all in their new transmigrations  
Set fire upon their old thatched habitations:  
Then with their flocks they all leaped through the lay:  
Which still is acted on Rome's natal day.  
Mere chance to Rome's first birth me now doth bring:  
Quirinus, favour, while thy deeds I sing.  
Amulius blood his tyrant's score had paid:  
The crew of shepherds now two Lords obeyed.  
They both agreed into one town to call  
The Boors; but argued who should build the wall.  
Says Romulus, What need this strife or words?  
Birds will direct us: let's consult with birds.  
Agreed: To grovy Palatine he climbs;  
And he the top of Aventine betimes.  
Six Remus spies; his Brother, twelve: he yields:  
And Romulus at his election builds.  
A day is chose to furrow out the wall:  
They worship Pales, and to work they fall.  
Down to the firm ground do they dig a ditch:  
Then cast in corn: From neighbouring lands they fetch  
Earth to fill't up; and on the filled ditch raise  
An altar, and there make a fresh fire blaze.  
Thence with a dike he marks the wall: The plough  
Is carried by a snowwhite Ox and Cow.  
Jove, prosper our design, the King thus prayed;  
Thou father Mars and mother Vesta aid.  
And all ye Gods, on whom I ought to call,  
With all your favours let me raise this wall.  
Be this the Lady of the world for ay,  
Both to the rising and the setting day.  
Thus prayed the King. Jove prosperously replied  
From heaven with thunder on the left-hand-side.  
All, joyed at th' omen, their foundation laid:  
And in short time a perk new wall is made.  
The King appoints Sr Celer t' oversee  
The work: Sr Celer, have a care, saith he,  
That no man o'er the wall or ditch doth pass;  
whoever dares it knock him down i'th' place.  
This Remus knew not; but the walls so low  
Begins to flout: Will these keep out the foe?  
Strait leaps he over. Celer knocks him down.  
He in his blood falls headlong with a groan.  
This news the King, soon as it touched his ears,  
Wounds to the soul: He swallows bosome-tears,  
And shrines his sorrow for his honour's sake:  
Such leaps, cries he, let all our foes here take.  
Yet at his exequys he could not choose  
But weep: imprisoned piety breaks loose.  
He kissed the hearse whereon his body lies;  
Adieu, dear brother, to my woe, he cries.  
Then mournful Acca in her loose attire  
With Faustulus anoint him for the fire.  
The youth, not yet installed Quirites, mourn:  
The wept-o're pile is lastly fired to burn.  
The City's built. O who would then have dreamed  
She e'er should trample o'er the whole world tamed!  
Reign ever under our victorious Caesar:  
Of this great title still reserve a treasure:  
And while thou standest above the world extolled,  
Beneath thy skirts the Earth subjected hold.  
I've done with Pales. Now Vinalia  
I'll sing. Yet 'twixt the twain there is one day.  
All common harlots, Venus now adore:  
She furthers your Professions gain the more.  
With incense fumed ask beauty, all men's love,  
Alluring gestures, and acquaint jests to move.  
Give watermint and Myrtle to your Queen,  
With weaves of Roses tied with rush-films green.  
Her Chapel next Collina's portal fill,  
Which takes its name from th' old Sicilian hill.  
Mark Claudius Arethusian Syracuse  
And Eryx mountain both in war subdues.  
Then Venus by the aged Sibylls verse  
Was brought to her son's land, which she prefers.  
Why then (you ask) call we Vinalia  
This Venus-feast? and why is it Jove's day?  
Prince Turnus and Aeneas for a Maid  
Made wars. Young Turnus seeks th' Etruscane aid.  
Mezentius was a warrior of great note;  
On horseback furious, but more fierce on foot:  
Whom Turnus with his Rutuls to their side  
Entreat. The Tuscan Captain thus replied,  
" These wounds and arms oft died in my own blood  
" Can witness, Prowess me some price hath stood.  
" Petitioners, no great reward I ask;  
" But half your vintage in the next years cask.  
" We'll strait to work. The conquest 's ours: get you  
" But wine. The foe shall our agreement rue.  
The Rutuls yield. Mezentius is arrayed:  
So is Aeneas; and to Jove thus prayed,  
Our foes have vowed their wines to th' Tyrrhene King:  
Jove, wine to thee from Latin vines we'll bring.  
The better vow prevails. Mezentius slain  
Kicks at the ground in his fell souls disdain.  
Blout Autumn in grape-soiled weeds arrayed  
Was come: To Jove the promised wine is paid.  
Hence is this day enstyled Vinalia: Jove  
Doth challenge it; and much the feast doth love.  
When April now hath gained six days more,  
The Spring hath wasted half her pregnant store.  
In vain thou seekest the Ram which Helle bear:  
Showers will give signs: The Dog doth now appear.  
As from Nomentum I returned this day  
To Rome, a white train meets me in the way,  
A Flamen into Rusts old grove did high,  
The entrails of a Dog and Sheep to frie.  
I went along to learn that service: There  
Quirinus' Priest thus praying I did hear,  
" Rough Rust, forbear our Cereal store to spoil,  
" And let the smooth blade glister on the soil.  
" Permit our grain to ripen full and fair▪  
" Nursed by the favour of a temperate air.  
" Great is thy power: the corn which thou dost rust  
" The sorry Farmer doth account as lost.  
" Nor winds, nor nipping frosts, nor tempests strong  
" Can work such hurt and do the corn such wrong  
" As when the Sun's hot gleams the dank blade warm:  
" Then is thy time, dread Queen, to do the harm.  
" O spare! take off from corn thy fingers rough:  
" Hurt not our food: Thou canst: be that enough.  
" Eat up dire Ir'n, and not our food from us:  
" First ruin that, which is so ruinous.  
" On Swords and wasteful weapons rather seize:  
" No need of them; the world now lives in peace.  
" Let countrey-tools, the Spade, the Rake, the Share,  
" Now glister bright: foul nought but tools of War.  
" And when a soldier would his sword unsheathe,  
" Let tugging at it put him out of breath.  
" Ne'er mayst thou deal with Ceres; but always  
" Let careful Farmers to thy absence pray.  
He ends. His towel fringed with tufted locks  
On's right side lay, with wine and th' incense-box.  
I saw him burn his wine and incense then,  
With th' entrails of the Sheep and Dog unclean.  
To know the ground of this strange sacrifice  
I asked the Flamen: who to me replies,  
" There is a Dog Icarius called, the fire  
" Of whose aspect both soil and seed doth tyre:  
" To that Dogstar this dog we burn in flame:  
" Nor know I any reason but the name.  
When thrice Tithonia Priam's Brother's Bride  
Is marched forth, ushered by her gallant guide,  
With crowns of flowers behold the Flowery Queen:  
Now liberal Mirth luxuriates on the Scene.  
Next Calends ends the feast; I'll mention 't then:  
A greater task now calls away my pen.  
This day doth Vesta in her Cosin's shrine  
Conclude: just Senators did so combine.  
One share hath Phoebus; Vesta hath the second;  
With whom Liege Caesar in the third is reckoned.  
Let Oaken boughs and lasting Laurel crown  
This Temple, which contains three Gods in one.   
The end of the fourth Book.   

OVID'S FESTIVALS; OR, ROMAN CALENDAR. The fifth Book; or, MAY.  
The Argument.  
THe Muse's Descants on the name of May.  
The Hyads called from Hyas made a prey.  
Queen Flora's Plays and praises: every part  
Of her feast shown: Mars born by Flora's art.  
Old Chiron's story. Rites to Spirits pale  
From Remus named. Orion, and his tale.  
A temple to Bis-ultor Mars. Jove's cheat.  
The Nun's Rush-pictures into Tiber let.  
The Merchant's prayer of cheats to Mercury.  
The Twins. More days of much diversity.  
YOu ask me, whence this Month is called May.  
I know not well what reason down to lay.  
Just as a traveller, when as he views  
More paths, stands still, and knows not which to choose:  
So know not I, because I have such store,  
What cause to give: even plenty makes me poor.  
Relate, ye Nymphs of Hippocrene, that dwell  
About the lovely Pegasean well.  
The Sisters differ. Then Poly'mnia fair  
First speaks: The rest in silence all give ear.  
When Chaos wrought, and these three bodies made,  
And that huge mass was into forms conveyed,  
Earth's load pressed downward, and attracts the Sea:  
Heaven mounted by its native levity:  
Sun, Moon, and Stars, clogged with no grosser weight,  
With all their harness elevated strait.  
But for a time Earth gave no place to Heaven;  
Nor Stars, to Sol: All dignities were even.  
Ofttimes a God but of the vulgar race  
Presumed to take grand Saturn's royal place.  
Each noteless Deity would by Ocean old  
Sat cheek by joul. Oft Tethys was controlled.  
Till awful Reverence and Honour grave  
Seats suitable to every person gave.  
Hence Majesty, which all the world doth sway,  
Did spring; accounted great on her birthday.  
Amid Heaven's palace was she strait extolled,  
Arrayed in purple and transparent gold.  
Pale Fear and modest Shame sat by her side:  
And all the Gods with like framed looks her eyed.  
Strait Zeal of Honour seized their minds: all savour  
Repute and Worth, and aim to purchase favour.  
For many years in Heaven remained this state;  
Till Father Saturn was expelled by fate.  
Those monstrous Giants than the Earth did bear  
Whose hands t' invade the court of Jove did dare:  
With hundred hands to them she snakes feet gave;  
The Gods themselves, cries she, in wars outbrave.  
Up to the Welkin with audacious might  
They mountains piled, and challenged Jove to fight.  
He from his tower discharged his thunder strait,  
And on th' invaders pates whelmed that vast weight.  
Thus Majesty by Jove his arms protected  
The conquest won, and since hath been respected.  
