PUBL OVID. DE TRISTIBUS: OR MOUR NEFULL ELEGIES, IN FIVE BOOKS: Composed in his Banishment, part at Sea, and part at TOMOS, a City of PONTUS.  
Translated into English Verse by Zachary Catlin. Mr. of Arts. Suffolk.  
LONDON, Printed by T. Cotes, for john Bellamy, and are to be sold at his shop, at the sign of the three golden Lions in Cornhill. 1639.   

To the Courteous Reader.  
GEntle Reader, I here present thee with a Translation. It is a Poem of mellifluous Naso, and his last, and most doleful, 
In the seventh year. Cantator Cyenus fune●is ips●sui.  composed after his banishment to Pontus, where he died. It is his Cy●ne● cantio, his swanlike song, his Benjamin, the son of his age, and his Benoni, the son of his sorrow. To commend the Author, were to hold up a Taper to the Sun, 
Alb●●alli●● fili●s.  for he is well known to have been the Muse's Favourite and white Son, whose sweet language, whither in mirth or mourning, smiles or tears, they ever happily contrived into most fluent and ravishing strains of natural, rather than arrificiall Poetry, and taught him still so aptly, lively, and feelingly to express his inward passions, that he ever triumphed in the heart of his Reader (if he were not a Cyclops or a Centaur) and commanded from him a sympathy of suitable affection. 
T●m deni●● saxa, non exacd●ti ruboetunt sarge●e vatis.  So that me thinks either Augustus Caesar never read this Poem, or through self guiltiness of some fault to which Ovid was conscious, (as Actaeon to Diana's nakedness) he was constrained to harden his heart against his charms, like those deaf stones that killed Orpheus.  
As for the pains of the Translator, as they are liable to much exception, so are they not uncapable of some just Apology. Some perhaps will think this task too youthful for my gravity and grey hairs: 
Lib. 4. 〈…〉  whom I must remember, that the Poet himself when he composed it was above fifty, and that it is an hard matter to expel nature, 
Difficle on als●●● 〈…〉  and to cashier and abandon in age the laudable propenfities and studies of one's Youth. 
〈◊〉 l. 3.  Old Entellas' takes up the Bats and Bucklers, against young Dares. And aged Milo may assay how much he still retaineth of his former strength and vigour. Others will judge the Work too light for my sacred profession. 
th'end. 〈◊〉 Ge● 〈…〉  To whom I may oppose the better judgements, and frequent examples of learned and geave Divines, Doctors, Prelates, and Princes themselves, both of our own and former times, who thought it no disparagement to be the followers of the Muses or rather, thought sacred Theology herself then best attended, when she had in her train, not only Arts and Scienres, 
〈…〉.  Tongues, and Languages, and other secular and humane learning, but even those polite and elegant studies of Orators, and Poesy, the contempt and disdain whereof was ever wont to be ascribed either to barbarous ignorance, or t●tricke sourness and morosity of nature. Others will think my time and pains might have been better spent some other way, which, as I will not deny, so I am not sorry for mine own part, that without neglect of more serious matters, I am able to tender them so good an account of my succisive and vacant hours: for to the mere English Reader, lo ●ere Ovid is turned his own Countryman: to the raw Scholar, lo here Ovid speaking by an Interpreter; 
〈…〉  To them that can swim without bladders, this translation will not only bring delight, but if they please with the matter to observe the propriety of both the tongues, 
〈…〉  it may Miscere utile dulci, bring them in delight and profit both. If any think the subject too sad for their merry humour, as being Ovid's lamentation; let them remember that in the most solemn music, the harmony is most delightful, and that there is some pleasure even in tears. Estquedam flere vol●ptas. 
〈◊〉  If Ovid sing his own shipwreck, if they will not ●ondole him, they may yet bear with delight what he suffered with grief, make some good use of his witty inventions, and expressions, and learn of him to sing like Nightingales, when their own dark night of sorrow shall come. If any wish my vein had been more losty, 
Ne sutorultia ctepid am.  he must know it was the part of me a Translator, not to soar beyond mine Authors strain, who was not here a stately Horoicall Maro, or a Tragical Sophocles, but a quick-spirited and nimble witted Naso. Lastly, if any think I have undertaken a needless pains, in translating what was done before by another, and so write an Iliad after Homer. The truth is, 
Iliad a post Ho●●●●m. Mr. Wye Salto●stall  I had half done my work before I came to see the other, but after that, (though I was sorry I should Actum agere) yet I thought better to perfect what I had begun then to desist and give over in the, midst, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  hoping that the intelligent Reader upon equal survey, will not think either my labour or his own altogether fruitless. Let this suffice for my Apology, Gentle Reader: and for thyself, read as many of few of these Elegies as thou pleasest, only read with so much candour as thou wouldst be read, and if I deserve not the Bays (who am indeed but an Arcadian shepherd) yet (for my good will to the Muses) let me not be beaten with the stock. Yet this I will boldly sav, that if thou read it through, and compare it punctually with the Author, it may bring thee in some small return, at least will keep thy vacant hours from idleness, or worse employment, However I rest  
Thine to be used if thou please, Zachary Catlin, phil●●●●sus.  Livor iners vitium mores non exit in altos, Carpere vel noli nostra, vel Ede tu●.  

The Author, of his Translation.  

ERst Naso taug he my youth the Latian style,  
I teach him English now another while.  
If English Naso want the Latin feature,  
Say 'tis not he, but such another creature.  
Yet scarce one Egg is liker to another,  
'Tis Ovid sure, or else his younger Brother.    


To his much honoured Friend, The Author of this Translation.  
NAso Poetarn Dux opti●ous: ille juv●●te  
Te duce, quam subito est Anglicus Ovid  
Hoc opus Ovidii narrat de Tristibus: At ja●  
Gratum opus ac laetum est hoc, Catelina, tuum.  
Optima quam meruit Catelina Poeta, probatur  
Versibus hisce suis, Ingenio & Gonio.  
Guiliel. Spring Armig●r.   

To his Reverend Friend the Author of these Translations.  

OVid weeps English now, nor do we know  
From whither eye, the learn●der tear doth flow.  
The Roman or the Englsh: whither Rome,  
Or your terse English more empearles his I ombe.  
I'm sure, that when I read his last divorce  
From his dear Wife; and of his living coarse,  
Tossed in its watery co●in (where each wave,  
Rung him his passing Bell, and digged his grave)  
Translated so by you, as you had been  
His Muse's Pilor, and had steered his pen:  
I had lost Ovid, and in Ecstasy  
Wept for your Exile, and thought you were he:  
Or satisfied, in that your lively sense  
Transported me to think him banished hence  
Unholily by us: thence 'gan deplore,  
Him as though exiled to Bermudas shore,  
(For such I fancied Scythia) and forgot  
Still as I read, you did but personate.  
But when I had composed my thoughts, I saw  
As he among the Geteses preserved the Law  
Of Roman elegance in force, so now,  
●ound his Emphaticke sweetness kept by you.  
Who are his milder Caesar, and have sent  
Him to a calmer place of banishment.   
R. P.   

I dem in eundem.  

Et Lwri, frontemque tuam Laurus tegat: Ardet  
●am bat ut ima tuous dum mea Musa pedes.  
V●l laudeat Hederae vappam Musam, Tibi Musa  
Massica qua rutilat; non ego laudo, colo.   
Robert Pa●●ent.   

To his worthily esteemed friend Mr. Zachary Catlin the Author of this Translation.  

Praises pollute, the Comic told me so,  
Tell him from me, due praise is no man's foc,  
No more than spurs to a mild-metled Horse,  
For which he goes the better, not the worse.  
Whilst worthless men do seek this on their hearse,  
Thy worth doth claim it justly for thy verse,  
Your front's already decked with noble spring,  
A silver pavement doth thy worth out ring,  
What's left to me, if I must choose a part,  
But this to praise the midst, thine honest heart.  
Who knows how seldom I bound speech do use.  
Might swear I honour Catlin and his Muse,  
In choosing rather to express my shame,  
Then to suppress thy wit, thy work, thy name.   
Henry White, de Rougham.   

In Pub. Ovid. NASONIS Elegias, eorumque interpretem Ovidianissimum ZA. CATELIN amicum fibi conjunctissimum.  

Faelix ingenium secundlore  
Aurâ, & Caesare mitiore dignum.  
Quanto mergere rore guttularum  
Heu●vultus Elegi solent legentis!  
Quis non Caesareas gemit, fremitque  
Tanti non potuisse vota vatis  
Iras flexanimo liquare cantu?  
Ast tu Sceptrip●tens negare Romam,  
O●bem melliloquo nequis Poetae!  
Dignum laude virum obrui malignis,  
Obaitens Vetat ipsa Musa fatis.  
Qud Sol auricomas agit quadrigas,  
Atque orbem radiis beat coruso●s,  
Si quas excoluit benigna Pollas  
Terras artibus, hospitas ubique,  
P●●dunt laur●gero lares, & omne  
Du●cipatria fit solum poetae.  
Te n●nc altitonante Iberus ore  
Cantat, Tentonicus flagransque Iacche,  
Et qui mollisivo placet palato  
G●ilus, quique sapit modesta, magra  
Parvo nomine proferens Britannus.  
Quod Faelix Cateline sitque Faustum,  
Tugest● patrid dedisse linguâ  
Nasonem, aequi●aransmetris Britannis,  
Sit gratus labor, otiumque fallat  
Nostrum fallere quo tuum solebas.  
O factum bene! mutuo lahores  
Nasonis decoras, tuosque Naso.   
jacobus Warwell.    

To the Ingenious Translator, and the Censorious Reader.  

SWeet Friend, knowst thou, that sloth and envy sit  
Judges of life and death, on active wit?  
Thou knowst it well, and scornest it too: else why  
W●lt thou the tickle edge of censure try?  
But try: these recreations will make plain,  
What nimble spirits move in thy aged brain.  
Bark easily Critic Reader: be content  
That learning's idler time's not idly spent.  
What thou mislik'st amend: so we shall see  
By th' Author much well done, little by thee.   
ja, Warwell.   

The Argument of the fourth Elegy, in Lib. 4, Fol. 66.  
ORestes Son of Agamemnon, and King of My●enae, slew his Mother Clytemnest●a, and 〈◊〉 adulterer Aegystus, which two had mur●●red his Father Agamemnon, Orestes was ve●●● with Furies, till he had expiated his ●●me up●● the Altar of Diana in Taurica by sacrifice He had Pylades so faithful a friend, that when he should ha●● been slain on that Altar, Pylades would have dye● for him, and both would be thought Orestes, so that Thoas the Tyrant doub●ed which was he, and pardone● Orestes desiring their Friendship. Ip●●igenia was daughter of Agamemnon, Sister to Orestes. The Oracle said her blood must appease Diana's anger; D●am pitying her, sent a Dee●e in her stead for the sacrify, and sent her being a Virgin to be her Priest in Tau●●●, to sacrifice with humane blood. Orestes coming thither, should have been sacrificed, but that she knew him by his talk with P●lades, He sto●e away his sister and Diana's Image, and went into Italy.   

An Index of the several fifty ELEGIES in these five Books.  

The Elegies of the first Book.  
1. TO his Book. p. 2  
2. To the Gods to save him from the Tempest. p. 5  
3. Of his sad departure from Rome. p 8  
4. To a faithful friend. p. 11  
5. To his wise, praising her. p. 14  
6. To his Friends that wear his Image in a Ri●g. p. 15  
7. To a false and faithless friend. p 16  
8, That vulgar spirits follow fortune in friendship. p. 17  
9, He praises his Corinthian ship. p. 19  
10. To the Reader, that this first Book was written in his Sea. p. 20   

The second Book.  
One Entire learned Elegy, containing a complaint and suit to Augustus. from p. 22. to 37   

The third Book.  
1. The Book to the Reader, complaining that it was unkindly used at Rome. p. 37  
2. Ovid complains of his Exile, wishing for death. 39  
3. To his Wife, complaining of sickness and 〈◊〉 for burial at Rome. p. 4●  
4. To a Friend, advising him to shun the acquainta●●● of great men. p. 4●  
5. He praiseth Carus a saithful friend. p. 4●  
6. He commends his estate to a faithful friend. p. 4●  
7. To Perilla a Virgin Poetess 〈◊〉 old companion. p. ●●  
8. He desires, once more to see on Country and friend p. 4●  
9 Whence the C●ty Tomos took the name. p 4●  
10. He describes the Country a●d people of Po●t●● 50  
11. An invective against a malicu●as slanderer. p. 5●  
12. The difference between Rome and Tomes for 〈◊〉 and Exercises. p. 54  
13. Of his Birthday, wishing●t would return no more. p 55  
14. To a learned friend, that he would defend his writings. p. 56   

The fourth Book.  
1 He excuses his bad Verses, written for Selace, 〈◊〉 for Credit. p. 5●  
2. He grieves that he might not see the triumph●●● Ger●a●●y. p. 6●  
3. He wooeth the s●arres that his wise may con●●● loyal. p 6●  
4. To a Friend described, but not named. p. 64  
5. To a friend, w●●om be nameth not lest he should 〈◊〉 ●in harn●e. p 67  
6 That Time weakeneth all things except ●●●griefe. ibid.  
7. He blames a ●●●end for not writing unto 〈◊〉 two years. p. 69  
8. 〈◊〉 complains that he was banished ●n his age. ibid.  
9 An Inve●●●●against an enemy, warning ●●m nett● injury him further. p. 71  
10 To Posterity, concerning his birth, education, and his whole li●e. p. 72   

The Fifth Book.  
1. To his Friend, commending this fifth Book to his care. p. 75  
2. To his Wife, that she would petition Caesar for his milder banishment. p. 77  
3. To Caesar, suing to him for milder banishment, p. 78  
4. He sues to Bacchus, to incline Caesar's mind to mercy. p. 79  
5. He praises his faithful Friend, and bewails his own miseries. p. 81  
6. He solemniseth his Wife's Birthday. p. 82  
7. He persuades a Friend to constancy in friendship. p. 84  
8. He describes the attire and manners of the Geteses. p. 85  
9 An Invective against a Backbiter. p. 87  
10. To a friend that would not be named. p. 88  
11. A complaint that he had been three years in Pontus. p. 89  
12. To his Wife, comforting her against one that called her an Exiles wife. p. 90  
13. To a Friend, that wished him to mitigate his grief with Verses. p. 91  
14. He blames a true real friend, because he wrote not to him. p. 93  
15. To his Wife, comforting her, that she shall live ever in his writings. p. 94    

PUBLII OVID. Nasonis de Tristibus. LIB. 1.  

ELEGIA. 1.  
He speaks unto his Book: Argu. sends it to Rome.  
Teaching it what to do when 'tis thither come.  

Go little Book, without me visit Rome:  
Woes me, thy Master must not thither come:  
I spleen th●e not, yet see thou go undressed,  
In Exiles habit, suiting t●●es unblessed.  
Clad not thyself in Berry's purple juice,  
For mournful times that colour's not in use.  
Red not thy Title, nor thy Paper cedar.  
White horns and forehead black, suit ill together.  
With bri●tle Pumice polish not thy Brow,  
But go uncomed and jagged, thou carest not how.  
Let happy Books with such tools trim their beauty,  
My Fortune to remember, 'tis thy duty.  
Nor blush at blots and blurs: who them espies  
Will judge them happened from my weeping eyes.  
Go Book, from me those welcome places greet,  
I'll touch them (as I may) with Paper feet.  
If any one (sure all have not forgot me)  
If any one (I say) inquire about me.  
Say that I live, that I am well deny,  
Yet that I live is Caesar's legacy:  
If more they question, peace, and bid them read,  
And see thou blab not more than shall be need.  
The Reader warned, straigt calls my fault to mind,  
And all men's censures will me guilty find.  
But though reproached, do not thou defend thee,  
Thy cause once bade excusing will not mend thee.  
Some, thou shalt find, will sigh that I am 
1 〈…〉  here,  
And at my Verses cannot tears forbear.  
Wishing in's heart (lest some Informer know)  
That Caesar would relent and ease my woe.  
Who ere he be, from ill I wish him free,  
That would appease the Gods to wretched me.  
Oh! let his wish take place, that Caesar's ire  
Being forgot, I may at hoem expire.  
When thou hast done mine errands some will blame thee,  
And say, thou art a dull book fit to shame me. Object.  
Who right will judge, must things with times compare,  
And time considered, Book thou needst not care. Ans.  
Verses proceed from minds at quiet rest,  
My times are cloudy, and with ills oppressed.  
Verses the writers private leisure ask,  
Seas, winds and tempests hold me to my task.  
Verses are free from fear: poor I, each hour,  
Look when a sword should my best blood outpoure.  
So that an equal judge will this my verse  
Take in good part, and muse it is so Terse.  
Give me great Homer, wrap him in like woe,  
And all his wits will a woollgathering go.  
And therefore Book, stand not upon thy Fame  
If Readers slight thee, count it little shame.  
To thee and me coy Fortune's not so kind,  
That upon credit thou shouldst set thy mind.  
Whilst I was happy, I for titles stood,  
And far my credit made my verses good;  
But now I botch for th'nonce, and deadly hate  
That Wit and Art, which caused my banished state.  
Go thou for me that mayst, and view the City,  
Wert thou another's, thou shouldst find more pity.  
And though thou comest a stranger into Town,  
Yet never think that thou canst walk unknown.  
For say thou want a name, and wouldst conceal thee  
As though not mine, thy colour will reveal thee.  
Yet enter closely lest my name do harm thee.  
The world's applause, not now, as erst doth arm me.  
If any think, 'tis dangerous to read thee, Object. 2  
Cause thou art mine, and as a Serpent dread thee: Ans.  
Say, view my title, I am not 
1 Thr●● Books of Love.  Love's Master,  
That work hath justly cost me this disaster.  
Perhaps thou look'st, if I will bid thee climb  
The stairs of Caesar's palace most sublime.  
But let those places and the gods there spare me,  
For from those Towers this thunderbolt did scare me.  
I know indeed mild Deities dwell there,  
But yet those gods that harmed me, still I fear.  
The Dove once wounded with the Hawks sharp nail  
At the least noise of flickering wing doth quail.  
The Lamb once bitten by her Wolvish foe,  
Fare from the fold dare never after go.  
Were Phaeton now alive, he would avoid  
heavens Car and Horses wherein once he joyed.  
So I once stricken, fear joves' dreadful dart,  
And when he thunders, think that I shall smart.  
The Greek ships shattered at Caphareus hill.  
Do steer their course fare from Euboia still.  
Even so my boat once weather beaten sore.  
The place of danger dares approach no more.  
Therefore beware, and fearing to be shent,  
So mean Plebeians read thee, rest content.  
Whilst Icarus with weak wings too high doth soar  
He gave the name to the Icarian shore.  
Yet whether best thy Oars or Saules' to use  
I know not: Time and place must teach thee choose,  
If thou sinned Caesar in a pleasant humour,  
Seest all things mild, his anger lost her tumour;  
If any one will h●●t thee drawing back,  
And speak a good word for thee be not slack,  
But in good time more happ● than thy Master,  
Draw near and pray him ease my sad disaster.  
For he that made it must redress my wound  
Achilles-like, or I shall ne'er be sound.  
But ware thou hurt not, whilst thou meanest me good,  
(For stronger fears than hopes appall my blood.  
Take heed lest thou his calmed Anger more,  
And thou a second cause of danger prove.  
But when unto my dwelling thou art come  
And to thy closet, that same little room,  
There shalt thou see in ranked order set  
Thy brethren all, whom the same brain did get.  
Most of them Titles on their outsides bear,  
And names upon their open fore heads we are.  
Three in a corner thou shalt lurking spy. 
1 Three Book● of Love.   
and these as all men know, teach venery,  
Eat these, or if thine heart will serve thee, rather  
Call them unnatural murderers of their Father. 
These slew their own Fathers unawares.   
Like Aedipus that Laus killed in fray,  
Or Telegon that did Ulysses slay.  
Love none of these three Books in any wise,  
Though Love they teach, if thou thy Father prize.  
There 
1 15. Books or Metamorphosis  also be of changed shapes fifteen books,  
Verses which Phoebus from my funerals took,  
Tell them (I charge thee) that 'mong bodies changed  
My fortune's visage may be fitly ranged.  
For suddenly she's turned from what she was,  
joyful of late, but now at weeping pass.  
If more in charge thou ask, I more would say,  
But that I fear to cause thy longer stay.  
And should thou carry with thee all my mind,  
Thy bearer would an heavy burden find  
Make haste; thy journis long: poor I am hurled  
To a fare Country in another world.    