With Jove she sits, and is his guardian sure:  
And sans constraint enstates his reign secure.  
On earth she came, adored by divers Sages,  
Quirinus, Numa, in their several ages.  
She Parents honour for them doth defend:  
To fair and virtuous youth she is a friend.  
The ivory-Bench and Rods installed she graces:  
On crowned Steeds she in proud triumph paces.  
Poly'mnia ends, and is approved in all  
By Clio and Thalia lyrical.  
Urania follows: All are whist and still;  
And her voice only now the Choir doth fill:  
Of old great reverence had the hoary head;  
And wrinkled Age was highly honoured.  
Youth practised warfare with a sprightful hand,  
And marched in colours for their Gods and land.  
Old Age, but weak, nor fit for battles brave,  
Did aid their Country by their counsels grave.  
The Court was then for none but Seniors free;  
And Senate comes from seniority.  
Old men kept Courts: The law was only tied  
To that calm age; which thence was dignified.  
Old men 'twixt young without distaste have gone;  
And in the middle, if there were but one.  
Who dared a rash word near a Seniour's ear  
To speak? A Censure he should surely bear.  
Quirinus' knowing this the Sages chose  
His cities new state-matters to dispose.  
Hence, to renown those Majors who did sway  
Those times, I hold this Month is called May.  
And Numitor, whom he could not deny,  
Would have this Month given to Majority.  
Nor ill success had this same pledge of grace:  
June, named of Juniours, follows next in place.  
Then Queen of all Calliopea fair  
Began: green ivy crowned her fluent hair:  
Oceanus, whose streams the Earth confine,  
To watery Tethys did in wedlock join.  
Hence Pleione descended, who did wed  
Heaven-propping Atlas, and the Pleiads bred.  
The rest in beauty fame reports that May  
Excelled, and Jove enamoured with her lay.  
She on Cyllene's cypresse-crown did bear  
The Post of heaven, whose pinions cut the air.  
Arcadia older than the Moon (some hold,)  
Huge Maenalus, swift Ladon, him extolled.  
Evander, banished from th' Arcadian shore,  
Came into Latium, and his Gods brought o'er.  
Then whereas Rome the world's chief head now stands,  
Were beasts, and trees, and stalls about the lands.  
Here sailing; Hold, his learned Mother cried:  
For in those fields a kingdom's plat I've spied.  
His Prophetess and Mother he obeyed,  
And on that unacquainted shore there stayed.  
He taught these nations many services,  
Both horn-hoofed Pans and winged Mercuries.  
The girt Luperci worship half-goat Pan  
When with their thongs about the streets they ran.  
But witty-shirking Mercury, who framed  
The Harp, this month from his fair Mother named.  
Nor was't his first good deed: for he made even  
His Harpstrings number with the Pleiads seven.  
She ended too: her Sisters did approve.  
My thoughts their reasons all alike do move.  
Like thanks, ye Muses, I to you express:  
Nor can I praise you either more or less.  
Jove leads my work: This night the Star we spy  
Which was officious to Jove's Infancy.  
The wet Olenian Goat now rising see,  
Whom Heaven rewarded for her nursery.  
Nymph Amalthea, famed in Cretan Ide,  
Jove her young nursling in the woods did hide.  
She had a Goat two little twins that bred,  
Of all Dictaean flocks the fairest head;  
With stately horns, which to her back did bend,  
And teats that might Jove's nurse right well commend.  
She suckled Jove: But in a tree she broke  
Her horn: the beauty half away this took.  
The Nymph took't up, & crowned with flowers she filled it  
With dainty fruits, and to Jove's mouth she held it.  
Heaven's Commonwealth and Father's throne when he  
Possessed, and held the sole Supremacy,  
He made his nurse a Sign; his nurse's horn,  
A spring, which since the mistress name hath born.  
May's Calends sees the little Images  
And th' altar raised to Lares Praestites.  
The Altar for the Cures was; but down  
'T is beat by age and time that wasteth stone.  
Because their vigilance make all things sure,  
They stand for us, and keep the walls secure,  
And are assistant, and in every need  
Are present, we this name to them aread.  
A Dog at their feet in the same stone carved  
Doth stand; of which this reason is observed.  
Both loved of masters: both the house defend:  
Both God and Dog the three-leet ways do tend.  
By Dogs and Gods sly thiefs away are scared:  
Those Gods with Dogs do ever watch and ward.  
The Statues twain of these twin-Gods I sought:  
But their decay consuming Time had wrought.  
Our City hath a thousand Lares more,  
With their Sires Ghost, which countrymen adore.  
Where wander I? These lines are Augusts' task.  
Mean while St Bona in our verse should mask.  
There is a mass by Nature wrought, no small  
Part of a mountain: which the Stone we call.  
On this did Remus stand, although in vain,  
When to his Brother fowls did give the reign.  
There Fathers on that easy hill did build  
A Chapel, which a man detested held.  
Nun Claudia, of the Clausi's family,  
Did vow't; a maid unstained with Venery.  
Queen Livia did repair it, who presents  
In all her acts her Lord's magnificence.  
When Phoebus next the Eastern gates unbarres,  
And with bright taper damps the languished stars,  
The cold north-west-wind 'mongst the corn-earssports,  
And white flags sally from the Caprean ports.  
But when the Evening leads the Night on clear,  
The Hyads sparkling bevy all appear.  
The Bull's snout shines with seven refulgent flames,  
Which Grecia Hyads from their showering names.  
Some think they Bacchus nursed: Some think them thus,  
The seed of Tethys and Oceanus.  
As yet grand Atlas had not shouldered Heaven,  
When Hyas issued with his Sisters seven:  
Which Aethra Ocean's daughter bred and nursed:  
But Hyas was the fairest and the first.  
He in his youth the trembling Roe would chase;  
Sometimes the Hare would make a sportful race:  
But whenas years increased his strength he would  
With Boars encounter and the Lion bold.  
At length he venturing for to steal away  
A Lion's whelps became a Lion's prey.  
Both Mothers, Sisters, Atlas now to sail  
With heaven on's neck, their Hyas all bewail.  
The Sisters yet surpassed their parent's piety:  
Their Hyas gave them names, their love a Deity.  
Come, Queen of Flowers, renowned in jocund plays;  
I'th' former month I did defer thy praise.  
In April thou beginnest, and end'st in May:  
With thee one comes in, th' other goes away.  
Since both their confines do pertain to thee,  
Both to thy honour may devoted be.  
The Cirk with speeches cried on theatres  
Reach to this Month▪ so also shall my verse▪  
Thou knowst; inform me: men's opinions err:  
Thou art thine own names best interpreter.  
To my request this answer she bequeathed,  
Whiles from her lips the vernal Roses breathed;  
Once Chloris, now I'm Flora called: the sound  
Of Latin letters doth the Greek confound:  
Chloris, a Nymph of that delicious field  
Where those blessed men did live in times of eld.  
It were not modesty for me to tell  
My beauty, which did please a God so well.  
I walked i'th' Spring: me Zephyr spies: I fly:  
He follows me, and swifter proves than I.  
His brother Boreas lends him all his aid,  
Who once did ravish th' Erichthean maid.  
Yet for his rape, by making me his wife,  
He made amends. I cannot blame my life.  
My Spring is constant; all my season 's good:  
My trees with leaves, my ground is clad with food.  
I have a garden in my dowry-fields  
Culled by kind airs and cooled by courteous rills.  
Here with rare sweets my husband decked my bowers;  
Sweet wife, saith he, be thou the Queen of Flowers.  
To tell their colours I have oft intended:  
'T was vain; their number all accounts transcended.  
Soon as their leaves have left their gemmy drops,  
And Sol's beams warm their particoloured tops,  
The Hours, in broidered gowns arrayed, come hither,  
And my endowments in light baskets gather.  
Then come the Graces, and acquaint garlands here  
And coronets wove for the Gods to wear.  
I first did scatter several seeds all o'er  
The Earth; which but one colour had before.  
A flower of Hyacinthus blood I made;  
Whose leaves express his Elegy most sad.  
Thou also, Narcisse, through the fields art known:  
Unhappy youth, that wert not two for one!  
Young Crocus, Acis, and Adonis see,  
Whose dying bloods were dignified by me.  
Mars (thou mayst know't) was born too by my skill:  
Heaven grant that trick from Jove be hidden still.  
Queen Juno grieved that Jove without her aid  
Brought forth the motherless Athenian Maid,  
Comes to old Ocean for to make her moan;  
And at our gate quite tired sits her down.  
Great Queen, said I, what cause hath thee here brought?  
She told me whom, and for what cause, she sought.  
To her I used some words of comfort there.  
Bare words, saith she, will never cure my care.  
If Jove could his paternity enlarge  
Sans use of wife, and both our parts discharge;  
Why may not I as well a mother be  
Without his help, and breed with chastity?  
All charms and mixtures both in land and seas  
I'll search, and try, and grope the Stygian lees.  
She still talked on. My looks my doubt betrayed.  
O Nymph, cries she, thy looks do promise aid.  
Thrice I resolved to speak; and thrice I held:  
Great Jove's sad anger me with trouble filled.  
I pray thee help, said she; Thy act most sure  
Shall be concealed: to this I Styx adjure.  
A flower, said I, sent from th' Olenian fields  
Will do the deed: but one my garden yields.  
The giver bade me touch a barren Cow,  
'T will make her breed. I tried; and it did so.  
I plucked the flower, and touched her with it: she  
With touch of it conceived immediately.  
Now to Propontis lefthand doth she turn,  
And Thrace, being big with child, where Mars was born.  
Who still remembering of his birth by me,  
Thou in our town shalt have a place, said he.  
Nor think my power soft garlands only yields:  
It doth extend as well to corn-sown fields.  
If Corn blooms well, the harvest will be rich:  
If Vines bloom well, 't will make the branches stretch.  
If Olives bloom well, 't is cheerly year:  
Both Plumbs and Apples their success have here.  
If blooms be nipped, both Beans and Pease decay;  
And foreign Nilus' Lentils fade away.  
Wine also flowers, laboriously turned up  
In butts; and thick clouds swim about the top.  
Hony is mine: the Hony-bees I set  
On Thyme, and Lilies, and the Violet.  
We also sport the fragrant flowers among,  
When strength is sound, bloods fresh, and bodies young.  
This her discourse in silence I admire.  
Saith she, Speak freely, if you ought require.  
Lady, said I, thy Games first pedigree  
Relate. I ceased: And she replies to me,  
The other tools of Luxury unfound,  
That man was rich that cattle kept and ground:  
Hence Locuples, and hence Pecunia came.  
But now each man another's wealth did claim.  
The custom was to feed the people's Commons  
Without controlment: they long time were no man's.  
Sans law the people did their Commons keep:  
He was a churl that by himself fed sheep.  
This liberty the Public Aediles made  
For th' Commons: Men before no courage had.  
Some Judges took the cause in hand, and fined  
The wrongful. Honours to their place were joined.  
Part of the fine to me was contributed:  
And with applause my Games were instituted,  
Placed on the hills side, than a cliff huge tall;  
Now 't is good way, which ye Publicius call.  
I thought her Games had every year been played.  
She did deny it, and again thus said,  
We joy in honours, both of Feasts, Fires, Fanes:  
We Deities are all ambitious trains.  
Men have with sins incensed the Gods ofttimes;  
Then flattered them with offerings for their crimes.  
Oft have I seen Jove, hurling his fire-storm,  
At sight of incense hold his threatening arm.  
But if contemned, the wrong we do require  
With heavy vengeance, and exceed in ire.  
See Meleager burned with absent brand,  
'Cause Diana's altar did neglected stand.  
The same Powers weapons Niobe afflicted:  
A Maid, yet twice revenged her hearths neglected.  
Hippolytus, when torn with frighted steeds,  
How fain would he have honoured Venus' deeds.  
'T were long to tell the errors of this kind.  
Myself once slipped out of the Romans mind;  
What should I do? how show my discontent?  
What damages should my disgrace invent?  
Sad, I my office cast aside. I varnished  
No meads: each garden lay unprized, ungarnished.  
The Lilies died: the Violets dried away:  
The strings of ambre-Saffron did decay.  
Oft cried my Zephyr, O do thou not spoil  
Thy dower! My dower to me was then but vile.  
The Olive-blooms were nipped by tetchy wind:  
Corn-blooms the hailstones did to powder grind.  
The Vine was hopeful: but the South did frown,  
And forced showers did beat the blossoms down.  
I would not be, nor is my wrath extreme:  
But I than cared not for protecting them.  
The Fathers met: and, should the year well flower,  
An annual feast they vowed unto my Power.  
I yielded to their vow: To me my Plays  
Two Consuls, Lenas' and Posthumius, raise.  
I would have asked why such licentious jests  
And wanton sports were used in her feasts:  
But I bethought me; She's no Power austere:  
But all her gifts are for delight and cheer.  
Brows are embroidered with spruce garlands sewed,  
And tables covered with fresh roses strewed.  
The bouzy guest, decked with a film-flower crown,  
In drunken garb there dances up and down:  
And 's head with oil and flowers and wine well-lined,  
He Catches sings at is Sweethearts door unkind.  
Crowned temples meddle with no serious matter;  
Nor are flowers used in drinking of fair water.  
Till Achelous tempered was with wine,  
Flowers in their drinking men did never join.  
Flowers Bacchus loves: Ariadne's crown can tell  
That flowers and garlands please him passing well.  
Scenes mirthful please her: She does not belong,  
Not she (believe me) to the Tragic throng.  
But why do Strumpets in these jovial plays  
The mymicks act? I easily learned the cause.  
She's none of those same grave and stately Dames:  
To vulgar people she allows her games;  
And bids then use Youth's flower before 't is worn:  
The Rose once withered men despise the Thorn.  
But why, said I, since Ceres is in white,  
Art thou in particoloured garments dight?  
Is't 'cause her harvest hath that only hue,  
And in thy flowers all colours are to view?  
She beckoned. From her head the flowers dropped down  
As thick as roses on a table strown.  
The Lights remained: whose cause was yet concealed.  
To clear my ignorance she the cause revealed;  
Because my Flowers shine in purple rays,  
Therefore these Tapers well do suit my days.  
Or 'cause my Flowers in colours bright do shine,  
As well as Flames, and both attract the eyen.  
Or 'cause Night's freedom to my sports agree.  
Let this last reason best accounted be.  
One thing more briefly I have yet to say,  
If I may ask, said I. Said she, You may.  
Why is the dastard Goat and frightful Hare  
For Lions fierce presented in a snare?  
Not woods, but gardens are our interest,  
Says she: Our fields scarce see a savage beast.  
All ended thus. She vanished presently,  
And left an odour of her Deity.  
That Naso's name may flourish with his measures,  
O strew his fancy with thy flowery treasures!  
The third night after Chiron in his course  
Draws forth his Stars; half-man, and half a horse.  
Aemonian Pelion to the South inclines,  
Whose sides with Oaks, whose head is clad with Pines.  
Here just old Chiron dwelled, as fame doth say:  
His caves old trunk remains still to this day.  
He did instruct in numbers Lyrical  
Those hands which after were great Hector's fall.  
Alcides, with the most part of his toils  
Now well accomplished, thither comes the while.  
Here met by chance were those two fates of Troy;  
The great Tirynthian, and th' Aemonian Boy.  
Sage Chiron kindly welcomes him, and there  
Asks of his travels; which he doth declare.  
Mean while the Club and Lion's skin he viewed:  
How well, saith he, do arms and armour suit!  
Nor could Achilles' hands themselves contain  
From feeling of the Lion's bristly train.  
The old man poising of the shafts, le's fall  
A poisoned dart, and pricked his foot withal.  
Forth doth he draw it with a moanful cry:  
Alcides and Achilles both reply.  
Yet he with herbs of those Thessalian hills  
Applied in vain the raging fester stills.  
The poison overcomes his salve; and now  
O'er all his joints the venoms taint doth grow.  
The Centaurs with the Hydra's blood impure  
Infected will admit nor ease nor cure.  
Achilles' drowned in tears doth him deplore:  
The death of Peleus could have claimed no more.  
Oft with his hand his fainting pulse he tried:  
Oft kissed he him; and lying by him, cried,  
O live! nor leave thy pupil, my dear father!  
What fruit of manners did the Teacher gather!  
The ninth day came. Just Chiron in twice seven  
Bright Stars is fixed in the spangled heaven.  
The wreathed Harp desires to follow him:  
Not yet: the third night is a fitter time  
The day before the Nones appear we may  
Observe the Scorpion shine in heaven half way.  
Hence when thrice Phosphor shows his gilded face,  
And fainting Stars have thrice to Sol given place,  
The Night- Lemuria an old Rite is paid,  
And dirges to the silent Ghosts are said.  
Th' old year was short: Unknown the Februa were;  
And double Janus did not guide the year.  
Yet to the Dead their gifts they did discharge:  
The pious Son his Father's tomb did purge.  
This was in May from Majors first deduced,  
In which are some of those old rites still used.  
About midnight, when Sleep and Silence fill  
The drowsy brains, and dogs and birds are still,  
The rite-remembring, Ghost-abhorring Sun  
Arises gently, and no shoes puts on;  
Then points with his closed fingers and his thumb  
Put in the midst, lest Ghosts should near him come.  
Then in spring-water he his hands doth cleanse;  
But first doth roll about his mouth blue beans:  
Then o'er his shoulders throws them down: Says he,  
These beans I throw my house and self to free.  
Nine times 't is said. The Ghost doth trace his tract;  
And picks them up, if that he looks not back.  
Again he washes; then a basin beats;  
And so the Spirits to leave his house entreats.  
Then nine times crying, Kindred-Ghosts, be gone,  
He looketh back, and all is purely done.  
I am uncertain of th' Original  
Of this day's name: some God I now must call.  
Cyllenius, teach me: Thou with powerful Rod  
Oft viewst the palace of the Stygian God.  
Invoked Caducifer applies. Says he,  
The reason hear. And thus he tells it me:  
When Romulus had paid the obsequy  
To is Brother, hapless in agility,  
Poor Faustulus, and Acca with torn hairs  
Belave his burned bones in willing tears.  
At evening home they come with hearts full sad,  
And cast themselves on their hard bed unmade.  
The gory Ghost of Remus by their bed  
Appears to them, and softly whispered,  
Lo, I the half of all your labours kind!  
Behold my change, from what to what declined!  
Who, if the Birds had been my friends, within  
My people's walls the Captain might have been.  
Now is your Remus but a dram of air,  
A flitting relic of the piles impair.  
Ah! where's my Father Mars, (if you said true)  
By whose instinct a wild beasts teat we drew?  
A Wolf did nurse, a Subject murdered me:  
How much more humane was the beast than he!  
Thou cruel Celer, yield thy soul and die,  
And be a bloody Ghost as well as I.  
'T was not my Brother's mind; his pious cares  
Did what they could, discharge their due in tears.  
Him by your tears entreat, and food you gave,  
That he a day would sacer to my grave.  
Thus spoke he. They him to embrace assay  
The slippery vapour flitters quite away.  
Sleep from their eyes this vision off doth shake;  
In whose relation to the King they make,  
Him Romulus obeyed: and calls that day  
Remuria, in the which these rites they pay.  
By time the letter that begins the word  
Is changed; the sharp into a mild transferred.  