ELEGY. 2.  
He supplicates the Gods that they would deign, Argu.  
To yield him safe from ship wracks imminent pain  

YE gods of Sea and heaven (what's left but Prayer)  
The shattered Limbs of my weak bark repair  
O do not you subscribe to Caesar's anger.  
When one God harms, another rids from danger.  
'Gainst Troy lame Vulcan stood, for Troy Apollo:  
Fair Venus aids them, Pallas hates them hollow.  
●●●o Aeneas spleened, and Turnus friended,  
By Venus, yet Aeneas was descended.  
Oft raging Neptune would Ulysses kill,  
As oft Minerva crossed her Uncle's will.  
And may not now, (though I fall short of those)  
Some God assist me, though one God oppose?  
But bootless Prayers, poor wretch in vain I sprinkle,  
Even whilst I speak the waters me bedrinkle,  
And Southwinds raging so my prayers confound,  
The gods I aim at cannot hear the sound.  
The self same wind thus bringing double 
1 Or harm●●.  scar●s  
Driving I know not whether, sails, and Prayers.  
Ay me, poor wretch, what watery Mountains rise!  
You'd think their lofty tops would touch the skies.  
Straight lowly valleys stoop (when Sea doth sunder)  
You'd think their bottoms reached to hell or under.  
Where ere I look, there's nought but sky and water,  
This swelewth waves, & that with storms doth clatter,  
The winds between them roa●e with hideous noise,  
And waves demur 
2 Which wind  which hath the mafter-voyce.  
For now blows Eurus from the purple East,  
Now rises Zephyrus from 
3 E●●●ing.  the setting West.  
Now rages Boreas from the Northern Bear,  
Now Notus wars with him from Southern spheart  
The Pilot doubtful what to shun or choose,  
Ambiguous mischiefs make his Art to muse.  
Dead men we are: all hope of safeties gone.  
Even whilst I speak, the waves o'erwhelm my moan.  
They'll drown my soul, and while my mouth doth pray,  
Thereby the deadly water finds a way,  
My loving wife, 
4 Q●●ly.  nought save mine exile wails,  
She neither grieves nor knows my other a●les.  
She little thinks I'm tossed on vastest maine.  
Hurried with winds; still ready to be slain.  
'twas well I did not suffer her to go,  
Then had I borne a double deadly blow:  
Now, though I perish, yet (since she is safe)  
I shall outlive my death at least one half.  
Woes me, what flashing lights from heaven do spring  
What ●rackes of thunder from the skies do ring?  
And on our ship the floating billows falls  
Like Canon bullets on besieged walls;  
Each following wave the former still exceed,  
As if it were a renth of greatest Meeds. 
〈…〉   
I fear not death, but yet this kind is hateful,  
Bate me but shipwreck, death shall be most grateful.  
Whether on's fair death or o'th' sword one die,  
Some comfort 'tis upon firm land to lie.  
To make one's will, and look to be interred, 
To speak to his friends.   
And not in fishes bowels to lie buried.  
Yet say such death I merit, why should those  
Innocent soul's ith'shippe my fate enclose?  
Ye Gods above, and you that rule the Seas,  
Both stint your threats, which jointly me disease.  
And since mild Caesa's wrath mylife hath granted  
Let me transport it to the place commanded.  
For, if for mine offence my life you grudge me,  
It did not death deserve, if Caesar judge me,  
And had he meant to send me to my grave,  
He needed not in this your help to crave:  
My life's at his command, and when he will,  
He that hath spared my blood may freely spill.  
But you whose powers my crime hath not offended,  
O rest content and let my woes be ended.  
And yet though all of you a wretch would save,  
I'm past all hope, and safety cannot have.  
Say you would spare, and winds should serve my will,  
And Sea grow calm, I am an Exile still.  
I do not blow the Seas and watery maine,  
Hoping by traffic to make endless gain:  
I'm not for learned 
1 ●e was a ●●●dent there.  Athens, at of yore,  
Nor Asian Towns I never saw before.  
Nor yet for 
2 A mart Tow●● in ●●ypt.  Alexandria am I bound,  
To view her dainties in swift Nilus found.  
My suit is small, yet strange, I crave a gale  
To the 
3 A barbarous rude place.  Sarmatian land to drive my sail.  
I'm bound to touch on Pontus' cruel shore,  
Yet that my flight from home 
4 My Country.  is slow, deplore.  
And make my way to Exile by my prayers,  
To 
5 A City of Pontu● to which Ovid was banished.  Tomos soated under uncouth stars.  
If then you love me gods, these tempests lay,  
And let your Powers for my ship make way,  
Or if you hate me, to that land me hie,  
'tis plague enough in such a coast to dye.  
What make I here? fierce winds dispatch my flight.  
Why stays thus long 
6 Italy.  Auso●●● in my sight?  
Caesar would have me gone; oh! do not hold me,  
But let the barbarous Pon●cke land behold me.  
It is his will, my merit: for 'twere small reason  
I should defend what he doth fault as treason.  
Yet if the gods all 
1 Ham●●●.  mortals actions view,  
My fault was crimelesse, and you know 'tis true.  
This if you know, how 'twas my mere 
2 To see something at Court  mishap,  
Mine harmless mind contrived no wicked trap,  
But I though mean, that 
3 〈…〉 sam.  Family favoured still,  
Obeying what I knew Augustus will.  
Did blesle these times when such a Prince did live,  
And oft for him and his did incense give.  
If thus I meant, O gods than do you spare me  
If not, let now some swelling wave o'erbear me.  
But do I dream? or gi'en the clouds to vanish?  
And doth the calmed Sea her anger banish?  
Sure 'tis no chance, but you to whom I prayed.  
Knowing all 
4 Heart have ●●ne.  secrets send me present aid.    

ELEGY. 3.  
He tells how he from Rome did far well take. Argu.  
And's wife and Friends great lamentation make.  

WHen I recall to mind that doleful night,  
When I from Rome did take my final flight,  
That night wherein I left what ever's dear,  
Then from mine eye there slides a mournsull tear.  
For now the day by Caesar set, drew night,  
That I must 
5 〈…〉  bid adieu to Italy.  
I had no mind nor time, things to prepare,  
My heart was dulled and overset with care.  
I could not think of getting men or mates,  
Or  or Coin to fit my banished state.  
Like one with thunder strooke, so was I crazed,  
That lives, and knows it not, he's so amazed.  
When grief had once this cloud of mind removed.  
And at the length my senses stronger proved,  
Ready to go, I took my last adieu  
Of mourning friend's, erst many, now but few.  
My loving wise, me weeping did embrace  
A shower of tears still pouring down her face.  
M● D●●ghter was fare of, on 
1 In A ●ri●ke.  Libyan shore  
And could not my unheard of fate deplore.  
Look where you would, there sounded plaints and groans  
It seemed a doleful show of funeral moans.  
Men, women, children too, my funeral kept,  
In every corner of the house they wept.  
If great examples may be like a toy,  
Such, when 'twas taken, was the face of Troy,  
The voice of dogs and men now silent were, 
Midnight.   
The lofty Moon her nightly Car did steer,  
I viewing her, and the great Capitol 
2 Fa●●●● Temple.  Fane  
Adjoining to my house alas in vain,  
Thus laid, ye Gods that in this Temple dwell, 
Ovid's ptayer.   
And thou fair Church which I must bid farewell,  
And all ye gods of Rome, from whom I part,  
I still adore you from a zealous heart.  
And though a 
3 Am past remedy.  buckler after wounds I take  
Disburden yet my flight from odious hate.  
Oh tell that 
4 Caesar:  heavenly man, what me beguiled,  
Left a mere error for a crime be styled,  
" That what you know, my judge the same may see,  
" Who once appeased I might most happy be.  
With this short Prayer, I did the gods adore, 
His Wise.   
My wife, each period sobbing, prayed more,  
For lo before her household gods dejected,  
She kissed the sacred fires, her hair neglected,  
And poured out to them fnll many a prayer,  
That could not ease her woeful husband's care.  
But now the posting night for bad delay,  
And on her Pole the Bear was turned away. 
Neete day.   
What should I do? my Country's love retains me,  
And Times last bound, this night to flee constrains  
" How oft one hastening, why dye urge said I,  
" Ah think both whither, and from whence you fly me.  
And oft I feigned, that by such an hour  
I wou●d be ready to 
5 Go ●●t oth● doo●●.  obey their power.  
Thrice to the door I went, and thrice drew back,  
My foot, even like my mind was very slack.  
Oft taking leave, I freshly fell a tallying,  
And oft I kissed, as one that had been walking.  
Charging the same things oft, myself forget,  
Whilst on my pledges dear mine eyes were set.  
" Then would I say what haste to Scythia vile,  
" From happy Rome? good now let's stay a while.  
" I and my wife both living, must part ever,  
" From house, and faithful household I must sever,  
" And friends in whom as Brethren I delighted.  
" Oh my dear hearts with Thesean faith united,  
" i'll hug you while I may, henceforth I fear  
" I shall no more: I'll gain these minutes clear.  
Forthwith, I break abruptly from my talk,  
And what came next to mind my tongue doth walk.  
Thus while I speak and weep, the 
1 Motaing  morning star  
Is gotten up, 
2 A loathed.  unwelcome Lucifer,  
For now I part, even as my limbs were torn,  
And joint form joint were quite asunder 
3 Bo●●●.  shorn,  
Grieving like Priamus when that treacherous steed,  
Against his hopes hatched that revengeful 
4 Of armed Greeks'.  breed.  
And now my friends do shriek and sob outright,  
And with their hands their naked bosoms smite.  
My wife fast holding on my arm now going.  
These doleful words mixed with my tears out flowing  
" Thou shalt not part, we'll both go hence or neither,  
" Sure man and wife shall banished be together:  
" In Pontus land there's room for mine abode,  
" And to thy ship I'll add but little load.  
" Thee Caesar's wrath bids from thy Country flee,  
" Me duty: 
5 ●●●dnesse 〈◊〉.  duty shall my Caesar be.  
Thus she assayed, as she had  before,  
And reason hardly moved her to give over.  
Then forth I go, like one to's grave outborn,  
My hair down hanging, nasty and sorlorne.  
But then she waxing mad with grief, they say,  
Grew blind, and falling, in a found she lay,  
Till coming to herself, she did upreare  
Her limbs from th' earth, with her dust soiled hair.  
Herself, and then her widowed house deploring,  
And oft her rob husband's name imploring.  
Grieving no less, than she had seen exspire  
Me or her child, or burn on Funeral fire.  
Within to dye, by death to ease her care,  
Though for my sake content her life to spare.  
Oh may she live, to help her absent mate,  
Sith thus to part it is our luckless fate.  
The 
1 B●●tes or Arctophylax. Astorme.  keeper of the bear's now steeped ith'maine,  
And with his star doth the Sea waters stain.  
Yet we against our wills in sunder cleave,  
Th' Ionian Sea: but 
2 Of Caesar● auger.  fear doth courage give.  
Woes me, how black the Seas with Tempests grow,  
And sands wax hot fetched from their channels low!  
The waves as high as mountains o'er our ship,  
Both Deck, and Stern, and painted gods, do skip.  
The Cables crack, the Pinetree 
3 Planks.  joints rebound,  
The very Keel doth to our woes resound.  
The Pilot waxing pale doth fear bewray,  
Yields to the storm, and lets the vessel stray,  
And as a Rider, striving long in vain,  
With his stiffnecked Steed, yields up the rain,  
So did our Pilot leave the ship to sail,  
Not where he would, but as the winds prevail,  
So that if Aeolus cause them not to change,  
We sure to some forbidden coast shall range.  
For leaving on our left th' Illyrian lands,  
Still in our gaze forbidden Italy stands.  
Oh let's not still to coasts forbidden 
4 Tend.  wend,  
But let the Sea, with me to Caesar 
5 i. Stoop or yield.  bend.  
Yet while I speak, and wishing fear a nay,  
How fiercely on our ship the billows play?  
At least you 
6 Sea Good▪  Azure Gods some pity show,  
Let it suffice that 
m Caesar.  joves' my cruel foe.  
Save you a tired soul from cruel death,  
If a lost man may beg a lingering breath.    

ELEGY. 4.  
He writes unto a friend, Argu. who faithful still  
Continued, though his fortune proved ill.  

Dear friend whom I must mention after none,  
Who tookst to heart my fortune as thine own:    


If gentle Reader, thou shalt not despise me.  
And this Hexasticke take with thy good grace,  
And on the Forefront of that volume place.  
Who ever shall this Orphan writing find,  
Within your City give it harbour kind. 
S●e verse● to 〈◊〉 ●et before the M●●a●u.   
The rather cause the Father did not vent it,  
But from his sunerall friendly hands have rend it.  
Had Fortun● giv●n him time to see it ended  
The saults of this rude Poem had been ●●ended.    

ELEGY. 7  
He sharply chides a friend who saithlesse proved, Argu  
Now ●n's assliction, when it least beboved.  

River's shall backward to their fountains flow:  
〈…〉 with Horses turned, shall Eastward go.  
〈…〉 shall bear, the heavens shall Plowshare seele  
〈…〉 burn, and fire shall waters yield,  
〈…〉 shall cross to nature's order go.  
〈…〉 world his wont course shall know.  
〈◊〉 impossible we'll easy deem,  
〈…〉 ab●●rd, most probable esteem.  
〈…〉 ●ince one hath me deceived,  
B● whom I hoped now t'have been relieved.  
〈…〉 couldst thou so soon forget thy friend?  
Not da●●●● one poor visit to him lend?  
〈…〉 look or word of comfort send?  
Not 〈…〉 hard hearted man, 
〈…〉  mine hearse attend?  
〈…〉 that sacred 〈◊〉 of friendship slight  
〈…〉 and ba●e, and trample on't with spite?  
What 〈◊〉 been to have visited thy friend,  
〈◊〉 with grief, and some kind speeches lend?  
And, if 〈◊〉 ●●●dst no tears for his distress,  
Ye● 〈…〉 words with feigned grief express?  
At lest, 〈◊〉 ●●●●●gers did, ●is farewell give  
An● 〈◊〉 with public note, he long might live. 
span●   
And now ●●●ve viewed his drooping teerefull eyes,  
〈…〉 to be beheld in any wise?  
And 〈…〉 kindly take and give  
A fare, ●●lf, once for all while both do live.  
I 〈◊〉 much they did with whom no league I had,  
Who by their tears declared their hearts were sad.  
But thou and I in strictest bonds were tied,  
of swee●e convers● and ancient Love beside.  
My sports and serious matters thou didst know,  
And unto me thy sports and cares didst show:  
This was enough that we acquainted were,  
At Rome and called to merry meetings there.  
But these are all dispersed, into the wind.  
Drowned in Lethean waters out of mind.  
I think thou ne'er wast bred in 
1 Civil.  gentle Rome,  
(The City where my foot must never come)  
But in the craggy Rocks of Pontus rather:  
And some rough cliff of Scythia was thy Father.  
Hard veins of flint about thy heartstrings grow,  
And in th● breast doth seed of Iron flow.  
And she that 
2 Suekled.  nursed first thy tender age,  
Was sure some Tiger fierce of cruel rage.  
Yet (like a strangers) hadst thou ta'en my woe,  
Thou hadst not been impleaded as a foe.  
But seeing this is added to my losses,  
None of the least, of all my fatal crosses.  
That our first friendship once so well begun,  
Through thy default wants its perfection,  
Repai●e this breach of Love, that in the end,  
(Thy fault forgot) I may thy faith commend.    

ELEGY. 8.  
This Elegy doth to his friend complain, Argu.  
That vulgar spirits follow Fortune's train.  

WHo ere thou art that readest as a friend  
I wish thee happy fortune to thy end.  
Oh that for thee my prayers might much prevail,  
Which for myself cannot one jot avail.  
Thy fortune good, of friends thou shalt have plenty, 
A sentence.   
If times prove cloudy, they'll be very dainty,  
Behold how Doves to whited houses fly, Sim.  
But unto sordid turrets none doth hie.  
To empty garners Pismires never wend, Sim.  
And broken states can seldom find a friend.  
Who walks i'th' Sun, on him his shadow waits, Sim.  
The Sun once clouded this doth vanish straight.  
So fickle vulgars' follow Fortune's light,  
Which once oreclouded, they soon take their slight.  
I wish thou never find these sayings true, 
〈…〉.   
Though sad experience makes my bowels rue.  
For while I stood my house had great resort  
And was well known, though of no stately Port.  
But when 'twas shaken once, all were afraid,  
And hasting from the ruin no man stayed.  
Nor wonder I if men do lightning fear,  
Whose fires are wont to catch what ever's near.  
And yet a friend that firm in trouble proves,  
Even in an hated foe mild Caesar loves.  
And never blames (so is his nature kind)  
One that to's woeful friend bears constant mind.  
Thoas the Tyrant Pylades commended, 
〈…〉   
That his Or●stes he had so befriended.  
The constant friendship which Patroclus bore  
To great Achilles, Hector judged rare.  
They say th' infernal god liked wondrous well,  
That Theseus would attend his 
1 〈◊〉  friend to hell.  
Turnus ('tis like) his cheeks with tears bedewed,  
When once he heard what friendship Nisus 
2 To 〈…〉.  shown.  

3 〈…〉  Sorrow craves pity, which even foes approve,  
Woes me how few do these my sayings move!  
Yet is the state of my misfortune such,  
That in compassion none can weep too much.  
However though my times are wondrous bad,  
At thy preferment (friend) I am right glad  
Which long ago, me thought, I did foreknow,  
While on thy bark a smaller gale did blow.  
For if sweet manners and a spotless life  
Have any worth, they are in none more rife.  
Or if th' ingenuous Arts have any raised;  
Thy skill in pleading causes is much praised.  
I noting this, did thus to thee presage,  
Thy dowries, friend, will claim 
4 A ●●g●● of 〈…〉  an ample stage.  
Nor did sheep's veins or lefthand thunder sh●w it,  
Nor tongues or wings of birds did cause me know it.  
Reason my Augury was, and happy gues●e  
Made me divine it, and proclaim no less.  
Which proving true, I joy myself and thee,  
That thy rare wit could not concealed be.  
As for mine own, would it had lain obscure,  
In darkest night, then had I lived secure.  
But as severer Arts have thee preferred,  
Th'other unlike to them, have me interred.  
And yet thou knewest my life, and that my 
1 My Books of Love.  Art  
Upon the Authors manners played no part.  
Thou know'st I made those pastimes being young,  
Which if blameworthy, but f●r jests were sung.  
And though 'tis true, my pen I then abused  
Yet do I think my faults may be excused.  
Make then thy fair excuse, abet thy friend  
So may good forture guide thee to the end.    

ELEGY. 9  
The praises of the Ship he doth display  
Wh●ch be taken up at the Corinthian Bay. Argu.  

Under M●ncrva's guard, my ship is blessed,  
And takes its title from her helmets crest.  
If sails we use, it scuds with smallest wind,  
Or if our Oa●es, 'twill never be be hind.  
And not content her Comtades to outrun,  
She'll coat the ships that erst their course begun.  
Assailing floods and billows she can bear,  
Nor doth she leak, or searching waters fear.  
At Corinth land of her I first had sight,  
True guide and partner of my fearful flight.  
And still through Pallas favour safe abideth,  
Although through rough and stormy Seas she rideth.  
Oh may she safely shoot vast Pon●●● haven.  
And enter Getticke barber's, which we 
2 Or wish to go to Ovid's vo●age described.  craven,  
Me first unto the He●e●po●t she brought,  
Where through the straits a tedious course she  
Then bending to the left where 
3 Astori● 〈◊〉  Tr●y did stand,  
We came to th' Harbour of the I●●brian land.  
Thence by Zerinthu● shore, with slowest pace.  
Our weary ship did touch on 
4 Th●●●● 〈…〉  Samot●●●●.  
Hence to Stantirum one may quickly wend;  
So far our ship her Master did attend.  
But I on foot would through Bistonia travel,  
And she now left the Hellesponticke gravel,  
And to Dardania went of Dardan smiled,  
And thence to Lampsac whereon 
〈◊〉 O● 〈…〉 pasture  Pan hath smiled.  
So to the Fret surnamed from Helle drowned  
Where Sestos from A●ydos is disjoined.  
From thence ●o 
2 〈…〉  Cyzi●●s (nigh Propontis placed)  
Watch by th' Aemoni●n founder's much is graced.  
Then, where B●zantium joins to Pontus' jaws,  
And makes the ample Portall of two Seas.  
These let her conquer and with Southwinds borne  
Pass the Cyanean Island-creckes untorne.  
Then by the Enochian bays, and P●oebus town,  
Under Anchialus walls 
3 〈…〉  may the ride sound.  
Thence by Mesembriack Ports, pass she the Towers,  
That take their name from Bacchas drunken powers.  
And by the exiles at 
4 〈…〉  Alcathoe bred,  
Who here are said to rest their weary head.  
Thence, at Miletis let her safe arrive,  
Whether th'off●nd●d 
5 〈…〉  god my course doth drive.  
This if Min●rua grant, a Lamb shall dye,  
My wealth a greater offering cannot bu●.  
And you 
6 〈…〉  Tindarian brethren 
7 〈…〉  here adored,  
Your aid for both our ships is now implored.  
For, th'one through th' high Sympl●gades is bound,  
And th'other ploweth the Bistonian sound.  
Command (sith we to several coasts do wend)  
Each ship have wind to serve her to her end.    

ELEGY. 10.  
Here to the courteous Reader is diselosed, Argu.  
That this First book in's Voyage was composed.  

THis Book, yea every Verse thou readest here,  
Were made in travel, and the time of fear.  
Some part I wrote on th' Adriaticke water.  
When cold December made my teeth to chatter.  
And part when I had 
8 〈…〉  got my second ship,  
And past the Isthmos that two Seas doth split.  
That I amid Sea-roaring verses pheased,  
I think the Aegaean Cycladeses were amazed.  
Myself admire, how I my wits could find  
Amid such tempests both of sea and mind.  
Whether this 
1 of Poetry.  study maze or madness be,  
From other cares, I'm sure it set me free.  
Oft by the showry 
2 Hoedi.  kids my mind was beaten,  
And oft the 
3 Steropes sta● four quart 〈◊〉 of heave●.  Pleyades made the Seas to threaten.  
Now the Beares-keeper made the day light dark,  
And th' Hyadeses caused the watery Southwinds shark,  
Oft part o'th' Sea got in: yet still I draw,  
With trembling band, these verses though but raw.  
Even now our cables stretched with northwinds' cracks  
And seas do rise, like mountain's swelling backs,  
The Pilot lifting up his hands to th'sky's,  
Forgetting quite his Art, for succour cries.  
Where ere I look, death's Image doth dismay,  
Which makes me doubting fear, and fearing pray.  
Yet should I gain the Port that would affray me,  
For of the twain, the Land doth more dismay me.  
Dangers from Seas and men at once I bear,  
Both sword and waters cause my double fear.  
I fear, lest th'one should catch his bloody prey,  
And th'other claim my last and fatal day.  
On our left hand lo barbarous robbers dwell,  
Who save in blood and wars are never well.  
And though the seas through winter's storms dowar  
Yet are the others breasts more raging fare,  
The rather, gentle Reader, shouldst thou bear,  
If thou beneath thy hope find verses here.  
They were not penned as erst, in garden's shade,  
Where on my wont 
4 Couch.  bed, my body laid.  
But tossed on winter Seas I'm rudely dashed,  
And with salt waters are my papers washed.  
Cold winter stormeth disdaining I should dare  
To Scribble verses, whilst he threatneth fear.  
Let winter conquer: yet, at once, I pray,  
As I my Verse, let him his fury stay.    
Here endeth the first Book, containing 744. Verses.   

LIB. 2.  

ELEGY.  
This Book one single Elegy contains,  
Whirein to great Augustus he complains. Argu.  