Hence dead men's Ghosts we Lemures do call:  
This is the words direct original.  
Our Ancestors barred up their Temples in  
These baleful days, as now is to be seen.  
Ill times for widow's wedding, or for maid:  
Those that have wedded have not long enjoyed.  
And for this cause (if Proverbs thou dost weigh)  
The Proverb says, 'T is ill to wed in May.  
But these three feasts succeed not one another,  
But on the same days are all kept together.  
Amid this time who seeks Orion, errs:  
The cause of which Sign I will here rehearse.  
Jove and his Brother Master of the Sea  
A journey took with witty Mercury.  
'T was even, and plowmen off their chains did knock,  
And full-fed ewes their frisking lambs did suck.  
Perchance old Hyreus a Farmer poor  
Espies them as he stood before his door;  
Your journey's far, says he, and night at hand:  
Our gate for travellers doth open stand.  
His words and looks consented: He doth pray  
Again. Themselves concealing, they obey.  
His house they enter with dull smoke besmeared.  
Upon a brand a spark of fire appeared.  
He, on his knees, the coal doth bigger blow:  
Then lays the brands, and breaks small sticks in two:  
Sets on two pipkins, one with beans, and one  
With herbs. The scum the lids doth overrun.  
With palsie-hand, while meat was taken up,  
He fills them wine. The Sea-God takes the cup,  
And turns it off: The Cup, says he, now bear  
To Jove. He quakes the name of Jove to hear.  
Come to himself, for sacrifice he killed  
His Ox, the tiler of his little field:  
Then broached a hogshead of his special Sack,  
Which in his young days he himself did make.  
On fenny tufts a hempen cloth he spread,  
And sets them down upon no stately bed.  
Now braves his board with dainty cates and liquours,  
In earthen dishes, and in beech-tree-beakers.  
Says Jove, Whate'er thou wilt request or can,  
Ask and receive. Replies the good old man,  
I had a wife in my young days, and one  
I dearly loved: but now she's dead and gone.  
To her I promised, when by you I swore,  
She was my only wife; I'd wed no more.  
My vow I'll keep: But in my mind doth run  
A cross desire, To have no Wife, but Son.  
All gave a grant, and to the oxhide came,  
And o'er it strained: To tell the rest were shame.  
Then buried it, all dropping, in the earth.  
At ten months' end a little Boy comes forth.  
Him from his birth Urion Hyreus styled:  
Whose names first letter is a little soiled.  
He grew a hunter of a mighty fame,  
And Delia's Sergeant and her Guard became.  
Words rashly spoken do the Gods displease:  
No beast, braves he, but this arm can suppress.  
Earth sends a Scorpion, who doth whet his spite  
To rifle Delia of her arrows light.  
Orion rescues. Slain; Diana says,  
Take thy desert, and him to heaven doth raise.  
Why does Orion, with his fellows, force  
Their lights from heaven? & Night contract her course?  
Why does white Day, by her bright Usher led,  
More soon then erst extol her sparkling head?  
Did not arms rattle? yes sure; arms did rattle:  
Mars comes, and coming sounds the signs of battle.  
The grand Revengers self descends his sport  
And Tower to see in Augusts' ample Court.  
Great God; great work: Even thus did it become  
God Mars to dwell in his son's city Rome.  
Gigantic trophies best befit this wall:  
From hence his squadrons Mars should march and call;  
Be any Rebel in the utmost East  
Or by departing Sol to be suppressed.  
The God approving that invicted Powers  
Do hold his Temple, views the lofty Towers.  
He views i' th' Court arms of a sundry fashion,  
The whole world's weapons won by his own nation.  
Next eyes Aeneas with his load divine,  
And all those Nobles of the Julian line:  
Then Romulus with arms of Acron tamed:  
With acts and statues of more Worthies famed.  
He views the walls graced with Augustus' name;  
Which makes it show a work of greater fame.  
That Prince did vow it in his pious war.  
Fit for a Prince such great beginnings are.  
Just as the fight began, with heav'd-up hands  
He vents these prayers against the Traitors bands;  
If for my father Vesta's Priest I make  
These wars, and vengeance for both titles take,  
Come, Mars, and with their base blood glut thy sword,  
And favour to the juster cause afford.  
My conquest thee shall Ultor style, and raise  
Thy temple. Having vowed, his foes he slays.  
Nor was this name deserved once alone:  
He gained our Ensigns which the Parthians won.  
That nation was with broad plains fenced secure,  
With horses, streams, and arrows deadly sure.  
The Crassi's slaughter now had fleshed them well,  
When Ensigns, Soldiers, Generals all fell.  
Rome's Colours, glory of the wars, were lost:  
With Roman Eagles did the Parthian boast.  
That shame had still remained, had not our land  
Protected been by Caesar's valiant hand.  
He took away that old disgrace and slain:  
Our Flags redeemed saluted Rome again.  
What good, O Parthian, did thy back-shot-flight?  
Thy Country do thee? or thy race-horse light?  
Thou yield'st our Eagles and thy conquered Bow:  
Nor hast one badge of our dishonour now.  
A Temple (as both vow and merit claimed)  
To Mars he raised, and him Bis-ultor named.  
Ye Peers, solemnize on the Circus plays:  
No Scene doth suit a warlike Powers praise.  
Now see the sister- Pleyades whole train,  
Just when two nights before the Ides remain.  
Then enters Summer, surest Authors write:  
The gentle Spring concludes his soft delight.  
The night before the Ides the Bull doth rear  
His sparkling brows: Of whom the story hear.  
Once Jove, well horned and turned to a Bull,  
Packed up the Tyrian Virgin by the gull.  
Her right his mane, her gown her left hand held:  
Pale fear her cheeks with other beauty filled.  
The wanton air her coats doth swell, and move  
Her golden hairs: Such looks best pleased Jove.  
Her pretty feet she from the water saves,  
And shuns the tacture of the leaping waves.  
The subtle God his back doth often dive,  
That to his neck she might the closer cleave.  
Come to the shore, himself unhorned Jove showed,  
And of an Ox his shape Divine endued.  
There swells her womb, while heaven the Bull receives:  
And Earth's third part the name from her derives.  
The Pharian Heifer some suppose this Sign:  
Made Beast of Humane; of a Beast, Divine.  
Now from the timber-bridge the Vestal chaste  
The rushy pictures of old men doth cast.  
Who thinks old men of sixty years to be  
Thus drowned, too much doth tax Antiquity.  
Old fame reports that when Saturnia  
This land was called th' old Prophet thus did say,  
Ye people to the Sickle- God deliver  
Two men, thrown down into the Tuscan river.  
This gift each year to that Leucadian power  
Was given, till Hercules pitched on this shore.  
He strawy Nobles o'er the bridge threw down:  
From whose example pictures since were thrown.  
Some think young men, that so they might engross  
Their voice, crazed Seniors o'er the bridge did toss.  
Inform me, Tiber, thou art far beyond  
Our city's age, and knowst this custom's ground.  
His reedy brows out of his murmuring source  
Old Tiber roused, and vents these accents hoarse;  
" This place of old a plain unwalled and wide  
" I knew: Few oxen grazed on either side.  
" Old Tiber, known of all the world and feared  
" Now, in those days was scorned of every herd.  
" Thou knowst Arcadian Evander's name:  
" He rowing in my channel hither came.  
" The next Alcides with his Greeks I saw;  
" Than called, as I remember, Albula.  
" Th' Arcadian King him freely here embraced:  
" And Cacus had his due desert at last.  
" Away he travels with his Spanish spoil.  
" As for his mates, they would no further toil.  
" A great part of them in this land remains,  
" And pitched their hopes and houses on these plains.  
" Yet of their country they had oft a sense;  
" And divers dying left these testaments;  
My body into Tiber throw, that so.  
My dust at length may to my country go.  
" The Heir was much displeased at his command,  
" And tombs his father in th' Ausonian land.  
" A rush-weaved image into me is cast  
" In stead of him, to float to Greece at last.  
His dewy cave of vital stone, this said,  
He shrinks into: at which the River stayed.  
Brave Lad of Atlas, whom of Jovial seed  
Fair Maia on th' Arcadian hills did breed;  
Thou wing-foot Arbiter between the Gods  
Of heaven and hell, in friendship and at odds;  
Thou who delight'st to touch the Harp, and sense;  
And varnishest the tongue with Eloquence:  
Old times thy Chapel near the Circus framed  
In th' Ides: since when this day to thee is named.  
All Tradesmen that their wares now open, thee crave  
With incense fumed, some gains in sale to save▪  
Mercurius Pool is near Capena's Port,  
A spring divine: believe experience for 't.  
The coat-girt Chapman here his pitcher brings,  
And water draws to purify his things.  
He dips a bay-bough: with the dabbled bay  
His wares he sprinkles to be sold away.  
Then with the bough he sprinkles his own hair,  
And with his glozing tongue thus makes his prayer;  
Purge thou away my former perjuries,  
My cheating words, and broken promises.  
When by thy witness I untruths did prove,  
Or falsely swore by by-abhorring Jove;  
What Power soever broker to my lie  
I've made, now let them vanish all and die.  
Wink thou at all my sly deceits to day:  
Let not the Gods take notice what I say.  
Afford me gains, and joy, that my desire  
Of gain is fed, and that I've gulled the Buyer.  
These prayers make Mercury in heaven to smile,  
Remembering his Ortygian cheat yerwhile.  
But hear, acquaint God, this better prayer of mine:  
What time doth Phoebus to the Twins combine?  
Just when the days of this month equalled be  
In number to. Alcides' toils, saith he.  
Relate, said I, the reason of this Sign.  
The smooth-tongued God replies with voice divine,  
Jove's Twins, the Champion and the Horse-courser,  
Had stolen fair Phoebe and her Sister dear.  
Idas and Lynceus, both by contract made  
Leucippus' sons, took arms their wives to aid.  
Love causes their demand, and their denial:  
The selfsame cause persuades both sides to trial.  
Th' Oebalian Twins could easily fly away:  
But that was base, by flight to get the day.  
There is an open plain, a champion fair  
And fit for arms: There stood this faithful pair.  
Swift Castor 's bosom bored with Lynceus blade,  
He on the ground at unawares was laid.  
Revenging Pollux comes, and with his pike  
Quite through the throat doth Lynceus deadly strike.  
At him flies Idas; Whom Jove's flames scarce quelled:  
They say his sword he in his hand still held.  
Heaven's open for Pollux entertainment were:  
Says he, O Father, my petition hear:  
What thou me only, do thou two install:  
One moiety of thy boon is more than all.  
Thus to his Brother he divides his charge:  
A welcome couple to a vexed barge.  
Who seeks Agonia must to Janus go:  
Yet this day hath it in this season too.  
This night the Erigonian Dog doth shine:  
I've given elsewhere the reason of this Sign.  
Next day is Vulcane's, which is Lustria named:  
They lustrate Trumpets by the Lemnian framed.  
Four figures read from this, and lo, in sight  
The Holy Customs, or the Tarquine's flight.  
Lo, Public Fortune of our potent nation  
This day beheld her Temple's consecration.  
When spring-rich Amphitrite this light removes,  
Behold the Bird which Jove so dearly loves.  
The sequent morning doth Boötes hide.  
Next day the Hyads vaunt their glittering pride.  
The end of the fifth Book.   

OVID'S FESTIVALS; OR, ROMAN CALENDAR. The sixth Book; or, JUNE.  
The Argument.  
THe several reasons of this Month he gives.  
The Janal wand away Night Scrich-owls drives.  
Moneta 's Chapelled by Camillus' vow:  
So is Bellona. Mind is honoured too.  
The figure of chaste Vesta's house: her rites.  
Jove Pistor's Altar. Ino Matrons citys  
Unto her feast. St Temple built  
By Servius. Tullia 's Hell-surpassing guilt.  
Quinquatrian feasts. The grand Physician raised.  
The feast of Fortune. Philip 's work is praised.  

FOr this Month's name too divers reasons make:  
I'll cite them all, that thou thy choice mayst take.  
I sing a truth; though some elsewise may ween,  
And hold no Gods of humane eyes are seen.  
There is a God in us: in him we live:  
His sacred spirits this heat and vigour give.  
I specially may see a heavenly sight,  
Or in a Prophet's or this subject's right.  
There is a tree-thronged Grove, reserved from all  
Shape of a sound, unless some water-fall.  
Upon this month I musing hither came,  
And much revolved th' original and name:  
Lo! Nymphs I saw: Not those that Farmer old  
Did meet in feeding his Ascraean fold:  
Nor those that showed themselves to Priam's Son  
In spring-fed Ida: Yet of them was one;  
Even one of them, her Husband's Sister: Her  
I oft had seen i'th' Tower of Jupiter.  
Amazed paleness did my spirit betray:  
Forthwith the fear she caused she took away.  
" O thou that dost the Roman Year maintain,  
" And singest, saith she, grand things on humble strain.  
" This privilege of seeing Gods was thine  
" When first thou undertook'st this task divine.  
" But lest that thou i'th' vulgar error wade,  
" Know thou that June his name from Juno had.  
" Joves Wife and Sister! 't is no modern grace  
" To me: I know not which should take the place.  
" I was old Satur's eldest child; if birth  
" And pedigree you count of any worth.  
" My Father's name once to this place was given:  
" This land in his account was next to heaven.  
" If wedlock 's prized, I am the thunderers Bride:  
" My Temple stands just by his Temple's side.  
" Could May, that strumpet, have a Month's renown?  
" What? and shall any dare deny me one?  
" Why do I then that royal title hold,  
" The Queen of heaven? and wear a crown of Gold?  
" Light makes the months; and I am Lucine styled:  
" Shall I then be of my Months name beguiled?  
" I should repent that my true love and grace  
" I e'er vouchsafed to the Trojane race.  
" Young ganymed's preferment and th' award  
" Of Paris judgement urged my anger hard.  
" I should be sorry that I e'er despised  
" My Carthage, where my Coach and arms are prized;  
" Or that I ever put this land between  
" My Samos, Argos, Sparta, or Mycenae.  
" Besides the Sabines and Faliscanes, who  
" Did honour me, to Rome I did subdue.  
" But I'm not grieved: this is my darling land;  
" And here my Temple with my Joves doth stand.  
" My Son Mars said, Dear Mother take this town:  
" It is my son's: here shall be thy renown.  
" His word's performed; My altars here are many;  
" And my Month's honour is as great as any.  
" Nor doth Rome only this most welcome fame  
" On me confer: the neighbours do the same.  
" See but the Calendar of th' Aricinians,  
" Or my Laurentians, or of my Lavinians:  
" See Tybur; there this month is proved mine:  
" And read but o'er the rolls of Praenestine:  
" This time they all give me: and yet they wanted  
" My son's foundation, who this city planted.  
Thus Juno ends. I turned: and hercules Bride  
With sorrows symptoms in her face I spied.  
" Should my dear Mother bid me pack away  
" From heaven, saith she, in heaven I would not stay.  
" Nor do I now contend for this Month's honour:  
" I rather beg it in submissive manner.  
" Fain by entreaty would I keep my due:  
" Perhaps my cause may favour find with you.  
" My Mother hath her Capitol of gold;  
" And, as is fit, her Tower with Jove doth hold.  
" But all my glory is in this Month's name:  
" All I regard is but this piece of fame.  
" Rome need not grudge, with all her postern race,  
" To give Alcides' Wife this season's grace.  
" More for my Husband's sake might she afford:  
" With Spanish oxen he this kingdom stored.  
" And Cacus, fenced with flames of fire to strain  
" By Vulcane's art, by his stout arm was, slain.  
" But ay come nearer: Romulus your King  
" Into two parts his men distributing;  
" The Youth for arms, for counsel were the Aged:  
" The Old to plot the war, the Young to wage it.  
" This by two months he established: For this reason  
" May is the Majors, June the Juniors' season.  
Thus and in more words did they plead and chide:  
Their eager anger did affection hide.  
Then comes fair Concord decked with laurel-crown  
Whose fame and Fabric is our King's renown.  
Of Romulus and Tatius she relates,  
And how to one they did unite two States.  
Both Son and Father made one common home:  
From their conjunction June, saith she, doth come.  
I've heard three causes; but excuse me ye:  
'T is not for me to arbitrate this plea.  
I leave you even. Troy rued th' award of Paris:  
One cannot make so much as two will mar us.  
The first day Carna Mistress of the Hinge  
Is worshipped; she that shuts and opens things.  
Whence she this office had, time doth obscure  
The truth; but yet our Muse shall thee assure.  
Th' old grove Helernus near to Tiber lies:  
The high-Priest often there doth sacrifice.  
This Nymph was bred there; Crane called of yore:  
A many suitors, but in vain, did woe her.  
She kept in woods, and forrest-games did ply,  
With nets, with races, and artillery.  
She beware no quiver: yet she still was famed  
For Phoebus' sister: nor need he b' ashamed.  
Some youthful Spark that would not be denied  
Did court her close: To whom she thus replied,  
These fields too open and immodest be:  
Walk to some private cave, I'll follow thee.  
He simply walks before: She steals behind  
A bush: He nowhere could his sweetheart find.  
Her Janus spies, and deeply falls in love:  
His smooth entreaties her would little move.  
She, as she used, bids him walk to a cave;  
And, as she followed, him the slip she gave.  
Fool! 't is in vain; for Janus sees thy scout:  
He sees behind him; and will find thee out.  
He says the same: and as thou close wert laid,  
He clipped thee close; and, thee enjoying, said,  
The power of Hinges lo we give to thee  
In lieu of thy deflowered virginity.  
This said, a white-thorn-wand he her doth give,  
With which from houses she should Scrich-owls drive.  
These Owls are ravenous fowls; not those that fed  
On Phineus meats, but of those monsters bred:  
Great heads; glore eyes; hook-beaks upon their jaws:  
Their feathers grey; huge talons on their claws.  
All night they ranging, often seize upon  
And spoil young Barns in cradles laid alone.  
Some say that infant's bowels for their food  
They pierce and tear, and bathe their beaks in blood.  
Th' are called Scrich-owls; because that in the night  
Their horrid Scriches mortal hearts affright.  
Whether they be true fowls, or else transformed  
From chanting old wives by their Dirges charmed;  
They came to Proca's chamber, where he lay  
But five days old, and seized on him their prey;  
In whose gored cheeks their ravening bills they bathed.  
The poor young child for help and succour blathed.  
The nurse affrighted runs, and up doth cull  
Her child, and sees his face (O pitiful!)  
All torn with Scrich-owls claws: as tawny sear  
As leaves long-blasted by a winter-air.  
She comes to Crane, and her all doth tell.  
Fear not, says she; your nursling shall do well.  
Come to the cratch; the parents wept: Forbear  
Your toars, quoth she; I'll cure him: there 's no fear.  
Forthwith in order thrice she dashed the door  
With wilding-bough; then marks the posts thrice more:  
Then med'cined waters dashed about, doth hold  
A sow-pigs haslet of some two months old:  
Then charms; Ye Night-fowls, let this child alone,  
And take this little for a little one.  
Heart for a heart, and flesh for flesh receive:  
This for a nobler life to you we give.  
This offered thus and sliced abroad she lays;  
And warns them all from looking back that ways.  