Avaunt from me my Books, unhappy care  
Who for my wit, poor wretch, have paid full dear.  
Why to my blamed Muse do I return me?  
And touch again the fire, which once did burn me?  
'Twas Poetry made men and women long  
To know me, and this fame hath done me wrong.  
'Twas Verse made Caesar to suspect me still  
And fear my manners, for this hateful skill.  
Bate me my study, and my crimes are bated,  
My Verses I may thank that I am 
1 〈…〉.  hated,  
here's the reward my toiling life hath gained  
That for my wit I smart and am disdained.  
Had I been wise, I had the Muses hated,  
As powers that make their Worshipper be rated.  
But now so mad is my Poetic vein.  
I dash my foot at the same rock again.  
Like foiled Fencer, still the stage 
2 〈…〉.  re●nt●ing,  
Or wracked ship on swelling Seas 
3 Reviewing.  still venturing.  
Perhaps (as once befell 
4 T●l●ph●● whom Achilles 〈◊〉 hurt and ●●aled.  Teuthra●i●s King)  
One thing to me may wound and medicine bring.  
My Muse that stirred, may calm his kindled rage,  
Verses incensed gods do oft assuage.  
Caesar himself th' Italian dames did charge,  
To towered Ops their Verses to enlarge,  
To Phoebus too, what time 
5 〈…〉  he brought oth'stage  
The Plays which come once only in an age.  
By these examples Caesar, I thee pray,  
My wit the fury may in part allay.  
Thine anger's just, I'll not my guilt deny,  
My face hath not so fare lost modesty.  
But had I never sinned, what couldst thou yield?  
My guilt affords thy mercy fairest field.  
Should jove as oft as men offend, let fall  
His arrows, he long since had spent them all,  
But when with thunders he the world doth scare  
He straight uncloudeth and makes clear the air.  
Hence he is still the Gods both sire and King,  
Nor can the world of joves' coequal sing.  
Now since Rome's King and Father is thy name  
As well as joves', for mercy be the same.  
And so thou art; ne'er Prince of any Nation, 
Caesar's clemenc●   
Did wield his Sceptre with more moderation.  
Oft hast thou spared the Parthians overcome,  
Who conquering would have given thee harder doom.  
With wealth and honour thou dost some adorn,  
Who 'gainst thy sacred head have weapons borne.  
One day both war and peace in thee hath wrought,  
And to the gods both parts have presents brought.  
And as to quell their Foes, thy men were glad:  
Even so thy conquered enemies were not sad.  
My cause is better fare, being ne'er accused  
Mine Arms against my Liege to have abused.  
I swear by Sea and Land, by heaven above  
By thee a present and conspicuous jove.  
This 
1 Soul.  heart hath favoured thee as most Divine  
And to my power I was wholly thine.  
I prayed that thou mightst late ascend the sky,  
Still making one with one that thus did cry.  
And for thine health, Incense devoutly spent  
And to the Public votes my Prayers lent.  
Those very Books which first procured me blame  
In thousand places chant thy sacred name.  
And read my greater work, not yet complete  
Which doth of bodies wondrous changes treat,  
Large praises of thy name, there shalt thou find,  
And many pledges of my loyal mind.  
Verses, 'tis true, make not thy glory greater,  
To which nought can accrue, to make it better.  
Yet love (whose fame surmounteth) takes delight  
When we, in Verse his glorious Acts indite.  
And when the Giants wars men do rehearse,  
'tis like he joyeth in their praising Verse.  
Thy fame there are which chant with lofty strain  
Whose larger quills thy praises high proclaim,  
And yet the gods as kindly incense take,  
As when the rich large 
1 A 〈◊〉 he of 〈…〉. Oxen.  Hecatombs do make,  
Ah! more than cruel was that foe to me,  
Who first my wanton lines did read to thee.  
Or else my Poems, which thine honour spread,  
Might with more candid censure have been read.  
But thou once angry, who dare friendship show,  
I almost to myself 
2 〈…〉  was turned foe,  
When once a crazed house gins to reel,  
The weight o'th' whole, the sliding parts do feel.  
And when by some mischance the wall doth rend,  
The weight itself make all to ruin bend.  
So when thou frownedst, men 'gan wrest my Books  
To hatred, and with thee, to change their looks.  
And yet there was a time, thou didst approve  
My life, and gav'st an horse in pledge of love.  
And though poor honesty got me little gain,  
Or honour, yet she kept me from just blame.  
Poor Clients causes were to me commended,  
Which 'fore the 
3 The Cent●● 〈…〉.  hundred judges I defended.  
And private matters I so fairly judged,  
That even the losing parties never grudged.  
And had I not at last, poor wretch offended,  
Even thou thyself wouldst still have me commended.  
This last undoes me: this one storm hath drowned  
My bark, which had so long escaped sound.  
Nor did some slender billow now distress me,  
But the whole Ocean did at once oppress me.  
Alas, why waste my luckless hap to see  
A fault at unawares to ruin me!  
Actaeon chanced Diana naked spy,  
Yet 
4 〈…〉.  by his hounds must poor Actaon dic,  
Belike though fortune did offend, not he,  
Even chan●e, against the gods must treason be.  
What day that fatal error me betrayed,  
A small, but yet a harmless house decayed.  
Yet, not so small, but in my father's days  
For best nobility it bore the praise.  
And, as not wealthy, so nor poort reputed,  
But in the middle rank of knight hood suited.  
Yet, had mine house for means or blood been small,  
My wit, I'm sure, hath made it known to all.  
Which, though too youth fully I used the same,  
Yet through the world doth bear a glorious Name.  
And even the learned sort have Naso known,  
Still ranking him with men of great renown.  
Lot then, this house thus by the Muses graced,  
By one great fault of mine is sore defaced.  
Yet not so false, but it may soon recover,  
If Caesar's fury like a storm blow over.  
Whose mercy in my punishment was such,  
That of my fear it hath abated much.  
For first, thy 
1 Censure.  sentence did my life forbear  
In boundless power, so dost thou mildness wear,  
Nay more, (as if the gift of life were small)  
Thou sparedst me nay goods to live withal.  
Nor by decree o'th' Senate was I sent,  
Or some deputed judge to banishment.  
But by thy Princely mouth, whom I offended,  
I was in sharp but royal sort condemned.  
Add, that thine Edict (though severe and stern)  
Yet gave my punishment a gentle term,  
I am not banished, but confined there by,  
My heavy doom in gentle terms doth lie,  
Indeed to one in's wits, no greater blow  
Can hap, then make so great a man 
2 His.  one's foe.  
Yet gods incensed, sometimes appeased are,  
A cloudy morning clears and proveth fair.  
Myself have seen an Elm with Grapes 
3 O●loces.  oppressed  
Which erst with Lightnings had been sore distressed,  
I therefore still will hope, though thou say nay,  
In this one matter I may disobey.  
When I thy mildness view my hope is great,  
Reflecting on my fault, it doth retreat.  
And as the Sea with winds and tempests torn, Sim.  
Are not with equal rage and fury borne,  
But now the winds abate and silent stay,  
〈…〉 rage away.  
So do my fears still varying ebb and flow,  
Now bid more hope for grace, and now say no.  
Which grace I beg, even by the gods above  
Who will prolong thy times, if Rome they love.  
And by thy Country which thou rendrest blessed,  
Where late I was a part amongst the rest.  
So mayst thou still the Cities love inherit,  
Which both thy mind and actions justly merit.  
So may the Gods thy Livia long preserve,  
Whom but thyself no Husband could deserve,  
And but for her, thou still shouldst single be,  
For none but Livia were a match for thee.  
So may thy 
1 〈…〉  Son be safe, and son and father  
Govern this happy Empire long together.  
And let thy 
2 Cai●● and 〈◊〉 ●o●s of 〈…〉 and 〈…〉  nephews (that are now a star)  
Count thine and Iuli●● acts i'th' calendar.  
So may Victoria to thy tents enured,  
Still to thine ensign fly by her secured. 
3 〈…〉.   
And hover o'er the Duke with wings outspread,  
Still deck with Laurel crownes his shining head,  
By whom thou wagest war, and dost commend  
Thy Gods and state as a most trusty Friend.  
Thus whilst one half of thee at Rome doth reign,  
Thy other half abroad doth wars maintain.  
So may he come victorious home, and ride.  
Through Rome in crowned chariot by thy side.  
O spare, I pray, those deadly darts lay down,  
Which to my sorrow I too long have known.  
O spare thou Pater Patriae, and let that name,  
Cherish my hopes to gain thy grace again.  
Nor do I sue, my exile were repealed  
Though greater suits no doubt, the gods have sealed,  
Grant me but milder exile nearer home,  
And it shall much assuage my heavy doom,  
Who now do suffer even the worst of woes  
Living so fare from home 'mong cruel foes.  
Posted to 
4 〈…〉  Ister's bank, (and none but I)  
And 〈…〉  
Where hardly can Danubius' waters deep  
The 
1 〈◊〉 colchi Meter. Geteses.  savage nations from our borders keep.  
And though for greater faults some banished lie,  
Yet no man's posted farther off than I.  
For there's beyond us nought but foes and cold,  
And frozen Seas detained in Icy hold.  
The Roman part of the 
2 2 See.  Euxine here is nigh,  
And next to us the fell Sarmatians lie,  
Here is the Roman Empires utmost bound,  
This land is scarce the margin of thy ground.  
This makes me crave a place of safer rest,  
Lest with a double woe I be oppressed,  
Exiled from home, and fearing to be made  
Captive to them whom Ister scarce hath stayed.  
Sith Law forbids a Roman should endure  
Barbarian chains, while Caesar lives secure.  
But now? what are the crimes that me oppress? 
Ovid's faul●●.   
My verse and error: This I must suppress.  
I dare not open Caesar's wound again,  
Whom, 'tis my grief, that once I put to pain.  
Th'other remains, wherein I'm sore accused  
That I my pen to teach uncleanness used.  
I see that heavenly breasts may be deceived, 
Ovid's defence of the second.   
And falsehood in small matters be believed.  
For as high jove employed in heavenly cares,  
Wants leisure to attend on flight affairs:  
So, whilst this lower world thou dost dispense,  
Small matters may escape thy Royal sense. 
Non 〈◊〉.   
For what? shouldst thou a Potentate find leisure  
To road my verses, of 
3 ●. Elegiac verses. H●●aepent.  unequal measure?  
The weight o'th' Roman Empire's not so light,  
Nor is the burden on thy neck so slight,  
That thou shouldst bend thy powers to wanton rhymes,  
Or deign to overlook my foolish lines.  
Now Hungary, than Illyria thou must tame.  
R●tters and Thracians now rebel again.  
The Armenian calls for peace: the Parthians stand  
With bended bows, and ensigns in their hand.  
Thy Prowess, in thy 
1 Tiberins.  Son the Germans feel,  
Young Caesar making Caesar's Foes to reel.  
And (though our Empire never was so wide)  
Thy care permits no part thereof to slide.  
Of city and of Laws thou takest care,  
And framest our manners by thy pattern rare.  
Thou givest the Nation's rest, but takest none;  
And with thy foes thy wars are never done.  
Amid such mass of cares, how thou hadst time,  
I wonder much, to read my merry Rh●me.  
Yet had thy mind (would God it had) been free,  
Nought in my Art had then offended thee. 
H●● Books of Love.   
'Tis true, 'twas not for graver judgements penaed,  
Nor for thy reading did we them intent:  
And yet they nothing teach, that cresseth law,  
But rather keep the Roman 
2 Wives.  Dames in awe.  
And that thou mayst not doubt to whom I wrote,  
th'th' first of those three Books these Verses note. 
First book of the Art of Love.   
‛ Avaunt ye Matrons who chaste veils do bear,  
" And bordered gowns down to the ankles wet,  
" Of none but lawful 'scapes of love I sing,  
My verse allows of no unlawful thing.  
Have I not banished from my 
3 Art.  Book all such,  
Whose veil and robe forbidden all wanton touch? Object.  
But yet some Matron may abuse mine Art,  
And draw that is another's to her part.  
Then let her nothing read, Ans. 1 she may incline,  
And turn to sin what ever she doth find.  
Read what she will (if she be ill-disposed)  
Her manners thence, will be to vice composed.  
Let her the Annals take (though most severe)  
How Ilia proved with child, she findeth there.  
If she the Aeneads read she searcheth there,  
How Venus did our Sire Aeneas bear.  
In fitterplace, I'll show, how every kind  
Of writing may corrupt a vicious mind.  
Yet may not Books be blamed or clean refused,  
Nothing so useful, Examples. 1 but may be abused.  
Fire though most needful, yet do serve the turn  
Of desperate bout fewes that houses burn.  
physic which health doth bring, oft health destroys,  
●eaching what herbs are good, and what annoys.  
●oth honest men, and thiefs themselves do arm,  
●●'one for defence, the other to do harm.  
The skill of pleading causes in distress,  
〈◊〉 doth defend the wrong and right oppress.  
〈◊〉 so my verse, who reads with honest mind,  
Doubtless therein shall nothing hurtful find.  
〈◊〉 who takes 
1 Hatme.  hurt thereby, himself must shent,  
Wresting m● words to that they never meant.  
〈◊〉 But be it true: then seeing public plays, Ans. 2  
●eeld seeds of vice, take Stages clean away.  
The field of Mars where sundry sports are used,  
●s b● too many unto lust abused.  
Down with the Circus too: there danger bides,  
And many a maid sits by a stranger's side.  
And why are 
2 O pe● wall ● port cas.  Galleries allowed to walk,  
Where with their lover's maids do meet and talk,  
Nay leave 
3 Even.  the sacred Temples unfrequented,  
Where wanton wits have tricks of love invented.  
In loves own house she standing, oft doth muse,  
How jove himself did many Maids abuse.  
And while in Juno's Temples they adore,  
Thinks how the Goddess doth her 
4 Harlot's ●t Moths.  wrongs deplore.  
And seeing Pallas, fears she went astray,  
Because Er●chthon she did hide away.  
Coming to Mars his 
5 Tua numina.  Temple o'er the door,  
She Vulcan spies, and Venus Mars his whore.  
Sitting in I s●● house asks why and how.  
〈◊〉 transformed Io to a Cow.  
When Venus and Anchises she doth see,  
She questions what may their relation be?  
Of Ceres with Jasius? of the Moon,  
And her perpetual mate Endymion?  
All these may serve a wanton mind to stain,  
Yet all these Statues in their place remain.  
And my first page all honest hands removes  
Fare from my Art 
6 〈◊〉.  writ for mere Harlots loves.  
If any one presume beyond the bind,  
The Pefest assigns, she strait is guilty found.  
Nor is't a crime to read a wanton book, Ans. 3  
On more than they may do, the chaste may 
1 Read.  look.  
Grave Matrons of severest brow survey,  
Statues which various shapes of lust display.  
And vestal Virgins naked 
2 Of Harlot's.  Pictures view  
For which the cunning workmen never rue,  
Yet why should I, that loser vein approve?  
Or writ a book, Object. t'entice too wanton love?  
It was my fault, 'tis plain; I must confess,  
Herein my wit and judgement did transgress. Ans.  
Why close I not to wri●e the Trojan war? Object.  
And after Homer fetch the Greeks' from fair?  
Why not the war of Thebes, whose sevenfold 〈◊〉,  
Were died with brother's blood through mortal here?  
Even warlike Rome an ample field afforded,  
I had well done, her acts to have recorded.  
And Caesar wh●n thy merits so abounded  
Some part thereof I ought to have resounded.  
And as the Sun's bright rays all eyes invite;  
So should thy deeds have drawn my Muse to write.  
The blame is causeless, for that spacious field,  
Requires more stock than my poor farm would yield Ans.  
For though a cockbote on the lake may enter  
Yet may she not on the main S●a adventure.  
And though perhaps I find my ssender vein  
To to yes and lighter numbers may attain,  
Yet shouldst thou bid me write the Giant's war,  
That weighty work, my strength would master 〈◊〉,  
It is for happier wits to sound thy facts,  
Whose losty strain can reach thy glorious acts.  
This I attempted once, but straight recoiled.  
I saw thy worth was by my scribbling spoilt.  
Then to my youth full verse did I reci●e,  
And wrote of love, although with feigned fire.  
I did not mean it, yet my destiny drew me,  
To show my wit, in that which overthrew me.  
Woes me! why was I set to S●ftoole? or why  
Did tempting Books bew●ch my curious eye?  
This vein procured thy hate, through hard mistr●●  
Mr Art was penned to kindle lawless lust.  
Yet I to Wives no stolen Delights permitted,  
How could I teach what I had ne'er committed?  
And though some Amorous verses I did frame,  
Yet so, as ill report ne'er touched my name.  
Nor is there any married man at all,  
That can for me his child in question call,  
Trust me, my verse and manners disagree,  
My life is modest, though my Muse be free.  
And of my Works the greater part is feigned,  
And takes such licence as my 
1 〈◊〉  life disdained.  
Nor doth once book the Authors mind display, Ans.  
An honest muse to please men's cares will play.  
Else Terence were a glutton: Accius fell:  
And they, all Soldiers, that of battles tell.  
Lastly, not I alone Lovesongs have framed,  
Though I alone am for Love-sonnets shamed. Ans.  
What doth the Teian Lyricke-father sing. 
〈◊〉.   
But Venus Toys, and Baochus revel?  
What taught the Lesbian Sapph but to love?  
Yet did no censure him or her reprove.  
Nor thou 
2 The sun●● 〈◊〉  Challimachus, whose Rhymes relate  
Thine own delights, didst ever purchase hate.  
Pleasant 
3 a Com●●●. 〈◊〉.  Menander's plays with love are fraught,  
And yet to boys and girls Menander's taught.  
What are the Iliads, but a shameless 
4 Hele●●  whore,  
For whom her Lord and Lover fought in gore?  
Which first gins with 
5 The E●●●tter of Cory●●●.  Briseis burning love,  
For whom Achilles and the 
6 Agamem●●t  General strove.  
What's the Ody●●ee, but contentious strife,  
Of sundry suitors for Ulysses' wife?  
Yea Homer tells how Vulcan's snare descried  
Venus with Mars in lewd embraces tied.  
And but for Homer who should ever know  
That two great 
7 〈◊〉 Calypso.  Ladies loved Ulysses so.  
Of writings, Tragedies are the gravest verse  
Yet these of Cupid's matters still rehearse. 
Traged 〈◊〉   
Hippolytus was by's own fierce 
8 Ph●dia.  stepdame loved.  
And by her 
9 〈◊〉.  brother, Canace pregnant proved.  
Who drove the Chariot but the winged boy,  
When 
1 〈◊〉.  Helen's 
2 Meaelaus.  husband bore her back from Troy?  
'tis love enraged their frenzy doth constrain,  
When cruel mothers have their children slain.  
'Twas love that into birds 
3 Frogue and P●●●emela.  two sisters turned,  
With Tereus, whom incestuous passion burned.  
Had not Thyestes wronged his 
4 〈◊〉 wife A●●●●e.  brother's bed,  
The Sun had ne'er been feigned to hide his lead,  
Nor ere had S●ylla climbed the tragic stair,  
Had not her 
5 To 〈◊〉 Mino '  love cut off her 
6 〈◊〉 Nisut  father's hair.  
Who reads 
7 〈◊〉 fragedies.  Electra or Orestes, spies  
How Agamemnon by 
8 The adulte. ter to Clytem.  Aegysthus d●●s.  
Why name I 
9 Belleteph●n.  him that did Chimaera tame,  
By his deceitful 
1 Schenob●●.  hosteffe almost slaine?  
Or why Hermione? or the 
2 Aralanta.  ●imble maid?  
Or Phoebus' Nun, whose love a 
3 Of Mycenae.  Captain stayed?  
Or Danaus' fifity daughters? Baochus mother?  
Or joves' 
4 When he got Herens of Alemean.  two nights conjoined each to other?  
Or Pelias Son? or Theseus? or the Greeks',  
Who first arrived at Troy with Grecian sleet?  
Add Dole Pyrrhus' mother, Hercules' wife,  
Hylas, and Paris who set all at strife.  
But should I here pursue these Tragic flames,  
My book would scarce contain their empty names.  
Thus Tragedy to wanton laughters bends,  
And many shameful words 
5 〈◊〉 fice 〈◊〉 broadly.  obscenely spends.  
The Author's free, who stern Achilles frames,  
Softening his martial deeds with music strains.  
Nor yet was Aristides ere exiled,  
Though he his own and 
6 Of Maleton.  neighbours faults compled.  
Nor loser Eubius an historian vile,  
Who teaches how the fruit o'th' womb to spoil.  
Nor he that Sybaries of late composed;  
Nor they that have their own base lusts disclosed.  
Nay these i'th' public Libraries do stand  
For common use, by Benefactors hand.  
Nor do I only plead outlandish Authors,  
Our Roman books of liberty are Fautors.  
For as great Enquis doth of wars discourse,  
(Whose wit is great although his art be course) 
Lucreti●●●   
And Lucrece doth explain with spirit of fire,  
How 
1 Three priaciples. Catullut.  three first causes to the world conspire.  
So doth Catullus of his Mistress sing,  
And under Lesbias' name, her praises ring.  
Not socontent, his muse doth nothing shame,  
His own and others whoredoms to proclaim.  
And no whit less is little Calvus bold, 
Calvus.   
In various kinds his looseness to unfold. 
Ticidas. Memmius.   
Of Ticidas and Memmius I might tali●●,  
Whose tongues of foulest matters loosely walk. 
Ciona. Auser. Cornisicius. Cato.   
And like to these, Cinna and Anser do,  
And Cornificius and Cato too.  
And he that lately feigned Perilla's name,  
But as Metellus now doth own the same. 
Metellus.   
He likewise that of jasons' voyage singes,  
Can not conceal his own ftolne wanton. 
Horre●sius● Servius.   
Hortensius too, and Servius are as bad,  
And who but fear, that such examples had?  
Sisenna Aristides hath translated, 
Sisen●●.   
And in his story filthy jests related.  
And Gallus too unblamed, doth praise his wench. 
Oallus. Lycvile.   
Save that his tongue runs over, on's tavern bench.  
Tibullas writes. he'll trust no woman's oath,  
She'll gull her husband when she breaks her troth, 
Tibulles.   
He trains them how their Keeper to beguile,  
(Yet swears himself is cozened by that wile)  
And how soft touches of her hand to steal,  
Making excuses to her Ring or Seal,  
And how he talked by privy marks sometimes,  
And on the table drew his 
2 Secret.  circled fignes.  
What supple oil will that sam● blueness cure,  
Which to their lips much kissing doth procure,  
And how 
3 Or she  he oft the wittol hus band prays.  
To look more strictly to hi● and his 
4 Ways.  strays.  
He tells her how to know his drawing near,  
When the dog barks, or she doth coughing bear●.  
Many such slippery tricks his writings teach  
How women may their husbands overreach.  
Yet is Tibullus safe, nay read and known,  
And since thou cam'st toth' Crown is famous grown.  
Thou'lt find the same Propertius wanton vein, 
〈…〉   
Yet doth no blame his reputation stain.  
These I succeeded; for good manners will  
I should suppress their names are living still.  
God knows I little feared to suffer wrack,  
Where all these ships had made a common track.  
Others have published now the Art of dice, 
〈…〉.   
Which in your fatl●ers days was held a vice. 
〈…〉   
And teach to make the Cockbones higher run,  
And how the losing casts and blanks to shun●  
And how to cog and strike the nimble die,  
To run the chance that you may gain thereby.  
And how at chest, 
〈…〉  a winning battle make,  
And play your men where none may vantage take.  
And how the painted Soldier walks his Line,  
But he is lost whom two oe's foes entwine.  
And Low to chase, how to retire, and then  
To back and second still your man again.  
Others the childish game of three stones show, 
〈…〉   
Where he doth win that ranks them on a row,  
Others at other games do teach to play,  
Whereby we spend our precious ●oures away.  
I his man the Art of Tennis play doth write,  
Th'other of Tops, the third of swimming slight.  
Here one the skill of painting faces Prints,  
Th'other the laws of Cooks and feasts invents.  
A third, the best Potmetrall doth assign,  
And which doth best set forth the sparkling wine.  
These are the sporting gains of cold Decomber, 
〈…〉   
Which all men sus●ly write, an I remember.  
These of my many Verses were the cause,  
But to my sweet meats I h●ve bitter sauce:  
Of all these Writers, lo, I see not one,  
Whose Muse bath broke his back, b●● mine alone:  
If I had 
● W●●to●acts of Co●edy.  Mimics paved, of Scurrile stoine,  
Which 〈◊〉 Lust and Ribaldry contain,  
Wherein the Adultrer bornes the Husband's head,  
And crafty Wives abuse their Husband's bed,  
Both young and ol●, both Ma●ons, Men and Maids,  
And many Senators would have soene them played.  
Yet there with brothe● words the ears are tainted,  
And the eyes with shameful objects are acquainted.  
And when the Husband slily is deceived,  
The Poet is with great applause received.  
Yea even the worse he writes, the more his gains,  
The Praeior dearest pays for losest strames.  
Look over, Caesar, thine accounts of Plays, 
Ludi Angustales.   
For many such t●y free Exchequer pays.  
These thou beholdest, and bringst to public view,  
So dost thou Majesty and mildness show.  
Yea with those eyes, by which the world doth see,  
Hast graced these Scenicke 
1 Whoredoms  sleights, with merry glee.  
If then these Mimics lewd men safely write,  
Why might vot I my chaster verse indite?  
Or is't their stage which doth these bawds excuse? Object.  
And warrants them to vent their Scurrile muse?  
So have my Poems both been danced and sung Ans.  
In Caesar's presence, with applause and throng.  
And as within thy palace there do stand  
The ancient Worthies wrought by cunning hand:  
So there's a little Table hanging by,  
Which various forms of venery doth descry.  
And as there Ajax sits in rageful guise,  
And fierce Medea with her murdering eyes,  
Even so moist Venua dries her dropping hair,  
As naked from the Sea she doth repair,  
Others do sing of Mars, and bloody scars,  
And sound thy kindred, and thy valiant wars.  
Me envious nature scants, and thought it fit  
To measure me a weak and slender wit.  
And yet thy Virgil, who wi●h happy skill, 
Virgil.   
Composed the AEneids, hath not thought it ill  
To bring his 
2 Ar●●● edrunque. ●  man at arms to Dido's bed,  
And this of all his work is ostnest read.  
Nay in his youth, he sporting sung of Phyllis,  
In pleasant Eclogues, and sweet Amarillis. 
〈◊〉.   
Besides, my fault is done, and passed long since,  
And now I sufter for an old offence.  
My book was written, when on horseback I  
Before thee 
1 〈◊〉 no●nten.  than Rome's Censor passed by.  
What I a young man wrote, 
2 And thought  free and secure,  
For these, now I am old, I smart endure.  
My 
3 Account.  childish book is now revenged too late,  
I suffer for a fault that's out of date.  
Nor think that all my works are light and vain,  
Oft I have laboured in an higher strain.  
The Roman Calendar and feasts I wrote,  
Where every book a several month doth note,  
That work I sacred to thy Princely name,  
Though fate forbids me to conclude the same.  
I penned a regal Tragedy one while,  
In lofty words which suit a Tragic style. 
Meta●otphoit●s.   
Then wrote of changed shapes with great delight,  
Which work perfection wants through fortune's spite  

4 O would.  Would God thine anger would so fare abate,  
As but to hear what I do there relate.  
How from the time the infant world begun,  
To Caesar's days I have thy story spun.  
There thou shalt see how thou hast given me miglt,  
And with what favour I thy praises write.  
Nor vex I any man with bitter gall,  
My verses are not Satyre-toothed at all,  
My geutle vein all brinish girds detests.  
Nor would I any man with venome-jests,  
Mongst all the throngs of People, none is found,  
whom my 
5 My 〈◊〉.  Calliope, but myself doth wound.  
There's not a ●oman then, as I believe.  
Rejoices at my fall, but thousands grieve,  
I think there's no man triumphs at my fall.  
That doth my Candour to remembrance call,  
Oh let these reasons then with many more, 
The 〈◊〉   
Thy mind assuage, thy mercy I implore  
O thou thy Country's Father, care, and friend  
On whom the public safety doth depend.  
Nor is't my suit, I may return again,  
And yet thou mayst at length repent my pain,  
I only safer place of exile crave,  
That mine offence may equal censure have.    
The end of the second Book, containing 584, verses.   

LIB. 3.  

ELEGY, 1.  
Here to the Reader, doth the Book complain, Argu.  
How being strange it met with much disdain.  