Then at the chamber-window with her hand  
Takes in her sweetheart Janus white-thorn-wand.  
The child is cured; his colour 's fresh and clear:  
And never after came those Night-fowls there.  
Why is a Barley-bean-cake, you will say,  
And lard of Pork now eaten on this day?  
This ancient Nymph loves best her ancient fare;  
And (plain) for farre-fetched dainties doth not care.  
Fish in those days about did safely play:  
On sands the Oyster unrespected lay.  
Th' Ionian fowl, nor yet the Pygmee's foe  
On Indian hills, th' Italian coasts did know.  
The Peacock only by his gaudy train  
Did please the eye. No beast in chase was slain.  
Pork was the meat; with Pork their feasts were filled:  
And Earth did only Beans and Barley yield.  
These mixed whoever eats upon this day,  
He'll be the hailer all the year, they say.  
A Temple to Moneta Juno now  
Is raised on Jove's hill by Camillus' vow.  
There Manlius house once stood; who did remove  
The Frenchman's troops from Capitolian Jove.  
O Heavens! how well might he have died that hour,  
Defender of great Jove's majestic Tower!  
He lived to die Aspirer to a throne:  
Long life did bring him this aspersion.  
This day besides, without Capena gate  
They feast to Mars above his walks of state.  
This day too, Tempest, was thy Temple hallowed;  
When Corsic waves our fleet had almost swallowed.  
You see these humane monuments: Divine  
If thou dost seek; Jove's Bird at full doth shine.  
Next day the Hyads from the East doth call  
On Taurus' horns; and dabbling showrs now fall.  
Twice more when Phoebus hath begot the Morn,  
And twice Aurora 's tears bepearl the corn,  
Bellona 's chapel, who always our state  
Did love, in Tuscan wars was consecrate.  
'T was Appius work; who, though his eyes were blind,  
‛ 'Gainst Pyrrhus' truce quicksighted was in mind.  
Behind the Circus lies a little Court,  
Where stands a Pillar small of great report:  
From hence a dart, wars harbinger, they fling,  
When arms were levied 'gainst a foreign King.  
The Circus next part Hercules Protector  
Defends, of which the Sibyl was director.  
'T was given one day before the Nones: and read  
The Title, Sylla did approve the deed.  
I mused to whom the Nones I should refer;  
To Sanctus, Fidius, or Semipater:  
Said Sanctus, Name thou whom thou wilt, Sr Poet,  
All three are mine: the Cures did allow it.  
A chapel to this Saint-God in old days  
The Cures on Quirinus' hill did raise.  
I have a daughter all my joy life gives:  
Heavens grant that she her father's date survives!  
Her I was now to match, and for that reason.  
Enquired a lucky and unlucky season.  
Jove's Flamens wife thus much me certified;  
The ides of June for Bridegroom and for Bride  
Are always lucky: But his first days be  
Unfortunate to Hymen: for, saith she,  
Till gilded Tiber all the soil and trash  
Of Vesta's temple into sea doth wash,  
'T is not allowed to me my nails to pair,  
To wear my dresses, or to comb my hair,  
Nor touch my husband, though Jove's Priest he be,  
And in a knot perpetual tied to me.  
Make thou no haste: 't is better marrying then,  
When Vesta's fiery globe is purged and clean.  
The third day next the Nones the Northern Bear  
Descends, and nothing at her back doth fear.  
Then (I remember) I have often seen  
Swift Tiber's games in Mars his flowery green.  
This is the fisher-men's feast-day, who tangle  
Fish in their nets, with those who use the angle.  
Mind is Divine, and had her Chapel raised  
When in dread arms the perjured Poeni blazed.  
Rebellious Poeni, that our Consul killed,  
And all our state with Moorish terrors filled.  
Fear cancelled Hope. Our Senate then to Mind  
Did make a vow, and she did them befriend.  
The day in which these vows discharged were  
Is just six days before the Ides appear.  
Help, Vesta; thee our Muse officious sings:  
May we presume so near thy sacred things.  
Devout in prayer, I felt a Power Divine:  
The walls refreshed in blushing beams did shine.  
Nought did I see (to balk Poetic lies:)  
She is invisible to humane eyes.  
But I was taught those things wherein I erred,  
When no Instructor to my eyes appeared.  
When forty years from Rome's foundation past,  
Then Vesta in a Temple here was placed  
By that meek King. The Sabines sure did merit  
In breeding up that most religious spirit.  
That fabric which now wears a golden awe  
Was then with osiers weaved and thatched with straw.  
That place where stood at first her narrow wall,  
Before she came was Numa's stately Hall.  
And yet (they say) that form which was of old  
Doth still remain: whose reason shall be told.  
This Vesta is the Earth: she hath her hearth,  
As Earth her heat. Her Globe 's the type of Earth.  
Earth, as a weight, in figure like a Ball,  
By nothing propped, hangs in the midst of all.   

No corners in the Orb at all there be;  
'T is evenly poised by its rotundity.  
For being directly in the Centre tied,  
Not bending more or less to any side;  
Were it not round, it would not balance even  
And in the midst, but some parts nearer heaven.   

So in her concave by Geometry  
There hangs a Globe, the world's Epitome:  
The Figure 's perfect circular devised,  
That equi-distant from all sides 't is poised.  
Like-formed her Temple is; on no side plain:  
The round-arched roof keeps off all showers of rain.  
If you inquire why Nuns with purest hand  
Her Altars tend; the reason understand.  
Queen Ops, by Saturn, Juno forth did bring,  
And Ceres next: but Vesta last did spring.  
The two first wedded, and their issues bred:  
The last resolved to keep her maiden head.  
No wonder then if that a Maid desires  
Her maiden's chaste to tend her maiden-fires.  
Nor think thou Vesta any thing indeed  
But lasting Fire, which doth conceive no seed.  
Well weened a Maid, who neither takes nor gives  
Seeds of conception, but with Virgin's lives.  
I simply thought a Picture her had feigned:  
Forthwith I learned that none to her perteined.  
Her Temple only keeps perpetual flame:  
No shape of Fire nor Vesta can we frame.  
As Earth, so Vesta, from Vistando named,  
Stands of herself. Like name the Greeks have framed.  
And Focus doth from Flames and Fotus come;  
Which was of old placed in the outward room.  
Hence sure Vestibulum, where men make prayers,  
Was drawn: for there stood Vesta's chief affairs.  
Of old they used to sit on benches near  
Her Altars, thinking that the Gods were there.  
And when at old Vacuna 's feasts they meet,  
Before her hearth they either stand or sit.  
A custom 's come, scarce known from what example,  
To send pure messes unto Vesta's temple.  
Behold an Ass with barley-loaves is bound,  
And rugged quern-stones are with fresh flowers crowned.  
Old Farmer's only barley-meal did bake,  
Whence Lady Fornax Sacreds' they did make.  
Beneath the embers they did bake their bread  
Upon their hearths, with tiles close-covered.  
Thence Bakers, and the Ass that turns the mill,  
Observe their hearths and their hearth-Mistresse still.  
Sunburned Sr Priap, may I tell of thee  
A merry jest? thy good old knavery?  
The tow'r-crowned Lady Cybele invites  
Th' immortal Gods unto her feasts delights.  
She invites the Satyrs and each Countrey-Dame:  
Silenus thither uninvited came.  
It were not fit to tell those feasts divine,  
Nor brief. Night 's spent almost in cheer and wine.  
O'er Ida 's vales at random some do trace;  
Some lay them down and rest them on the grass:  
Some sport; some snort; some arm in arm a Round  
Do make, and nimbly trip it on the ground.  
Upon a green turf Vesta lays her head,  
And with sweet sleep her weary members fed.  
But tawny Priap up and down there traces,  
And peers on all the Goddesses and Lasses.  
There spies he Vesta, yet he knew not well  
Who it should be: he vows he could not tell.  
In lustful hope he steals unto her close:  
The Lecher's heart pants as he creeps on is toes.  
Old bald Silenus there perchance his ass  
Had left hard by a small brooks side at grass.  
And now he was about his villainy,  
Just when the ass doth bray unseasonably.  
She frighted at the noise starts up, and cries:  
The Nymphs run to her: but away he flies.  
The Lampsacanes to him the Ass do kill:  
This tell-tale's guts are fitly broiled still.  
But Vesta with bread-bracelets him arrays,  
His Quern stands still, and he keeps Holidays.  
Jove Pistor's altar here must I relate  
In his high tower, more famed for name then state.  
The cruel gaul's Rome's Capitol beset,  
Whose lasting siege had caused a famine great.  
Jove calls the Gods before his royal throne:  
By whose appointment Mars first makes his moan;  
And is our sad calamity still hid?  
Is this souls wound now to be uttered?  
Yet if I must speak out our shameful woe,  
In brief, Rome 's thralled by the Alpine foe.  
Jove, this is she whose power should once extend  
Beyond all limits, and the World transcend.  
Her hopes in progress were; she had controlled  
Her neighbours: now her walls she cannot hold.  
Her purple Fathers, old Triumphers, I  
Saw in their brazen courts drop down and die.  
I saw Queen Vesta from her temple flee.  
What? do they think that any Gods there be?  
But should they know that You possess those Towers  
And Fanes girt in by their presumptuous powers,  
Would they not say, No hopes for them remain  
In all their Gods: their incense is in vain?  
Give them but room enough to pitch the field;  
And, if they cannot conquer, let them yield.  
But now they poorly die: base dearth them galls,  
While stern Barbarians overcrop their walls.  
Then Venus and Quirinus in his gown,  
And Vesta pleaded stiffly for their Town.  
Great Jove replies, Our care in general.  
Is for that place. The Gaul shall pay for all.  
Thou only, Vesta, help thy people poor;  
And make the foe believe th' abound in store.  
That corn they have let them but grind, and knead  
The liquoured meal, and bake it into bread.  
To Jove's prescription Vesta gave consent.  
'T was midnight now, and all the Captains, spent  
With care and travel, to their rest were laid:  
Jove chides, and tells them an ambiguous aid;  
Arise, says he, and throw down to your foe  
That help which you are all most loath to do.  
They roused, and mused on this dark mystery,  
What help that most disliked them that should be.  
At last their corn it seemed: Which down they threw;  
The rattling loaves 'mong shields and helmets flew.  
The foe quite out of hopes, their siege remove:  
For this an Altar 's raised to Pistor Jove.  
On Vesta's feast once walking where the street  
Now called the New the Roman Court doth meet,  
I met a matron walking down the hill  
With feet all bare: I wondered, and stood still.  
She, near to me, perceived my mind, and caused  
Me to sit down: then spoke with voice half-crazed,  
And palsie-head; Here where these buildings stand,  
The River-flouds with dikes o'erflowed the land.  
That lake called Curtius, which is sure ground now,  
And bears dry altars, was a moorish slow.  
Tall canes and sallows grew, where now a Tent  
Doth solemn pomp before the Cirk present.  
Those suburb-streams oft brought boon Rev'lers vaunting  
Their liquid mirth, and jovial catches chanting.  
That God that quaintly turns to any form  
Was not yet tit'led from his turned arm.  
And here a grove with reeds and rushes was,  
And moors, where none but with bare legs could pass.  
Those moors were drained and to their banks confined:  
But still this custom to this place is joined.  
She ended. Farewell, good old soul, said I:  
Mayst thou spend all thy old days merrily.  
Some other things in youth I learned long since,  
Which must not be passed by in negligence.  
Dardanian Ilus richly stored in all  
The Asian wealth, had newly raised his wall.  
Lo, armed Minerva's statue falling down  
From heaven was seen, and pitched on Ilium-town.  
I went and viewed her shrine and temple well,  
Poor relics there: Herself at Rome doth dwell.  
They went to Smintheus in his grove obscure,  
Who did return this answer true and sure;  
Keep this Palladium, and you keep your wall:  
Wheres'e're she goes she carries state and all.  
King Ilus closed her in a Tower. This care  
The next to him Laomedon did heir.  
King Priam kept her little: 'T was thy will,  
Great Queen, since Paris dealt by thee so ill.  
Now whether good Aeneas gained her than,  
Or Diomedes, or that sly Ithacan,  
whoever won her, she is now Rome's prize,  
In Vesta's guard, who all things always eyes.  
Oh, in what plight was Rome when Vesta burned,  
And all her house was almost overturned!  
Pure fires and vulgar lights confused did raise,  
And flames profane with flames divine did blaze.  
Her Nuus and Servants all in scattered hair  
Wept sorely, robbed of strength and heart by fear.  
Metellus flies among them: Help, cries he;  
O help! and quickly! Tears no aid can be.  
Run, quickly, fetch those fatal things away:  
Your hands not sighs must do the deed, I say.  
O heavens! d'ye stand? Them in a stam he sees,  
And in amazement fallen upon their knees.  
Fair water dashed, with heaved hands; Gods, O scan  
My venture well, though not allowed a man!  
Be it a crime; let vengeance fall on me:  
And by my life and blood let Rome be free.  
Thus breaks he in. The Powers preserved by  
This duteous act, approved their Pontifie.  
Now happily in Caesar's name this day  
Her fires shine pure, and so shall do for ay.  
No Nun her sacred Chastity shall slain,  
Nor be alive interred in his reign.  
So dies th' incestuous, closed in th' Earth, which she  
Hath wronged: for one the Earth and Vesta be.  
Then Brutus sword imbrued the sands of Spain,  
And gained his title from Calecians slain.  
But yet sometimes sad haps the glad annoy:  
Poor mortals seldom pure delights enjoy.  
His Son and Eagles Crassus lost beside  
Euphrates banks, and last himself too died.  
Why vauntest thou, Parthian? Vesta said: thou shall  
Return our signs, and rue for Crassus' fall.  
But when the Ass' gaiety is gone,  
And he in is corn-task walks about the stone:  
That day deceased, the Pilot on the poop  
At night doth show the Dolphine's twinkling troop.  
Now Lucifer sets open the Eastern gate,  
And Tithone mourns to leave his youthful mate.  
Good wives, to your Matralian feasts; away;  
And to the Theban Queen your white gifts pay.  
A stately Court surnamed from the Neal  
Joyns to the wooden bridge and Circus great.  
Upon this day (they say) King Servius gave  
A Temple sacred to Matuta grave.  
What Goddess she is, why no maid's sh' admits  
Into her chapel, and baked wafers eats,  
Brow-ivyed Bacchus, guide my sail; if she,  
Whose rites I sing, be of thy family.  
Fond Semele in Jove's embraces boiled,  
Kind Ino takes and nurses up her child.  
Vexed Juno swelled, that she, the Strumpet gone,  
Should nurse her brat; yet 't was her sister's son.  
Strait Athamas runs mad, and piece-meal tears  
Learchus, who a Lion's whelp appears.  
Poor Ino buries her Learchus torn,  
And pays all duties to his doleful urn.  
She runs with mourning locks about her ears,  
And Melicerta from his cradle tears.  
There is a narrow neck of land divides  
Two seas, and curbs the billows on both sides.  
Hither, with Son in frantic arms, comes she,  
And from a rock rushed headlong into sea.  
Nymph Panope with all her sister-train  
Her gently latched, and bore her through the main.  
Both came to Tyburs wallowing mouth, ere he  
Palemon was, or she Leucothoe.  
There is a grove 't was Bacchus' Priests, ('t is famed)  
Or Semele or Stimele 't is named:  
There Ino learned th' Arcadians till the land,  
And King Evander did the realm command.  
But Juno, coming in an old wives dress,  
With subtle words provokes the Bacchides;  
O simple souls! O senseless folk and blind!  
D' ye take this vagrant huzzie for your friend?  
She comes to circumvent and pry into you:  
Believe 't she 's hired some mischief for to do you.  
Scarce had she done; the Thyads all, their hair  
About their backs, with howl fill the air.  
On Ino rush they: and would kill her son.  
The yet-not-'quainted Gods she calls upon:  
Help Gods, or Men; a doleful mother aid.  
A noise to Aventine this outcry made.  
Perchance Alcides, with his Spanish beasts  
Not far off, heard, and to the noise doth press.  
At sight of whom those that began the fray  
Began the flight, and frightful ran away.  
He knew her well. What, Bacchus Aunt, said he,  
What mak'st thou here? art thou like-vexed with me?  
Part tells she: part the presence of her son  
Withheld. She's shamed for those mad tricks were done.  
Swift-pinioned Fame upon her wings is raised,  
And Ino's name about the country blazed.  
Anon to kind Carmentis peaceful seat  
She came: where first she was refreshed with meat.  
The Holy woman made a fire in haste,  
And baked a biscuit for her quick repast.  
Hence in her Matrals bake they biscuits dry:  
No art pleased her like that tied houswifry.  
Now show my fate, said she, O Queen divine:  
And add this favour to the rest of thine.  
Forthwith the Queen with heavenly vigour filled,  
By force of sacred inspiration swelled.  
Scarce could a quick eye know her at first view,  
So much more large and more divine she grew.  
Good news, cries she: Joy, Ino, joy: thy labour  
Is ended all. Our kingdom begs thy favour.  
Thou and thy son two Sea-Gods now shall make,  
And on our streams another name shall take.  
Greece thee shall call Leucothoe, in our land  
Matuta named. Thy son shall Ports command,  
By us Portunus, but Palaemon styled  
In his own tongue. O let us find you mild!  
Truth tries her words: Both laid aside their name,  
And travels: both Sea-Deities became.  
You ask why she admits no maids. 'T is hate:  
Whose reason (by her leave) I will relate.  
False Athamas her husband secretly  
Did love her maid, and oft adultery  
With her committed. And from her he found  
His wife had scorched the seeds within the ground.  
Though she denied it, fame divulged it true.  
For this cause she doth maidservants eschew.  
Yet doth no goodwife for her own child pray:  
Herself no happy mother was they say.  
Another's child may better be commended:  
She Bacchus better than her own befriended.  
She told Rutilius that upon her day  
The Marsian foe should him the Consul slay.  
Th' event approves her words a truth: The flood  
Of Thelon swelled in purple streams of blood.  
On that same day the next year Didius slain  
The hostile Trophies did augment again.  
Thine, Fortune, is this day, this place, this Founder:  
But who 's that statue wrapped up in a gown there!  
'T is Servius sure. But why he's wrapped about,  
Myself and divers make a several doubt.  
Queen Fortune deeply taken with this King,  
(She used her eyes it seemed in this one thing)  
Was now ashamed of her adultery,  
That she a Goddess with a Man should lie.  
By night to him she through a window came:  
From whence an Entry we Fenestra name.  
Now she reputes, and in a mantle veils  
His regal person so beloved yerwhiles.  
Some give this cause: The commonwealth was all  
Confused in grief for good King Tullus fall.  
Their tears were boundless: wnich his pictures sight  
Did still augment, till they had covered it.  
I must more amply this last reason sing:  
But we will keep our steeds within the ring.  
Young Tullia, married in the base reward  
Of wickedness, thus urged her husband hard;  
To what end joined we in our kindred's murder?  
To live like innocents' in this good order?  
My Husband and thy Wife might still have lived  
Were there no further act to be achieved.  
My Father's Crown and head are both thy dower:  
If th' art a man, claim that indebted power.  
Crimes are for Kings: Cut off my Father; take  
His crown: His blood these hands shall ruddy make.  