Lo I an Exiles book do trembling come,  
Sent from my Master now to visit Rome:  
And being tired quite, by sea and land,  
Reader, I crave safe harbour in thine hand.  
Not fear lest I should work thee any shame,  
This paper doth 
1 No verse of Love.  not one Love-verse contain.  
Nor were it for my Master's fortune fit,  
He should disguise it by a jesting wit.  
Those wanton lines his greener youth did vent,  
He now (alas, too late) doth sore repent.  
See what I bring: here's nought but mourning lines  
And verses suiting well my dismal times,  
And that each other verse doth halting go, 
In peuta ●etets   
Shorr feet and journey's length do cause it so.  
And that no trimming doth my leaves adorn,  
It is because my Master's all for lost.  
And that my Letters are distained with blots,  
Mine Author's tears have made these frequent spots.  
If any words thou scarce dost understand.  
Know they were written in a barbarousland.  
Now tell me, gentle Readers, where to go.  
Some place of harbour to a stranger show.  
Thus having closely spoke, with stammering tongue,  
I scarce found one would say, come go along.  
God grant thee in thy Country happy life,  
And much unlike my Master's void of strife.  
Led on before, He follow as I may,  
Tired with travail, and a tedious way.  
Then on he went, there's the Law Court quoth he, 
Fota. Via sacta.   
And this the holy street, where now we be.  
That's Vesta's Temple with her sacred fire:  
In this small court old Nu●●a did retire.  
There on the right hand, stnads the Palace gate, 
●orts 〈◊〉   
There Romulus first did found the Romanstate,  
Wondering at all, I goodly bus●●dings spy,  
Where glistering arms adorned the Porc●es high.  
Doubtless quoth I, this is the house of jove,  
These Oaken garlands my conjecture move.  
Saith he, 'tis Caesar's, both are true quoth I,  
For Caesar shares with love in Majesty.  
But why do Laurel boughs these Porches shade? 
The Triumphant Lawtell. Civica corova.   
And circling garlands of the Laurel made?  
Is't cause this house deserves triumphant Rayer?  
Or 'tis most dear unto the 
1 Apollo god of learring and Pootry.  god of bays?  
Or cause it keeps and makes a joyful feast?  
Or doth it note the public peaceful rest?  
Or that this royal house shall flourish ever,  
Even as the Bay doth fresh and green persever?  
And lo the Motto o'er the wreath engraved,  
Shows how his subjects by his power are saved,  
To all the rest (mild Caesar) add one more,  
Who lies expulsed on the Geticke shore.  
The cause of whose distress, though justly due,  
From no offence but from his error grew.  
Woes me! this Princely Palace makes me quake,  
And every Letter through my fear doth shake.  
See how the bloodless paper waxeth pale,  
And how each other verses feet do fail.  
O yet at length let me this palace see:  
To my dear Master reconciled be.  
From thence to Phoebus' Temple we repair,  
By the ascent of many a stately stair.  
Where stand in statues made of sorraine stone,  
The fifty daughters of on● 
2 〈…〉  Sire alone.  
And there lie open to the public view,  

3 〈…〉  Learning's brave monuments both old and new.  
Here I my brethren sought, excepting those,  
Which brought their Father to these endless woes.  
But whilst in vain I sought a little space,  
The keeper thrust me from that sacred place.  
Thence to the Temple I repair that's joined  
Close to the Theatre, but cold welcome find.  
For from the common Libraries outward 
4 〈…〉  yard,  
Where learned Authors stand I am debarred.  
Our father's fortune we his Sons inherit,  
And suffer th' exise which himself did merit.  
Caesar pethaps when time alleys his mind,  
Both unto us and him will prove more kind.  
Subscribe ve Gods to this my earnest call,  
But chiefly Caes●r greatest God of all.  
For to invoke the vulgar gods were vai●e.  
Whose favour cannot fre● me from my pain.  
Mean while since public stations are denied me,  
Let me within some private corner hide me.  
And take me, me●ne Plebeians, in your hand,  
Who, 
1 〈…〉  being repulsed, do confounded s●and.    

ELEGY. 2.  
Our Poet here his exile doth deplore, Argu.  
Desiring Death would open its Iron door.  

WAs it my destiny then the Scytheses to see,  
Whose Zenith is the Northern Axletree:  
And would not you sweet Muses, nor Apollo,  
Help him who still your learned rites did follow:  
Nor could my harmless verses me excuse:  
And life more serious than my jesting muse.  
But having suffered sore by sea and land,  
I'm now exposed to Pontus' frozen strand.  
Yea I, who still myself from cares withdrew,  
Loved quiet case, hard labour never knew,  
Do now endore the very worst of ill,  
And neither travel nor rough Seas can kill.  
Yea and my mind holds out, and still I find  
My body gathers hardness from my mind.  
Whilst I was sailing towards mine exile,  
I did with verse my fears and cares beguile, 
My laboured   
But to my journey yes end once being come,  
The resting place of mine appointed doom,  
I fell to tears which from mine eyes did slow,  
L●ke waters running from the vernal snow.  
Then Rome and house & friends came fresh to mind,  
And all the comforts I had left behind.  
Woes me! that at the woeful gate o'th' grave,  
So oft I knock yet can no entrance have!  
O why have I so ●st escaped the sword?  
And raging tempests will no death a●●ord?  
Ye gods, that prove too constant in your ire,  
And in revenge with Caesar still conspire,  
I pray you hasten on my lingering sat,  
And cause my grave to open her closed gate.    

ELEGY. 3.  
Argu. He lets his wife his sickness understand,  
And craveth burial in his native land.  

Dear Wife if thou cost all amazed stand,  
My letter's written with a stranger's hand,  
Know I am sick in utmost parts, and lie,  
Exceeding doubtful of recovery.  
What comfort, thinkest thou, can poor Ovid take,  
Among these direful Geteses and Sauromates?  
Whose nature doth not with this air agree,  
Nor doth their soil or water's suit with me,  
Mine house is poor, God knows, my diet bad,  
And for mine health no Physic can be had.  
No friend to comfort, or by night or day,  
With good discourse to pass the hours away.  
But lying sick in solitary wise,  
My musing thoughts on many things devise.  
But thou, my dearest Wife, within my breast,  
The chiefest place dost hold, above the rest.  
For on thine absent name my tongue doth walk,  
Of thee alone both night and day I talk.  
Yea even when sickness doth distract my wits,  
They say I talk of thee in raving fits.  
Nay should I deadly faint, and sound so sore,  
That scarce hot water could my speech restore.  
Yet knowing thou wert come, I should revive:  
Thy very presence would new vigour give,  
But whilst I here in doubt of life do lie,  
Thou knowing nought, perhaps liv'st merrily.  
No, no, I am resolved that thou dear wife,  
I being absent leadest a mourner's life.  
Yet, if my thread of life the fates have spun,  
And that my term of years 
I● almost 〈…〉  must shortly come.  
Grant me a dying man, O Gods, to have,  
Within my native soil a sorry grave.  
Mine exile might till death have been delayed,  
Or sudden death my banishment have stayed.  
Oh happy death, while I did upright stand  
Now must I perish in a foreign land.  
And must I thus fare off resign my breath?  
Where even the place adds sorrow to my death?  
And languish thus on an unwonted bed  
Where none shall mourn over my dying head?  
Nor yet thy tears upon my face may fall  
Which might my fleeting soul a while recall?  
Nor may I make a will? nor with sad cries,  
Some friendly hand close up my dying eyes!  
But without funeral tears or honoured grave,  
Vild barbarous earth shall this my carcase have?  
This, when thou hearest, thou'lt be with grief oppressed  
And in great passion beat thy throbbing breast.  
Stretching thine hands towards these parts in vain,  
Still calling on thy husband's empty name.  
Yet spare to tear thy hair or cheeks for me.  
Who am not now first ta'en away from thee.  
Suppose me dead when I was banished first,  
That was my first decease, and fare the worst,  
Yea rather, if thou canst, Rejoice dear heart,  
That death will end at once my tedious smart  
At least, bear up thine heart, this well thou mayst,  
Having been so enured to evils passed.  
And would my soul might with my breath expire,  
And no part might survive my funeral fire.  
For if our spirits live when we are dead, 
We hold the soul immortal   
According to Pythagoras' holy read,  
My Roman soul with Geticke ghosts must wander.  
And 'mong those cruel spirits live a stranger.  
Yet let my bones be laid in some small urn,  
That after I am dead I may return.  
'tis not forbidden, this, and though it were,  
Her brother's corpse the Theban bid inter.  
Then in the Suburbs let them lie at rest,  
With flowers and spices having first been dressed.  
And grave these Verses plainly on my tomb,  
That all may read them as they pass along. 
Ovid's Epitaph   
I NASO, that erst wrote of wanton love,  
Lve here interred, my wit my bane did prove.  
Thou that hast been in Love and possessed by,  
Pray still that Naso's bones may softly lie:  
This is enough for that: my books will be.  
Aly livelier monument to posterity.  
They harmed me once, yet will they raise my name,  
And gain their Author an enduring fame.  
Present thou at my hearse due funeral Ritet,  
And let thy tears my garland all bedight,  
For though the fire my corpses to ashes burn,  
Yet will thy love be 
1 Pleasing.  grateful to my urn.  
I more would write but that my voice is spent,  
And tongue too dry to dictate what I meant,  
Take then my dying farewell: live in health,  
Which he that sends to thee, doth want himself.    

ELEGY. 4.  
He doth advise his friend, if he be wise, Argu.  
The acquaintance of the mighty to despise.  

MY ever loved friend, yet now best known,  
Since my estate was sunk and overthrown.  
If thou wilt credit thine experienced friend,  
Live private and from great ones thee defend.  
Live to thyself, and glistering gallants shun,  
From glistering Towers the cruel 
2 〈…〉  thunders come.  
For though the great have power to do us good,  
They'll sooner hurt than help us, as they should.  
The naked Sayleyard dreads no winter storms, Simil.  
But largest sails still meet with greatest harms,  
Thou seest how Cork doth on the water flow, Sim.  
When heavy lead doth sink the net below.  
Had I forewarned been of this in time,  
I had till now enjoyed Rome's happy clime.  
For whilst I sailed with thee, with gentle gale,  
Through quiet streams my Boat did safely sail,  
And he that falls by chance upon the plain, Sim.  
Falling but low may quickly Rise again, Exam.  
But poor Elpenor falling from on high,  
His wailing ghost Ulysses did espy.  
How wast that Daedalus wings did safely fly?  
When Icarus in the Sea doth drowned lie? Exam.  
The Son did fly aloft, the Father low,  
Whilst through the air with borrowed wings they 〈◊〉  
Trust me, the private life is most secure.  
Let every man within his bounds endure,  

1 Antomedon driver of Ach. Chariot.  Eumedes' Son had not untimely died,  
But that Achilles horses he would guide,  
Merops had not his scorched Son lamented,  
If 
2 Pha would be Son to Phoebus not to Merops, and was burnt.  Phaethon had with Merops' been contented.  
Beware, my friend how thou dost soar aloft,  
Contract thy sail, and curb thy aspiring thoughts,  
thou'rt worthy to enjoy a prosperous fate,  
And well deserv'st an inoffensive state.  
Which I to wish for thee, am ever bound,  
Whose faith I have so firm and constant found.  
For at my fall, I saw how thou didst mourn,  
Even as thine own and not another's turn.  
I saw thy tears which on my face did fall,  
And drank at once thy words and tears withal.  
And for thine absent friend dost labour still,  
To lighten somewhat his unbounded ill.  
Live without envy: and obscurely spend  
Thy quiet years: seek out for equal friends.  
And love thy Nasos name: that's all that's left,  
Vnbannished: Pontus the rest hath reft.  
A Land that lies next to the Northern 
3 Bear.  Pole.  
A land that's frozen with congealing cold.  
Beyond it Tanais and the Bosphor run,  
And a few places that are scarely known.  
Past which unhabitable cold doth lie,  
Woes me the end o'th' world should be so nigh.  
But Wife and Country dear are absent fare,  
And whatsoever else beloved are.  
All which, though to my sense they absent be,  
Yet in my mind I do them plainly see.  
My house, the City and each several place,  
And all their actions stand before my face.  
The Image of my wife, me thinks I see.  
Which doth increase and ease my misery.  
Her absence causeth grief, but then again  
It joves my heart she doth so 
4 loyal.  firm remain.  
And you my friends are fixed in my breast,  
Whose names I wish might safely be expressed.  
But wary fear my 
1 Doth my desire or good will.  duty doth restrain,  
I think yourselves do wish I should refrain.  
Indeed time was, when you well pleased were,  
That in my verse your names should still appear.  
But, (now I'm loath to give you cause of fear)  
I'll greet you in my thought but names forbear.  
Nor shall my verse disclose my secret friends,  

2 But let them.  So they will love me closely to the end.  
Yet know, though I from you be far remote,  
That you are never absent from my thought.  
O strive I pray to ease my grievous pain,  
And lend your hand to raise me once again,  
So may your fortune still continue blessed,  
Nor ever need to make the like request.    

ELEGY 5.  
Our Poet here one Charus doth commend. Argu.  
Who still had showed himself a steadfast friend.  

THe use of friendship 'twixt us two was small,  
Thou mightst affirm that it was none at all,  
Hadst thou not loved me with a faithful mind,  
Then when my ship did sail with prosperous wind  
But at my fall when all men shunned my wrack,  
And many seeming friends did turn their back,  
Yet thou wast bold, to come even to my door,  
My thunderstrucken fortune to deplore.  
Yea in our new acquaintance thou didst show,  
More love, than many ancient friends would do.  
I saw thy looks amazed and overthrown,  
Flowing with tears and paler than mine own.  
I saw thy tears at every word distil,  
So that my mouth and cares both drank their fill.  
And while thy friendly arms my neck embraced,  
Thy kisses with thy sobs were interlaced.  
Yea thou upholdest still my absent name,  
My Charus, this thou know'st must be thy name.  
Some other pledges of thy Love there were,  
Which I shall ever in remembrance bear,  
The gods still make thee able to defend,  
Although with more success, thy other friends.  
If thou enquirest (as I think thou dost)  
●ow I poor wretch do far i'th' Geticke coast.  
●●e spark of hopeless hope I still retain  
●h' offended powers may be appeased again.  
●ay be 'tis vain, yet it may fall out true,  
●nd that it may, perform what lies in you.  
●●ploy thy noble faculty of speech,  
●● show 'tis Reason which I do beseech.  
〈◊〉 The greatest spirits the soon are appeased  
●nd wrath in generous minds is soon released,  
〈◊〉 Lion, when his prey doth prostrate lie,  
●oth straight forbear his suppliant enemy.  
●ut wolves and bears and each ignoble breast,  
●ith cruelty pursues the Dying beast.  
●ho stouter than Achilles doth appear?  
●et 
1 Was he.  he was 
2 Conquered.  melted with King Priam's tears.  
●h' Emathian Captain's clemency is known,  
●y Porus exequys and the funeral moan.  
●nd not to mention humane rage grown mild,  
●ven Inno's foe, her son in Law is styled.  
●cannot then but hope for calmer time,  
whoom in trouble for no heinous crime.  
〈◊〉 did no treason plot 'gainst Caesar's life,  
●hereby to set the headless world at strife.  
●or treason spoke: or let my lavish tongue,  
●mid my cups of dangerous matters run.  
〈◊〉 suffer, 'cause I chanced a fault to spy,  
●o that my crime doth in mine eyefight lie.  
〈◊〉 know I cannot wholly be defended,  
●et plead 'twas chance, no ill was then intended.  
●ine hope is then that Caesar will accord,  
●ome easier place of exile to afford.  
〈◊〉 that the morning star which day renews,  
With posting speed would bring such happy news.    

ELEGY 6.  
He writes this Elegy to a singular friend, Argu.  
And doth to him, his woeful state commend.  

Our league of friendship, sure thou'lt not deny,  
Or, if thou wouldst, it cannot hidden lie.  
●or, whilst we might, no Citizen was to me  
More dear than thou: and 
1 I the like to th●e.  who but I with thee?  
And this our friendship was so famous grown,  
That more than we ourselves, our love was known.  
So that even he on whom thine hopes depend,  
took notice of thy candour to thy friend.  
Thou from my knowledge nothing didst conceal,  
But even thy greatest secrets didst reveal.  
And I to thee alone, my secrets all,  
Disclosed, excepting that which caused my f●ll,  
Which hadst thou known, than I had safe remained,  
And by thy friendly counsel been sustained.  
But sure my fates that did to ruin hale me.  
Did close up all the way, that should avail me.  
Whether, with care I might this ill have shnu'd●  
Or that no wit can destiny overcome.  
Yet thou who of my long acquaintance art,  
And in my love dost hold the chiefest part.  
Be mindful still, I pray, and do thy best,  
That I may be, at least in part release.  
And Caesar's anger being turned to grace,  
Mine exile may be eased with change of place.  
The rather, since I did no harm devise,  
But a●l my fault from error did arise.  
'tTwere tedious and unsafe to show the chance,  
Whereby mine eyes did on that mischief glance,  
M● mind abhorreth on that time to muse.  
At evety thought hereof my grief renews.  
And 'tis but fit those things which blush at Light.  
Should l●e concealed in 
〈…〉.  Eternal night.  
This then is all I'll fay I was to blame,  
Yet had I no reward whereat to aim.  
So that if truth may have its proper name,  
No crime but folly merely caused my blame.  
But if I lie, let me be banished 
3 So fat.  so  
Where Pontus may for City suburbs 
4 O● show.  go.    

ELEGY 7.  
He sends this Letter to Perillas hand,  
With charge to tell her this his stoic command. Argu.  

Go sodden Letter as my faithful hind.  
Salute Perilla and 
5 Relate.  impart my mind.  
Thou'lt find her sitting by her mother's side,  
Or with her books and muses she doth bide.  
What ere she's doing, knowing thou art there,  
she'll soon break off, and ask thee, how I cheer.  
Tell her, I live, yet wishing 'twere not so,  
Since length of time doth nothing ease my woe,  
That to my harmful muse I turn afresh,  
Contriving words into 
1 〈…〉  elegracke verse.  
Then ask her, saying, dost thou still apply  
●ur commune studies, Greekish Poety?  
For bounteous nature, as she framed thee fair,  
Gave thee chaste manners, and a wit most rare.  
This to the Muses well, I first did train  
Lest such a flowing stream should run in vain.  
This in my tender years I first espied,  
And fatherlike was both my friend and guide.  
And then thou wast to me surpassing kind.  
Though time pephaps hath sithence changed my mind  
If then 
2 That sparkling w●t.  those sparks of wit in thee remain,  
Theras none but Lesbian hath an higher strain.  
Bdt since my fatal ruin I suspect.  
Thou d●st thy wit and Poetry neglect.  
For whilst we might, we read each others lines,  
And I was judge and master oftentimes.  
For to thy newmade verse I lent an ear,  
Or made thee blush, wheu sloth made thee forbear.  
But now through fear perchance thou'lt verses shun,  
Lest with thy Tutor, thou shouldst be undone.  
Feat not Peailla, only careful prove,  
Thy writings do not teach the Art of Love.  
But setting sloth and all excuse apart,  
Return wise Virgin to thy sacred Art,  
That comely visage time will soon deface,  
And aged wrinkles will thy braw disgrace.  
And wasting age which creeps with silent pace,  
Will seize his talents on thy beauty's grace.  
And when they faith, thou once wast comely fair,  
Thou'lt think with grief, thy glasses liars are.  
Thou hast a good estate, and worthy more,  
But yet suppose thou hadst rich Croesus' store.  
Fortune, even when she list will give and take,  
And of a Croesus, soon an Irus make.  
What ever we enjoy, we mortal find,  
Except the rich endowments of the mind.  
Lo I, that want my Country, house and thee,  
Am stripped of all that can be plucked from me;  
My wit and learned parts do still retain,  
On these Augustus power could not distrain.  
Yea should a bloody sword 
1 T●●●.  my life deprive,  
Yet after death my same shall still survive.  
And while stout Rome lifts up her seav'n-hild head  
Over the conquered world, shall I be read.  
Do thou likewise outlive thy funeral fires,  
Whose prosperous studies Ovid much desires.    