Thus egged by her he seizes privately  
The Throne. To arms th' amazed Commons fly.  
Now blood and slaughter rule: Weak age is fain  
To yield; and Tarquin's violence doth reign.  
Beneath Esquiliae, where his palace stood,  
Was Servius slain, and wallowed in his blood.  
She in a coach t' her Father's Court doth ride  
In public, puffed with cruelty and pride.  
The coachman seeing his dead carcase, holds  
The rain with tears: At whom she raves and scolds;  
Drive, or I'll pay you for your foolish zeal:  
Run o'er, I say, his carcase with the wheel.  
This is most true: That street from this hath got  
The title wicked: an eternal blot.  
Yet she her Father's monument did dare  
To enter. Truths, though wondrous, I declare.  
Sage Tullus statue on a throne was framed.  
He clapped his hands before his eyes ('t is famed.)  
A voice was heard, O hide our eyes, lest we  
Our wicked daughters odious face should see.  
He 's mantled. Fortune in her Temple spoke,  
Forbidding them this mantle off to take;  
When Servius garment off his head is taken,  
That day will show the shame of him forsaken.  
Forbear, good Wives, to touch his vestiment:  
Let nothing but your solemn prayers be sent.  
Let him be ever clad in Roman gown,  
Who was the sixth King in the Roman town.  
This Temple fired, the flames would not come near  
His seat. Sure Vulcan did his Son forbear.  
For he from Vulcan issued and from  
The fair Ocrisia of Corniculum.  
Whom Tanaquil bade pour the wine upon  
The gaudy fires, when sacrifice was done.  
Amid the hearth a man's yard forth did spring  
In show, or rather 't was a real thing.  
With this Ocrisia coupled: from which deed  
King Tullus issed of celestial seed.  
His Father gave a sign he was his son,  
When on his head a blazing light did run.  
This same day Livia did to Concord raise  
A stately Temple for her halcyon-days.  
Yet, where yerwhile stood that huge Palace, know  
All postern times, there Livia 's porch stands now.  
One house was like a City, and alone  
Contained as much as many a walled town.  
For too much luxury this was pulled down,  
Not for the Founder 's aiming at the Crown.  
The heir Octavius those vast ruins there  
And loss of all that cost and charge did bear.  
Thus Precepts relish when exemplified;  
And Teachers words still by their works are tried.  
Two following days are blank. To Jove Invicted  
Upon the Ides a chapel was addicted.  
Now I the less Quinquatrian feasts must sing.  
Assist, O fair Minerva, in this thing.  
Why do the Waits walk all about the town?  
Why do they mask disguised? what means the Gown?  
Disarmed Pallas thus replied to me,  
(Would I could sing 't as learnedly as she!)  
Great was the use of Waits in times of old,  
And always in great estimation held.  
Feasts, Altars, mournful Funerals, and Plays  
The useful Waits accompanied always.  
Gain sweetened that fair Art: But afterward  
Their liberties and gains were all debarred.  
Yea, th' Aediles they but ten of them in all  
Allowed to play at every Funeral.  
They left the city, and in exile went  
To Tybur. Tybur then was banishment.  
At Feasts, Scenes, Altars, are the Waits required:  
Their mournful Ditties Funerals desired.  
At Tybur lived a Libertine, in is Art  
A long time free, and one of great desert.  
He makes a feast, and there this troup invites.  
All come unto his festival delights.  
Night came: their brains and senses swim in wine:  
A message with a forged tale comes in;  
Quick, quick, I say: dismiss this company:  
Behold your Patron is at hand, cries he.  
Away all staggering hastily do pack:  
Their legs unruly large Indentures make.  
Away, the Master cried: and as they slacked,  
Into a matted waggon all he packed.  
Time, Wine and Motion sleep provoked. They thought,  
All foxed, the cart had them to Tybur brought.  
Through Esquiline the waggon now doth come,  
And stood i' th' morning in the Court of Rome.  
The States, to gull them both in show and number,  
Command to mask them in their drunken flumber:  
And mingled more among them; and t' augment  
The crew, the Minstrels in their long gowns went.  
This was contrived lest that the rest should see  
They were returned against their own decree.  
All pleased; th' are licenc'd in the Ides to go  
In these new masks, and chant their Catches too.  
She ceasing; This I fain would learn, said I,  
Why this thy day is called Quinquatrie.  
March hath my feasts too of this name, said she:  
'Twas my invention raised this Company.  
I first the Pipe of bored Box did frame  
With certain holes, and played upon the same.  
Sweet were the notes; But when as I beheld  
My face i' th' spring, I spied my cheeks all swelled.  
I prise thee not so high, my Pipe, said I:  
Farewell. and cast it on a bank thereby.  
A Satire finds it: But, the use unsound,  
Admires. At last he blows, and hears a sound.  
Now could his warbling fingers play their part,  
And make the Nymphs admire his vaunted art.  
He challenged Phoebus: Phoebus got the day:  
Who hung him up, and took his skin away.  
Yet I'm th' inventresse of this Pipe: Therefore  
This Company, these days, do me adore.  
The third day after in her twinkling pride  
Thyene fair on Taurus' brows doth ride.  
This day doth Tiber our Etruscane river  
St Vesta's sweep into sea deliver.  
May Winds be trusted, Mariners, hoist sails  
To Zephyr 's point: you shall have happy gales.  
When Phaethon's Father in the waves profound  
Doth souse his beams, and both the Poles surround,  
(For two there be: This in the South we find,  
That in the North: both named from either wind.)  
Old Hyreus Son his sturdy arms doth rear;  
And that same night the Dolphin doth appear:  
Whose stars the Volsci and the Equi saw  
Yerwhile expelled the plains of Algida.  
For which, brave Conqueror, thou, though first denied,  
In suburb-Triumph on white steeds didst ride.  
A dozen days our month hath still in store;  
Yet to the dozen thou must add one more;  
Sol leaves the Twins, and takes up Cancer's Sign;  
And Pallas is adored on Aventine.  
Now Tithone 's Bride the Eastern Court doth view;  
Dull Night's dispersed and the meadow-dew:  
A Chapel to Summanus they did rear  
(Who-e're he be) when Rome did Pyrrhus' fear.  
Now when the Ocean swallows up this Light,  
And Earth is shrouded in the wings of Night,  
The grand Physician stellified awakes,  
And in his hand brings forth his twisted Snakes.  
Vile Phaedra 's lust and Theseus wrong all know:  
He rashly unto death his son did vow.  
The frighted horses run, and, scorning awe,  
Their doleful Lord o'er rocks and mountains draw.  
Down falls Hippolytus thrown from his wain,  
Torn all in pieces with his snarled rain.  
Displeased Diana much his death lamented:  
Said Aesculapius, Be not discontented.  
I'll make him sound and hail in every part:  
I'll force the Fates to yield to my grand art.  
He draws his medicines from his ivory-case,  
Whose power on Glaucus yerst experienced was;  
When he observed with what virtuous weed  
The cunning Snake revived his fellow dead.  
This he applies, and wholesome charms he says:  
Hippolytus his grovelling head doth raise.  
Diana hides him in the midst of all  
Grove Aricine, and him doth Virbius call.  
The baleful Sisters much repined, and grudged  
To have their hands held, and their power abbridged.  
Jove, fearing hurt by this presumptuous Art,  
Slew Aesculapius with a thunder-dart.  
Phoebus, be pleased: Thy Son a God is made:  
Jove for thy sake hath done what he forbade.  
I wish not, Caesar, though thy conquests call,  
If Signs forbid, to stir a flag at all.  
Let but Flaminius speak and Thrasimene,  
By what strange notes the God's intents were seen.  
Whos'e'r the day of that rash loss inquires;  
It is eight days before the month expires.  
Next day is happier in proud Syphax fall  
By Masinissa, and slain Hasdrubal.  
Time flies away: encroaching Age creeps on:  
The hours and days in restless paces run.  
How soon do Happy Fortune's Feasts return!  
Now but seven days the end of June adjourn.  
To Tyber's banks, ye Lords, your offerings bring  
To this kind Saint there honoured by a King.  
Some go on foot, in nimble cockboats some;  
And take a pride to come well-tippled home.  
In crowned barge let jovial youngsters laugh  
And feast, and freely in their full bowls quaff.  
The Common people and Maidservants, they  
Serve this inconstant Queen; because (they say)  
The founder Tullus, who was made a King  
From servile Maid, of vulgar stock did spring.  
Lo, now in ●roups scarce sober home they walk:  
When some starre-peeper with the Stars doth talk;  
Your belt, Sr Orion, now you will not show it;  
Nor yet to morrow, but e'er long we'll view it.  
But, were his brains not pickled, he would say  
The Summer Solstice is upon that day;  
Next day a Chapel household-gods receive,  
Near where the Garland-weavers now do live.  
The same day is Jove-Stator's feast divine,  
Whose house Quirinus raised near Palatine.  
The Parcae's number and our days are even;  
A Temple to Quirinus now was given.  
To morrow Julius native Calends come:  
Ye Muses, to our work now add the sum!  
Relate whose act you to his Temple brought,  
Whose hands invicted Juno 's spite outwrought.  
Clio replies, Brave Philip's work you see,  
From whence chaste Martia draws her pedigree.  
Sweet Martia sprung from Ancus so divine,  
In whom Nobility and Beauty join.  
Her Nature, Feature, Mind, and Blood so high  
Make up an admirable harmony.  
Nor blame us here that we her beauty praise.  
For this the fame of Goddesses we raise.  
Yerst Caesar's Aunt he in his Hymen's led:  
O Grace, most worthy of that sacred bed!  
The learned Nine applaud what Clio sang:  
Alcides nodded: and the Harp cried twang.   
FINIS. Caeterorum desiderium mundum fatigat.