ELEGY. 8.  
Our Poet here doth much desire that he,  
Argu. Might once again his friends and Country see.  

I 
2 〈◊〉 that I ●ould.  Now would feign Triptolemus Car ascend,  
Who first did seed unknown to th'earth commend.  
I would Medea's flying Dragons guide,  
As when from Corinth Castle she did ride.  
I now would wish for Perseus wings to fly,  
Or those which Daedolus used to mount the sky.  
That gliding through the air with flickering toil,  
I might eftsoons review my native soil.  
And my forsaken house once more behold,  
And chief in mine arms my wife enfold.  
But fondling why in vain dost wish to see,  
That which thou knowst can never never be?  
Wilt thou needs wish? Augustus' power adore,  
And his incensed Deity implore.  
He can both wings and flying Car bestow,  
At his release thou'l● homeward flying go.  
Should I for this so great a favour crave,  
'Tis more I fear then modesty would have.  
In time perchance, when's anger is allayed,  
This humble suit to Caesar may be made.  
Mean while I'll take it for an ample grace,  
If I may be assigned some other place.  
For here nor heaven nor earth, water or air,  
Agree with me: they all my health impair.  
Whether my inward griefs my spirits kill,  
●r that this soil and climate 
1 Suit me, or work my.  cause my ill,  
For since I came to Pontus, I wax lean,  
Distasting meat, and vexed with nightly dreams.  
My colour's waxed pale life Autumn leaves,  
Which of their freshness winters cold bereaves.  
My strength is gone, my bodies full of pain,  
And still of some distemper I complain,  
〈◊〉 neither well in body nor in mind,  
But s●●ke in both, I double sorrow find.  
And full my fortune stands before mine eyes,  
Of ghastly shapes, composed of miseries.  
And when I view this People and the place,  
And weigh my breeding with my present case.  
I with for death, and of my 
2 Caesar.  judge complain,  
That rid me not at once of life and pain.  
But since his wrath was then to mildness bend,  
Let him now grant me gentler banishment.    

ELEGY. 9  
Here Ovid takes occasion to explain, Argu.  
Whence Tomos City first received the name.  

EVen here, among these Towns of barbarous kind  
(Who could believe it) we Greek Cities find.  
●●ther a Colony from 
3 ● City in Afla.  Mileton came,  
And 'mongst these Geteses, a Greekish City frame.  
〈◊〉 long before 'twas built, this place retains,  
Still from 
4 Mede as brother.  Absyrtus death, the ancient 
5 Tomos.  name.  
For in the 
6 At gone a vis the first ship.  ship by Pallas counsel made,  
(Which in th' untried Seas first passage had)  
Medea lewd, while she her 
7 Aeta King of Colchis.  Sire forsakes,  
Unto this shore, they say, her Oars betakes.  
A watchman from an hill her Sire doth spy  

8 O Medea or jason you are y●●sued.  Stranger (quoth he) the Colchians hither hie.  
The Minyae are afraid, and dare not stay,  
But straight their ropes unloose, and Anchors weigh.  
Conscious Medea strikes her guilty breast,  
With her most impious hand to mischief pressed.  
And though she were of most undaunted spirit,  
Yet waxed pale, through guilt of her 
9 Betraying 〈◊〉 Golden 〈…〉 I●so●.  demerie.  
And when she spied the approaching ship she said,  
W'ate taken, if my Father be not 
1 By sought.  stayed,  
And whilst in musing sort she doth devise,  
By fatal chance, her Brother she espies.  
Whom when she saw, now are we safe, quoth she,  
My Brother's ruin shall my safety be.  
Forthwith, whilst he, poor soul did nothing fear,  
Her bloody sword his ha' melesse breast doth tear.  
And with his mangled limbs she strews the ground,  
That being dispersed, they might be slowly found.  
Yet. that ●er Father might the slaughter know,  
His hands and bloody head she sets to show.  
With th●s new grief to stay her wrathful Father,  
Whilst he Absrrtus scattered quarters gather.  
Hence is this City styled by the name  
Of Towos, 
2 〈…〉  cutting, from this ancient fame,  
That here Medea, to all ages wonder,  
Her murdered Brothers limbs did cut in sunder.    

ELEGY. 10.  
The place and people where he doth abide, Argu.  
Our Poet here doth mournefully describe.  

IF any there remember Naso's name,  
And still my memory doth in Rome remain.  
Know that I live within a barbarous clime,  
Subjected to the Bear, or Northern sign.  
The Geteses and Sauromates our coast surround,  
Whose names, me thinks, in verse do rudely sound  
Ith'Summer time, 
3 〈…〉  Ister defends from war,  
For with his liquid streams we parted are.  
But when sad Winter shows his louring face,  
And th' earth is whited o'er with Icy glass,  
And Borcas broken lose doth scatter snow,  
Then doth this climate wondrous dismal snow.  
The Snow lies here, unthawed of Sun or rain.  
Which hardened by the wind doth long remain.  
Then new, still falling, ere the old be gone,  
Here snow of two years old is often known,  
And with that violence Boreas oft doth blow,  
That Towers and Houses he doth overthrow.  
With skins and mantles people fence the cold,  
So as you scarcely can their face behold.  
●●e sickles ruffle on their rugged hair,  
And with the frost their beards all whited are.  
The frozen wines, retain the Veffels' shape,  
Of which instead of drau hts they pieces take.  
And how their Rivers freeze, I need not tell,  
Nor how they dig their water from the Well.  
Ister itself, which I like 
1 The River bearing Ra●h of Paper.  Nilus deem,  
Whose many mouths into the Ocean stream,  
Hath its blue waters with the winds congealed,  
And under th' Ice slides into th'Sea concealed?  
Where ships did sail, now men and women walk,  
And horses hoofs o'er frozen waters stalk.  
And Geticke Oxen draw their wagons over,  
These newmade bridges which the waters cover,  
You'll scarce believe't, yet I your faith require,  
Since by untruths I can expect no hire.  
I've seen the very Seas with Ice congealed,  
And slippery glaste their silent water sealed.  
Nor only seen it, but have walked thereon,  
And many thousands there have dryshod gone.  
Hadst thou Leander such a Sea obtained,  
Then had not Hellespont with thy death been stained. 
He was drowned there in swimming to 〈◊〉.   
Our crooked Dolphins cannot take the air,  
The Ice forbids them upward to repair.  
And though the winds with blustering wings resound  
Yet on the waters are no billows found.  
Our ships enclosed in Ice like marble stood,  
Nor can the Oars divide the stubborn flood.  
I've seen the fishes stick in Ice fast bound,  
In part of whom some spark of life were found.  
But whether Bore●● with his freezing force,  
Had bound the Sea, or stopped the 
2 〈…〉  River's course,  
Forthwith, when frost had Ister's streams made plain  
The barbarous foes come riding in amain.  
And being skilled in horsemanship and bow,  
They waste the Country wheresoever they go.  
The people flying ne'er defend their fields,  
And so their wealth unguarded pillage yields.  
The Country wealth is small, sheep, Oxen, wainer,  
And such poor stuff as in their shades remain●●.  
The people, some are bound and captive led,  
Homeward in vain turning their searefull he●d.  
Others with barbed Arrows poisoned head,  
Are cruelly dispatched, and fall down dead,  
But what they cannot carry, that they stroy.  
Making the sheds in fiery flames to sry.  
Yea even in times of peace we battle fear,  
And no man dares his grounds with plowshare ear.  
The foe is ever seen, or feared here  
And so the land lies waste, through dail● fear.  
No Vines are here covered with Viny shade,  
Nor vessels swelling full of wines new made  
Here grows no fruit: nor could A●ontius fiade  
(To write his Love there in) one Apples rind.  
The fields are naked both of leaf and tree,  
W●es me! a desert fraught with misery.  
This is the place of all the world's extent,  
That is found out for Ovid's banishment.    

ELEGY. 11.  
Here Ovid pens a tart invective Song. Argu.  
Against a slanderous and backhiting tongue.  

Lewd in in, who ere thou art, that dost contemn  
My fall, and still my faults with spite condemn,  
A Rock thy Parent was, thy Nurse some beast,  
For sure thou hast a rocky flinty breast,  
What can thy Malice heap upon me more?  
Or what is wanting to my sorrow's store?  
On Pontus' rude, unbarbarous shore I ●●e,  
Under the Northern bear, and boisterous sky.  
I have no commerce with their language her,  
But every place is fraught with anxious fear.  
And, as a Deer surprised by ravenous bears,  
Or Lamb hemmed in by wolves, extremely fears,  
Even so do I, whom warlike bands enclose,  
Encompassed round about with bloody foes.  
And say 'twere small to want my loving wise.  
My Country too, and pledges of my life.  
And grant I suffered only Caesar's wrath,  
What is not that alone continual death?  
Yet one there is, that still renews my pains,  
And 'gainst my manners copiously declaimes.  
In facile causes every man can speak,  
And bruised Reeds a feeble hand may break.  
'Tis strength must overthrow strong Castle-walles,  
When tottering turrets with weak motion fall.  
I am not what I was: it is my shade,  
My tomb and ashes which thou dost invade.  
'Twas Hector that did manage martial steel,  
Not Hector that was drawn at horses heel.  
What ere I was, I am not now the same:  
Of me, the shadow only doth remain.  
Spare then to vex a ghost with base despite,  
Or rail upon a Spirit thou cruel wight,  
Suppose my faults were true, nor did indeed,  
From error, but from wickedness proceed.  
Yet rest content since I endure enough,  
Both in mine exile and the place thereof.  
An Executioner would lament with tears,  
My fortune, yet thou thinkest I little bear.  
Thou art more cruel than Busiris was,  
Or 
1 Perillus.  he that first did frame the Bull of brass,  
Which he on 
2 Phalati●.  Sicily's Tyrant then bestowed,  
And in these words to him his cunning showed.  
The gift is rich, O King, the fashion more,  
But yet the beauty is not half the store.  
On's side a secret door you may espy,  
There put him in, whom you appoint to dye,  
Then let him with soft burning scorched be,  
No Bull will roar more naturally than he.  
For which devise, I hope thou'lt think it fit,  
That my reward shall Aequallize my wit.  
The 
3 Phalati●.  King replied, since first thou hast invented,  
This witty pain, thou first shalt be tormented.  
Forthwith into the engine hewas thrown,  
Where like a Bull he made a rueful moan,  
But why do I outlandish Tyrant's name,  
Of thee, thou Roman Tyrant I complain.  
For if my blood will quench thy greedy thirst,  
Who fain wouldst have me to endure the worst.  
Know, I have suffered that by Sea and Land,  
Would move thy tears, if thou didst understand.  
Trust me, Ulysses ne'er was so distressed,  
Him Neptune, me joves' anger hath oppressed.  
Cease then to ransack in my faults again,  
And from my bleeding wounds thy nails refrain.  
That tract of Time my faults at last may cover,  
And these my smarting sores be skinned over.  
Remember humane fortune which advances,  
And then casts down: & fear her doubtful chances.  
And since (which I admire) thou hast such care,  
Of my estate, still ask how I far.  
Thou needest not fear, my 
〈…〉.  state is fraught with woe  
From Caesar's anger all misfortunes flow.  
And to assure thee, that I nothing fain,  
I wish thyself mightst undergo my pain.    

ELEGY 12.  
Here Tomos Spring with Rome's he doth compare, Argu.  
And shows the difference of their sports and air.  

THe West winds now blow warm, the year is ●un  
Yet Winter 
2 In Tomos.  here me thinks, goes slowly on.  
The 
3 A●●es makes 〈…〉.  Ram which carried Helle once astray,  
Doth weigh in equal poise the night and day.  
Now 
4 〈…〉  wanton Boys and Girls sweet Violets get,  
And other Country flowers that grow unset.  
The Meadows now with various colours spring,  
And warbling birds their untaught Sonnets sing.  
The Swallow builds her little house or nest,  
Under some Rafter for her younglings rest  
And Ceres seed, which in the furrows lay,  
Her tender blade 'gins freshly to display.  
Where Vines do grow, their swelling buds appear,  
Alas, this Geticke soil no Vine doth bear.  
Where trees do grow, their buds & blooms appear,  
Alas, this Geticke coast no Tree doth bear.  
'Tis now with you vacation: the Law-courts  

〈…〉.  Resign their wrangling brawls to plays & sports  
Now borses run the race, now Fencers play,  
And some with balls and tops do spend the day:  
Now Wrestlers do anoint their limbs with Oil,  
And bathe in water, to refresh their toil.  
The Stages flourish, loud applauses sound,  
The threefold Courts and theatres rebound,  
O thrice and fouretimes happy man is he,  
That may enjoy the City safe and free.  
As for myself, I feel the melting Snow,  
Which from the frozen Rivers 'gins to flow.  
The Sea doth now unthaw, nor dare the swayn's  
Drive over Ister now his creaking wain,  
If any foreign ship shall here arrive,  
(Which to our shores but rare occasions drive)  
Thither I'll hast, and after salutation,  
Inquire the Master's business, name and nation.  
And 'tis a wonder, if he be not one,  
That from some neighbouring coast mightsafely come  
For an Italian ship comes seldom hither,  
Where is no harbour from tempestuous weather.  
If yet his language Greek or Latin be,  
He shall be fare the welcomer to me.  
Likewise the wind may bring from happy South  
One from the straits, and from Propontis mouth,  
Who can inform me of the common fame,  
And knows all circumstances of the same.  
I wish he may of Caesar's Triumphs tell,  
And of the vows to jove performed well.  
And how rebellious Germany doth submit  
Her conquered head under our General's feet.  
Who brings such news, (which I had rather see)  
Shall to my house forthwith invited be.  
Woes me! is Ovid's house i'th' Scythian strand?  
And doth my prison for my dwelling stand?  
Grant O ye gods, Caesar may make this place,  
No more the house, but Inn of my disgrace,    

ELEGY. 13.  
Of his last birthday he doth here complain, Argu.  
And wisheth it might; ne'er return again,  

BEhold, in vain my Birthday doth return,  
At the set time, alas, why was I borne?  
Hardhearted day, why dost thou still extend  
My woeful veares? shouldst rather make an end.  
If thou hadst care of me, or any shame,  
Thou wouldst not trace me thus from Rome in vain,  
But rather where thou first didst give me breath,  
Even there would have assayed to give me death.  
Or when I left the City, thou mightst well  
(As did my friends) have ta'en thy last farewell,  
What makest thou at Pontus? art thou sent  
By Caes●rs doom with me to banishment?  
Or, dost expect thy wont honours here?  
That I white raiment for thy sake should wear.  
Should flowty garlands girt the Altar round,  
With solemn fires and smoking Incense crowned?  
And offering cakes that note a genial day,  
Should I for thy return devoutly pray?  
No, no, I do not now such seasons see,  
That I at thy return should joyful be.  
A funeral Altar dressed with Cypress bough,  
And burning piles of wood befit me now.  
I list not fruitless Incense throw away,  
Nor will my depth of sorrows let me pray.  
Yet if this day, I must some prayer frame,  
I pra●●● that thou mayst ne'er come here again. 
〈…〉.   
Whilst I i'th' utmost part o'th' world do dwell  
Mistermed Euxine, when 'tis rather hell.    

ELEGY. 14.  
He writes this Elegy to a learned friend, Argu.  
Praying him still his writings to defend.  

THou sacred Patron of all learned men,  
Thou constant friend unto my wit and pen,  
What, dost thou slill my absent name upraise?  
As thou didst erst renown my happier days?  
Dost gather up my Books excepting those  
Of Love's vain Art, which wrought their Author's woes?  
Do so, thou lover of new Poets strains,  
And still in Rome maintain my dying name.  
'Twas I, 
1 〈…〉  but not my books, was banished thence,  
They did not merit ill by my offence.  
Oft, is the Father banished fare away,  
When yet the children, in the City stay.  
My books my children are, like 
2 In Iupi●●●● 〈◊〉  Pallas bred,  
Without a mother, in their father's head.  
These I commend the rather to thy care,  
Since of their father they bereft are.  

3 Th●●● Books jove.  Three of my Sons their Parent's fortune share.  
Thou mayst of all the rest take open care.  
Of changed shapes I fifteen volumes left, 
M●tamorpho.   
Which from their Author's ashes● hoebus reft,  
This work I had to more perfection brought,  
If Fortune had not first my ruinewrought.  
This now in people's mouths impolished runs,  
If aught of mine within their reading comes.  
And let this 
1 My Tristia. Hoc nesci● quid.  forry piece with's fellows stand,  
Which now I send thee from a foreign Land.  
This whoso reads, must time and place conceive,  
Where these poor Poems their composure have.  
H●e'l grant their pardon sure, that weighs their case,  
A time of exile, and a barbarous place.  
And wonder how my trembling hand could write  
Such verse as this, in 
2 Midst.  spite of Fortune's spite.  
Sorrow's have crazed my wit, and marred my strain,  
Which at the best, was but a slender vein.  
Yet, as it was, through long disuse is dry.  
And wanting exercise must needs withered lie.  

3 In Pontus.  Here are no books to cheer my Muse to write,  
In stead of books are bows and weapons bright,  
Here's none to whom I may my lines rehearse,  
Whose understanding ear may mend my Verse.  
Here is no private 
4 Fit for study  walk, but murderous Geteses,  
Do shall assault our closed walls and gates.  
Oft times I want a word, a place or name,  
But here's not one that can 
5 Inform.  supply the same.  
Yea often when I writ (I must confess)  
I want fit 
6 Tet●●es.  words, my matter to express.  
The Getticke language doth me so surround,  
That I, me thinks, could write their barbarous sound  
And fear, believe me, lest you here do find,  
That I in 
7 Latin mixed w●●● Geticke;  mongrel speech express my mind.  
However read, and pardon this my Muse,  
Since my condition pleads her just excuse.    
The end of the third Book, containing 798. Verses.   

LIB. 4.  

ELEG. 1.  
His Verse, if faulty, be doth here excuse, Argu.  
Whi●h he for solace, not for fame did use,  

WHat saults thou findest in these slender Rhimes,  
Excuse them Reader, by their dismal times,  
I sought not Fame, poor exile, but relief,  
Lest still my mind should 
1 ●o●e ●●on.  ponder on her grief.  
For this, the Ditcher sings in fetters strong  
To ease his painful toil with rustic song.  
And Watermen that hail with bended side  
The slow becalmed boat 'gainst stream and tide:  
So he that tuggeth at the painful Oar  
Doth with his tunes refresh his labours sore.  
The weary shepherd resting on a rock  
Doth cheer with pipe and voice his silly Flock.  
The Maid her time and labour doth beguile  
With singing to her distaffs spinning toil.  
Even sad Achilles for his Briseis loss,  
Is said with warbling Harp to ease his cross.  
And when sweet Orphcus songs drew woods & stones  
His Wife twice lost did cause his tuneful moans.  
Even so my Muse, whilst I to Pontus went,  
Even she alone, did cheer my banishment.  
She neither treasons feared, nor soldier's hand,  
Nor sea, nor wind, nor th'utmost barbarous land.  
For she well knew what error wrought my sall  
And in my Fact there was no Crime at all.  
And now is kinder 'cause she harmed me erst  
And was indicted with me at the first.  
I wish I ne'er had touched hirsacred Rites,  
Which have procured me so much despite.  
But now her sacred Furies so possess me,  
I fond love the Muses which oppresle me.  
Thus did Ulysses the new Lote-tree love,  
Whose pleasant verdurs did unwholesome prove.  
Thus Lovers feel their harms; yet with delight  
Still persevere to feed their appetite.  
So I in books delight, which did confound me,  
And Love the weapon which did deadly wound me.  
Thus study may perchance some Fury 
2 〈◊〉.  be,  
Yet hath this Fury 
3 Very a●●f●ll beave.  much availed me.  
It suffers not my mind her grief to rue,  
But for the present takes it from my view.  
As drunken Bacchaes feel not Bacchus wounds  
Raving on Ida cliffs with howling sounds:  
●o when my breast a sacred Fury warms,  
My raised spirit mounts 'bove 
1 Humane.  worldly harms.  
●t feels no exile then, nor Pontic shore,  
Nor on the angry gods thinks any more;  
And all m● sense of present woe is wasted,  
As I had bowls of drowsy Lethe tasted.  
Needs must I then those helpful 
2 The Muses.  powers adore  
Which changed their Helicon for my Pontic shore.  
Tracing my steps (so did they kindly please)  
On foot by land: By ship through watery seas.  
Let these at , still kind to me abide,  
Since th'other gods combine on Caesar's side,  
Still loading me with griefs in number mote,  
Then are the Fish i'th' sea, or sands on shore.  
Thou'lt sooner count spring-flowers or summer ears  
Or Autumne-fruits, or winter's snowy tears,  
Then all the evils I suffered too and fro,  
As to the cruel Euxine shores I go.  
Yet being here I find no change of state,  
But am pursued by my wont Fate.  
Here still I find my birthday-thred to run,  
Which of the blackest Fleece my destiny's spu●.  
To pass the daily hazards of my life, 
3 To omit.   
What I endure is true yet past belief.  
How grievous is't for him with Geteses to live,  
To whom the Romans such applause did give?  
How grievous to be 
4 Closed or shut up.  mured in wall and gates,  
Yet not to be secure in such a state.  
I from my youth did cruel war detest,  
And never handled weapons save in jest;  
Yet 
5 Now in ago.  aged now a sword and 
6 Backlet.  shield do bear,  
And on my hoary head an Helmet wear.  
And when the watchman sounds out an alarm,  
All in a fear we straightway fall to Arm,  
The bloody Foe, with poisoned shafts and Bow,  
About our walls on painted steed doth go.  
As greedy wolves do drag those sheep away  
Into the woods, which from the folds do stray,  
So doth the barbarous Foe surprise them strait,  
Whom he shall chance to find without the Gate,  
Where straight their captive necks they do enchain  
Or with empoisoned Arrows they are slain.  
Lo here I dwell in this perplexed 
1 Pla●  case,  
Woes me! my destinies run so slow a pace,  
And yet in all these stirs, my exile Muse,  
Her Verse and ancient Rites will not refuse,  
Though here be none to whom I may recite,  
That he may here the Latin I indite.  
I to myself (
2 Alas.  God knows) both writ and Read  
And then to ju●ge my verses do proceed.  
Yet often say, for whom is all this pains?  
Will Geteses and Sauromates peruse my strains?  
And while I writ sad tears have often shed,  
With which my papers have been watered,  
Yea when my mind renews old sores again,  
Whole showers of tears upon my bosom rain.  
And when upon my fall my 
3 ●●●ghts 〈◊〉  passions run.  
How traitorous Fortune hath my state undone,  
My furious hand enraged at my verse,  
Oft makes them flame as on the funeral hearse,  
Since then of thousands, only these remain,  
With favour gentle friend, 
4 〈◊〉.  receive the same,  
And thou for bidden Rome, accept 
5 My.  these Rhimes,  
Though nothing better than my woeful times,    

ELEGY. 2.  
Here Ovid grieves he could not present see, Argu.  
The triumph made for conquered Germany.  

NOw the fierce German stoops, and overcome,  
C●n kneel to Caesar (as the world hath done.)  
The stately Palace is with garlands dig●t,  
The smoke of crackling incense dims the light.  
The milkewhite sacrifice with halberd slain,  
The earth with purple blood doth now distain  
The conquering Caesars, 
〈…〉.  in the temples now,  
Pay to the friendly gods their promised vow,  
The growing youth under Augustus' name,  
P●ay that his off spring may for ever reign.  
Great Livia with her daughters largely give  
Their sacred gifts, 
The Empress.  because her Son doth live,  
With them the Matrons and the Virgins pure,  
Which keep the sacred fires of Vesta sure.  
●he People and the Senate joy at heart  
●nd Knighthood too, (of whom I was a part)  
●●●se public joys are here to us unknown,  
●●●ly a s●ght report doth hither come.  
●et may the people there enjoy the same  
●nd 
1 In the Page 〈…〉.  read the conquered towns & Captain's names  
●nd see Low captive K●ngs in solemn show,  
〈◊〉 the crowned 
2 Or A●●●st●●  Cha●ot chained go.  
Va●se looks, in some are (like their Fortun●) Low  
Dthers still dreadful though inchained so.  
〈…〉 will enq●●e their caus●, affairs, and name,  
And others 
3 〈…〉.  by conjecture Answers frame.  
〈…〉 that in purple shines with gallant grace,  
Was General of the wa●re: He, next in place.  
●●●s whose sad eyes are fixed on the ground,  
Looked brisker when in arms he marched round.  
That fire man whose eyes still sparkle spite,  
Gave counsel to the war with all his might.  
This man whose locks his woeful face do hide  
D●d a ●lye ambush for our men provide.  
By him our Captives were at Altars slain,  
Although the gods such offerings did disdain.  
That Lake, those Rivers, and those Castles there  
Were filled with blood of slaughtered Soldiers,  
Here Drusus first obtained his German name, 
〈…〉 of his 〈◊〉.   
Worthy the noble Sire from whom he came.  
Rhein's horns were broken here, and here her flood,  
Erst green with reeds, was died with Germane blood  
Lo there with hair dispread, Germanic born.  
At conquering Drusus feet, doth sit and mourn,  
To th' Roman axe, yielding her stubborn neck,  
To chains her hands, which arms did lately deck.  
Above all these, with thousands at thy side,  
Great Caesar, thou in conquering chair shalt ride.  
And where thou goest, thy Subjects hands applaud,  
Whilst all the ways with fragrant flowers are strew.  
Thy Temples shall be crowned with Phoebus' bays,  
Thine army sounding 
4 To 〈◊〉  Io to thy praise.  
So that thy Chariot horses by the way,  
Being chafed with shonts and hoist shall stop and stay.  
Then in joves' Temple shalt thou leave thy Bays,  
In token of his aid, for future praise.  
All this, though banished thence, in mind I see,  
And she enjoys the place forbidden me.  
She doth through spacious lands with freedom st●●●  
And through the air finds out the quickest way.  
Into the midst of Rome she brings mine eye,  
Where all this joyful Triumph I descry.  
Even Caesar's Ivory Chariot 
1 I shall see.  she will show,  
And for the Time 
2 In my d●ere Country b●.  I shall my Country view.  
Yet shall the happy people see the sight,  
And with their joyful Captain take delight.  
Poor I do see't by bare imagination,  
And reap the fruit by other men's relation.  
And being sent to so remote a Clime,  
Scarce one will come to tell the truth in time.  
But 'twill be old and sta●e ere't come to me,  
Yet whensoe'er it comes, 
●oyfull be,  it shall welcome be.  
And I that day will d'off my mourning weed,  
The public shall my private cause exceed.    

ELEGY. 3.  
Two heavenly Constellations here he woos. Argu.  
That's wife h●r constant faith may never lose.  

YOu great and lesser Bears, who 
4 They set not in the Sea.  thirsty still  
Conduct the Greek, and Tyrian Sa●lors skill,  
Who view all worldly things in your high motion  
And never set beneath the western Ocean,  
Nor doth your circling Orb ere touch the ground,  
Althou●t the Azure sky you compass round.  
I pray, be hold those walls which they report  
Remus once overleapt with fatal sport.  
There turn your shining countenance on my Wife.  
And tell me if she lead a constant life.  
Woes me why question I a case so clear?  
And let my hope give place to doubtful fear?  
Fear nothing, but believe that all is well,  
Have certain faith, she doth in faith excel.  
And what the fixed stars can ne'er descry,  
Tell thou thyself with voice that cannot lie.  
That, as thou carest for her, so she again  
Thy name within her heart doth still retain.  
Presenting still thy Countenance to her mind,  
And while she lives though absent will be kind.  
What, doth thy sleep forsake thee in the night,  
When once thy mournful thoughts on Ovid light?  
Yea doth thy widowed bed renew afresh  
Thy cares? and cause thee think on my distress?  
Do nights seem tedious through thine inward burning  
And do thy bones even ache with often turning?  
I make no doubt, but thus thou dost and more,  
Thy love even forcing signs of grief in store,  
And grievest no less for me, than 
1 A●●●omache  He●●ors wife,  
To see her husband drawn devoid of life.  
Yet doubt I what to 
2 Theba●.  ask, 
● Pray.  nor can I tell  
What passion in thy mind I wish should dwell.  
Art sad? it is my grief that I to thee 
3 So good a 〈…〉.  Of such deserts, a cause of grief should be?  
If not? I wish that thou thyself mayst bear,  
Beseeming one that lost an husband's dear.  
Bewail then gentle Wife, thine own great losses  
And live a mourner's life for my great crosses.  
Shed tears for me; for tears are some relief, 
A 〈◊〉.   
And tears do ease and carry out our grief.  
And would my death, not life, thou mightst bemoan,  

5 And that.  I wish my death had left thee all alone.  
Then I with thee a● home my life had ended,  
Thy loving tears my deathbed had attended:  
Thy fingers than had closed my dying eyes,  
Which had been fastened on my Country skies.  
And in my Grandsire's Tomb my body dead  
Had found its burial, where it first was bred.  
Then had I lived and died without all blame,  
Nor had this punishment soiled my former fame.  
Yet, woe is me, if thou be'st much ashamed  
When thou an Exiles wife art bluntly named.  
Woe's me if thou dost blush, that thou art mine,  
And to be known for Ovid's dost decline.  
O where's that time wherein thou tookest pride  
That thou wert known, and termed Ovid's Bride?  
There was a time, that thou did●● pleasure take  
To be, and to be flyled Ovid's Mate.  
And in my Parts and Manners tookst Delight  
Love adding value to them in thy sight.  
Yea then, (so precious was I in thine eyes)  
All other men, thou didst for me dispile.  
T●●n blush not now, that thou my wise art named,  
For are thou mayst be grieved, but not ashamed.  
When 
1 A bea●● 〈◊〉 the Cap●●●●e inve●●d 〈…〉 to belongs 〈◊〉, and was 〈◊〉 from 〈◊〉 wall with 〈…〉 wildbrain cast h●● self into h●s 〈◊〉 all she and was burned with him.  Capaneus was ●●aine on The●●● wall  
〈◊〉 blushed not, for her ●●ate amall.  
●●●●gh Thact 〈…〉 with bolt of jove,  
Yet could not this 〈◊〉 his ●ind●●●s love.  
Not did old Cadmus, 
2 His daughter.  S●●●le deny  
Though by her p●oud request she chan●'d to die.  
Let 〈◊〉 no cranson 〈◊〉 cheeks dist●●●e  
I hough I be stricken with joves' heav●nly f●ame,  
But ●a●her do th● best still to descend me,  
That for ●lo● all Wife all m●y commend thee.  
The way to glory through steep pat●s doth he, 
●●sentence. 〈◊〉.   
Slow then thy virtue in thy misery.  
Had Troy been happy, who had Hector known?  
In mity ways are virtues foot steps shown.  
When Seas are calm then 
3 The Pilot of the Argo.  Typhis Art's not seen:  
And 
4 Physic.  Phoeb●s-skill the healthful disesteem.  
So virtue in prosperity lies concealed,  
In barder times 'tis proved and revealed.  
Lo than my Fortune may advance thy name,  
And gives thy virtue scope to raise thy Fame.  
Use well th'occasion of these woeful da●es,  
Which make an open passage for thy praise.    

ELEGY. 4  
This Elegy is to a Friend directed, Argu.  
Who being unnamed, is by signs detected.  

O Thou that art of ancient Nobles borne  
And yet thy manners do thy Stock adorn,  
Within whose breast thy Father's Candour shines  
Which thou with Norves of wisdom dost combine.  
In whom thy Father's eloquent tonguo doth dwell,  
Who 'mongst our Roman Pleaders 
5 〈…〉.  bore the bell:  
Thus unawares I have by Signs beweayd thee,  
Pardon thy praises due which have betrayed thee:  
'Tis not my fault but thine own worth proclaims thee.  
Seem what thou Art, and none can justly blame me.  
Nor shall my kind officious verse, I trust,  
Harm thee at all under a Prince so just.  
For he himself (so mild a Prince is he)  
Will often in my verse recorded be.  
Nor can he well forbidden it, though he would.  
Caesar●a public and a general good.  
Nay jove resigns his powers to Poet's wits,  
And to each common pen his praise permits.  
By these two gods I do thy cause maintain,  
The one believed the other seen to reign,  
Yet if it be a fault, 'tis wholly mine,  
T●is Letter was my act, and none of thine.  
Nor gi'en I now to wrong thee with my talk,  
In happy times our tongues did often walk.  
And lest thou fear my friendship cost thee deaf,  
'Tis meet thy 
1 Authors'  Father should thee envy bear.  
For well thou knowst, if thou confess the truth,  
Thy Father I observed from my youth.  
Thou well remember'st, he approved my wit,  
Fare above that, myself did value it.  
And often did my Poetry rehearse.  
Ennobling by his praise my simple verse.  
Thou art not now deceived, to show me favour,  
For long before I did deceive thy 
2 Authori t●●.  Father.  
But, trust me, here's no fraud: for, save the last,  
Thou mayst defend my life and actions past.  
Nor wilt thou call my last offence a crime,  
That knowst the Series of this dismal time!  
'Twas fear or error ruined mine estate,  
But do not urge me once to mention what.  
O tear not open my scar●e-closed wound,  
Which hardly rest and quiet can make sound.  
For though I grant that I am justly shent,  
Yet was there in my faul● no lewd intent.  
This Caesar knows, and spared my guiltless blood,  
And neit her seized nor gave away my goods.  
And, if he live, my flight per haps will end,  
When length of time his fury 〈◊〉 amen●●:  
Mean while, if this bold sut● be no● repcoved,  
I pray that I from hence may be removed,  
I wish to have a place of more repose  
Ncercr my Country, farther from my Foes.  
And would some faithful friend move this request  
Perhaps 'twere done, so mild is Caesar's breast.  
The frozen 
1 〈…〉 to 〈…〉.  Euxine shores now me surround  
Which th' Ancients styled well the 
2 〈…〉.  Axen bound.  
Our Seas are ever tossed with boisterous wind,  
Nor can a foreign ship safe harbour find.  
The lands about us live by blood and spoil,  
Thus Sea and Land alike bring fear and toil.  
Those which in shedding humane blood delight,  
Under our stars enjoy the common light.  
Tauricke Diana's Altar near us stands,  
Distained oft with blood of foreign lands.  
This Country once, they say King Thoas had,  

3 And th●●.  Without the rivalship of good or bad.  
And 
4 〈…〉  Iphigenia exchanged for a Deer  
Attends 
5 〈…〉  her goddess bloody offerings there.  
Hither 
6 〈…〉  Orestes driven by's Furies came  
(Whom natural or unnatural you may name)  
And his friend Pylades, 
7 〈…〉  unto wonder kind,  
Who were two bodies yet but one in mind.  
These two fast bound, are to this Altar set,  
Which bloody stood before the 
8 〈…〉  twoleaved gate.  
Fach for himself no jot of terror had,  
Yet for each others death were wondrous sad.  
With her drawn knife the Priest stood ready now  
With barbarous ribbande on her Grecian brow.  
But by their Parley, she her 
9 〈…〉.  brother knows,  
And straight in stead of killing, kindnesle shows.  
And joyful did from thence to Rome translate  
Her goddess which those cruel Rites did hate.  
To this far-Northern Region I am nigh  
From which both gods and men do jointly fly.  
Man's blood is offered mere my Country land,  
If Ponsus may for Ovid's Country stand.  
Oh that Orestes winds might drive me hence;  
And Caesar's wrath appeased for mine offonce!    

ELEGY. 5.  
Unto his Friend he doth his mind reveal, Argu.  
Whose name for fear of harm he doth conceal.  

OH thou the chiefest of my loved mates,  
The only refuge of my cracked estate.  
Whose conference did my dying spirit revive,  
As o●le infused doth keep the Lamp alive.  
Not fearing when my ship was thunder-broken  
A friendly port of refuge to set open.  
With whose revenues my wants had been supply'de,  
It Caesar had my Father's goods denied.  
But whilst I muse upon my troubles then,  
Thy name well-near had slipped out of my pen;  
Yet this thou know'st, and, touched with love of fame  
Dost wish that I might boldly tell thy name.  
Truly, were't safe, I would thy titles give,  
And praise such Faith as few men will believe?  
'Tis only fear my grateful Verse doth charm,  
Lest my untimely praise should do thee harm.  
This thou mayst do even glory in thy breast,  
That thou wert kind, and I still mindful rest.  
Go forward then to lend thine 
1 To tow my ●●ote, till etc.  helping hand  
Till (Caesar pleased) the wind shall prosperous stand.  
Bear up my sinking head, which none can save,  
But he that 
2 Pl●ag'd, 〈…〉  drowned it in the Stygian wave.  
And which is rare, be constant to the end,  
To do the office of a faithful friend.  
So may thy Fortune ever well proceed,  
Tha● helping others, thou mayst never need. 
A vo●.   
So may thy wives sweet virtues squall thine,  
And seldom discord to your Chamber climb;  
So mayst thou still be loved of thy brother,  
As Castor Pollux loves, and he the other.  
So may thy Son be like thee in his prime,  
And by his manners all men know him thine.  
So may thy Daughter prosperously be wed,  
And with a Grandfirs name soon crown thine 〈◊〉.    

ELEGY. 6.  
He 〈◊〉, that time which all things doth ass●●ge  
And weakens him, 〈…〉 sorrows rage. Argu.  

IN time the Ox endures the toilf●ll plough,  
And to the crooked yoke his neck doth 〈◊〉,  
In time the Steed to th' bridle doth submit▪  
And gently takes in's mouth the cur●ing b●.  
In time the Afrique Lions milder grow,  
Nor to their keepers former fierceness show.  
In time the Indian 
1 〈◊〉.  monster's overcome,  
And servant-like obeys his Master's doom.  
Time makes the grapes so swell within the skin,  
They scarce contain the liquor that's within.  
Time brings the seed to a ripe care at last,  
And makes the Apple of a mellow taste.  
Time 
2 〈…〉.  wastes the plowshare which the Land doth ear  
Yea time the Flints and Adamant doth wear,  
The fiercest wrath it cooleth by degrees,  
Abateth grief, and mourners hearts doth ease,  
Yea every thing can silent time impair,  
Except the burden of my growing care.  
Twice since my exile hath the Corn been t●resht,  
And Grapes have twice with naked feet been pressed:  
Yet all this time my mind no patience gains,  
But still her wont grief afresh retains,  
Thus oft the Oxen shun their wont yoke,  
And Horses shun the bit, though often broke.  
Yea now my pain is greater than before,  
And though the same, yet older pincheth more.  
Me thinks I now my crosses better know,  
And by this knowledge they 
3 〈…〉  much greater 
4 〈◊〉  grow.  
And 'twere the better if my strength were fresh,  
And I were not 
5 Vorne out.  consumed with long distress.  
The Wrestler entering fresh into the round,  
Exceedeth one long tired on the ground. Simil.  
Th' unwounded Fencer in his shining arms,  
Excelleth him whose blood betrays his harms.  
The newbuilt ship strong storms can hardly bend,  
When every blast the crazy Bark doth rend:  
Even so did I my gricfes with patience bear,  
Till they with length of time increased were  
But now I faint, and certainly presume,  
These sorrows will ere long my life consume.  
For through my slender skin my Bones appear,  
Nor are my strength and colour as they were,  
And yet my mind is in fare worse plight.  
Her sorrows ever standing 'fore her sight,  
She sees not Rome, her friends are absent here.  
And thou my loving wife of all most dear.  
Only a rout of Scytheses and Geteses here be,  
So what I have and want, both trouble me.  
One hope there is, which yields me some relief,  
That death, ere long will end my woeful grief.    

ELEGY. 7.  
A nameless friend is here by Ovid shent, Argu.  
Who had not all this time one Letter sent.  

TWice hath the Sun cold Winter overcome,  
And twice through Pisces his career hath run,  
And yet alas in all this tedious time,  
Thou hast not sent me one officious line.  
Couldst thou this Love forbear, when those have wrote  
With whom I had but small acquaintance got?  
When any Letters Seal I did unlose,  
Why did I hope it should thy name disclose?  
Yet doubtless many a Letter thou hast sent,  
Although it came not hit her as 'twas meant.  
I'll first believe there was a 
1 Medusa.  Gorgon's head,  
With snakes instead of hairs about it spread,  
And Sulla's dogs, and strange Chimaeras frame.  
Made of a Snake, a Lion, and a Flame.  
fourfooted Centaur's horse and man in one,  
Three headed Cerberus, and Geryon.  
Sphinx and the Harpies, men of Serpent-race,  
And Gyges' 
2 an Handred.  hands, or 
3 Halse a 〈◊〉 half a bull.  Minotaurus face:  
All these shall sooner sink into my mind,  
Then this, that thou art changed and proved unkind.  
For lo between us, many mountains high,  
And Fields and Floods, and several Seas do lie,  
Yea thousand let's thy Letters may prevent,  
From coming to my hands, though kindly sent,  
Writ then so oft till thou hast conquered all,  
That I no more to these excuses fall.    

ELEGY 8.  
Here Ovid hath a sad complaint compiled. Argu.  
That he's constrained, being old, to live exiled.  

WIth Swan-like plumes, my Temples now are dite,  
And age hath changed my 
4 〈◊〉.  Sable hairs to white  
〈…〉 For whom I wept, as he for me would mourn,  
And shortly after came my mother's turn.  
Both of them happy that in season died,  
Before my woeful exile did betide,  
And happy I, that whilst my Parents live,  
Gave them no cause at all for me to grieve.  
Yet if the dead do more than names retain,  
And their thin souls survive their funeral flame.  
Dear Parent's ghosts, if any slight report,  
Of mine offences sound i'th' Stygian court,  
Take from your Son this certain truth withal,  
That error and not malice caused my fall.  
Let this suffice the dead, I now retire  
To you kind friends, who of my life inquire.  
I now was turned grey, my better years,  
Gave place to age, which brought on mingled hairs  
And since my birth, ten prizes have renowned  
The running horse with Pisa Olive crowned. 
〈…〉.   
When Caesar's anger bids me pack away,  
To Tomos on the left of th' Euxine Sea.  
Nor need I tell th'occasion of my fall,  
Which is too well already known of all.  
Nor ●et of treacherous friends, or servants slights,  
And many a cross as grievous as my flight.  
My 
1 〈…〉  heart still scorned to yield, and in distress,  
Unconquerable strength she did express.  
And I forgetting former ease and fear  
Was forced in age unwonted arms to bear,  
Yea and more dangers both by Sea and Land,  
Then are the stars which 'twixt the Poles do stand  
Yet when I long had been with wanderings tossed,  
At length I did attain the Geticke coast.  
Where, though the noise of wars about me rage,  
Yet with my verse do I my grief assuage.  
And having none to hear my mournful style,  
Yet I therewith the tedious hours beguile,  
〈…〉 My guide from Ister leading me along,  
And seating me in midst of Helicon.  
And mountest up on high my living name,  
Though few till after death obtain the same.  
Nor yet hath envy, which doth still repine  
At present things, gnawed any work of mine.  
But fame hath still advanced my Muse's head,  
Though learned Poets this our age hath bred,  
And though I prise their worth beyond mine own,  
Yet for their equal, through the world am known.  
I● Poets than can future things foresee,  
I shall not 
1 All.  whole to earth converted be.  
Yet, be't desert or favour gives me fame,  
I thank thee (gentle Reader) for the same.  
The end of the fourth Book, Containing 680. Verses.     

LIB. 5.  

ELEG. 1.  
This Elegy he writeth to his friend.  
And to his care doth this Fist Book commend.  

THis Book arrived from the Geticke shore,  
My studious friend, add to the former four.  
Which sorteth so unto the Poet's times,  
That thou shalt find no pleasure in my Rhymes.  
My Verses, like my fortune, mournful be,  
The writing with the 
2 Sab●●.  matter doth agree.  
In happier state, I wrote a pleasant vein,  
But now repent me of that youthful strain.  
And being ruined, do my fall proclaim.  
And of myself these sad disconrses frame.  
And as the Swan on swift Caystert shore,  
In fainting notes her funerals doth deplore,  
So I exposed on Geticke coasts to 
3 die.  lie,  
Do here prepare my last sad obsequy.  
Who ere in wanton verse doth take delight.  
I warn him not to read what here I write.  
Gallu● and sweet Propertiu● suit his vein,  
And other Poets more of honoured name.  
And wi●h my friends would still remember me.  
If any muse I thus of sorrow sing,  
Let him ascribe it to my sufferings. Que, 1  
I do not here compose by wit or Art;  
The matter of itself doth wit impart.  
My verse the twentieth part cannot contain,  
He's happy that can 
2 Number.  utter all his pain.  
Number the trees i'th' wood or Tiber's sand,  
What speeres of grass in Mars his meadow stand,  
So many are the miseries I endure,  
Of which my stadious muse is th'only cure.  
But when will Naso end his weeping Rhymes? Que. 2  
Even when his fortune yields him better times.  
'tis she which fountains of complaint affords,  
These are not mine, but my misfortunes words.  
My wife and Country let a friend restore,  
I'll be as merry as ere I was before.  
Let Caesar's anger bate, and milder grow,  
Shalt see my verse with pleasant humour flow,  
Yet as before, it shall not jest again,  
Though once it sported in a lighter strain.  
I'll sing to Caesar's liking, if he please  
Mine exile of these savage Geteses to ease,  
Till then, what can my Papers do but mourn?  
This pipe doth well befit my funeral urn. Que. 3  
But, thou wilt say, 'ttwere better much to smother  
Thy sorrows, and in silence pass them over.  
Thou dost forbid a tortured wretch to groan,  
Or one that's deeply wounded once to moan.  
Whom cruel Phakaris vexed with scorching pain, Examp. 1  
He suffered, yet with Bullish voice to plain.  
Aebilles' did not Priam's weeping blame,  
Yet thou more cruel wouldst my tears restrain.  
When Niobes children great Diana slew,  
She let her yet with tears her cheeks bedew.  
●e bo●ling heart with doubled grief to ●we●●.  
●en pardon, reader, or my books refrain,  
●●at which is my comfort prove ●ay pain,  
●●ough I am well assured my harmless song,  
accept their Author, will do no man wrong.  
●●te bad, I grant: who bids thee read them then?  
〈◊〉 who forbids thee lay them down again?  
●t read them on, as framed i'th' Geticke strand,  
●●ey cannot be more barbarous than their Land.  
●●●e with her Poets must not me compare,  
●hough 'mong the Geteses my wit was somewhat rare,  
●doe not catch at great applause and fame,  
〈◊〉 wits most quickening spur, a sasting name.  
〈◊〉 only seek to free my mind from care,  
●●●ch still break in, where they 
2 Forbidden.  unwelcome are. Que. 4  
For this I written: But why dost send them over?  
●hus as I may, your presence to recover.    

ELEGY 2.  
He wils his Wife to Caesar to address,  
Her suit for ease of this his great distress,  

WHen Letters come from Pontus art thou pale?  
And doth thy trembling hand in th'opening fail?  
●eare not, for I am well, yea now at length.  
My body erst 
3 Invalid.  but weakly gathers strength.  
●ither the use of labour makes it hard,  
●r else all time for sickness is debarred.  
Yet is my mind as crazy as before,  
And my afflictions still affect me 
4 More.  sore.  
The wounds which Time I hoped would close again  
●s if new made, afresh renew my pain.  
●ome smaller crosses length of time may ease, 
Seate●.   
〈◊〉 greater mischiefs do with time increase.  
The wound which from the poisoned Arrow bred,  
Poor Polystetes ten whole twelvemonths said. Exam. 1  
Yea 〈◊〉 till death had ne'er been sound,  
●●e that hurt him had not ●u●'d his wound,  
And O that he, which wrought my sore disease  
Since I have done no crime, would grant me ease,  
And from my sea of sorrow would abate,  
Sated with part of this my dolorous fate,  
Abote he much, yet there will much remain,  
And even th'one part will seem sufficient pain,  
As garden Roses, or the shells o'th' shore,  
Or grains which sleepy Poppy sheds in store,  
As beasts i'th' woods, Sim. or sith in waters gliding,  
Or winged birds that through the air are shding:  
So numerous are my griefs, which would I tell,  
I might sum up the drops o'th' Sea as well.  
My perils to pass over, by Sea and Land,  
How, oft my life was sought by bloody hands,  
In a remote and barbarous land I lie,  
Which is environed by the enemy.  
From whence (hadst thou due care) I had been freed  
No question, having done no bloody deed.  
That god, on whom the Roman state doth lie,  
Sh● w●● mercy oft to th' conquered enemy.  
Go then preserre thy suit, thou mayst be bold,  
The world a 
1 〈◊〉  milder spirit doth not bold.  
Woes me! what shall I do, if thou withdraw  
Thy neck from Wedlock yoke and friendship's law?  
What shall I hope? who shall my ship sustain?  
Without an Anchor tost●th' watty maine?  
He even to Caesar as mine Altar run,  
The Altar doth no humble suitor shun.    

ELEGY. 3.  
To Caesar here our Poet makes his sat, Argu.  
His place of woeful exile to commute.  

TO th' absent powers an absent suppliant speaks,  
If I●● man my mind to jove may break,  
Thou Empire-swayer, in whose preservation,  
The gods express their care o'th' Roman nation.  
The ●lor●, and th' Example of thy land,  
Great as the world o'er which thou dost command.  
So mayst thou live earth's joy, and heavens desire,  
And slowly to the promised stars aspire;  
I pray thee Spare me, and abate my pain,  
And of thy thunder take some part again.  
Thy wrath indeed was mild, my life was spared, 
Ius civility.   
Nor of a Citizens Right was I debarred.  
Nor were my goods bestowed on others than,  
Nor did thine edict style me 
1 Relegatus ●od ex●●.  banisht-man.  
All this I feared, as I had well deserved,  
But by thy mercy I was better served.  
Awarded only to the Pontic land,  
To blow with wand'ring ship the Scythian 
2 Sea.  sand.  
I sent away to th' Euxine shore do fly,  
Which neerethe froxens Arctic Pole doth lie.  
Yet am I not so vexed with freezing sky,  
Or th' Ice which ever on the ridges lie,  
Or that these bruits no Latin understand,  
But speak in Geticke-Gre●ke, through all the Land,  
As that a bordering War doth us enclose,  
In slender walls scarce fencing of our foes.  
 sometimes peace, yet never are secure,  
But either wars we fear, or wars endure.  
So I remove from hence, Charybdis make  
My speedy passage to the Stygian Lake.  
Or else in sulphurous Aetna let me fry,  
Or in the 
3 jonian Sea.  gulf of Leucas drowned lie.  
My suit is easy that no grief refuse,  
But pray I may a safer mischief choose.    

ELEGY. 4.  
He sues to Bacchus here, Argu. that he would please  
To move Augustus for his speedy ease.  

BAccbus, this is the day, when Poets use  
To honour thee (I take't) with cheerful muse.  
With garlands sweet, their Temples they surround,  
And midst thy bowls of wine thy praises sound.  
'Mong these, while Fortune suffered, I was one,  
A welcome part of thy devotion,  
Who now remain i'th' cold Sarmatian land,  
Which nigh the Geteses, unto the Bear doth stand.  
And I who erst from labour did retire,  
To softer studies and the Muse's choir,  
Now far from home, with Geticke swords a●● vexed.  
Having been sore by sea and land perplexed.  
Whether these ills joves' wretch or chance send down.  
Or ●●a● the dost ●ies as my birth did frown.  
Yet thou thy Poet still shouldst have sustained,  
By whom the sacred Ivy is maintained,  
But what those fatal sisters once agree,  
It secmes no god can change their firm decree.  
Thy merits Bacchus did thy place obtain  
In heaven, and made thy passage thorough pain.  
Thou left'st thy native Country, and from home  
To snowy 
1 A River twi●t Macedon and Thrace.  Strimon, and fierce Geteses didst come  
To Persia too, and spacious Ganges brink,  
And all those streams, which swarthy Indians drink.  
It seems those powers which fatal threads do draw,  
To thee 
2 O●●e of Se●●le, once of Lover Hugh.  twice borne, twice sung this fatal law.  
So crabbed Fortune still hath followed me,  
If to a god I may resembled be.  
And cast me headlong with his deadly fall,  

3 Ca●ancus invent our of 〈◊〉 laddate  Whom jove for pride, did hurl from Theban wall.  
Yet when thou heard'st how I was thunderstruck,  
Thy heart, no doubt with 
4 Hi● mother Semile was stainn by Thunder, lying with jupiter.  Sonlike pity shaken.  
And looking over thy Poets too, mightst say,  
One of my servants is not here to day.  
Good Bacchus' help: so may thy fruitful Vine,  
Burden her Elm with Gropes of precious wine,  
So may the Bacchaes with young Satyres-fry,  
Attend thine hests with their confused cry.  
So ma 
5 There two hate● drunkencesse.  Lycurgus bones be sorely pressed,  
And 
6 M●●d●●● Crown, 〈◊〉 a 〈◊〉 of stars.  Pe●theus Ghost from torment never rest,  
So may thy 7 Wives fair crown shine ever bright,  
Excelling all her neighbouring stars in light.  
Come hither Bacchus, help my woeful state,  
Remembering I was one of thine of late.  
To gentle mildne slay Coesars' heart incline,  
For sure you gods in sweet commerce combine.  
And you my Fellow-Poets friendly crew  
For me, amid your cups this Prayer renew.  
And some of you, when Nasots name he hears,  
Set down your bowl, mixed with friendly tears,  
And looking round about on's fellows, say,  
where's he was one o'th' Quorum th'other day?  
Thus ●oe, if ever I deserved your love,  
And did with candour all your lines approve.  
And giving th' ancient Poets honour due,  
Yet think them fully equalled by the new.  
At least, retain amongst you Naso's name,  
So thill Apollo still your verses frame.    

ELEGY. 5.  
This Elegy doth the Authors woes express, Argu.  
And pratses a Friena for's kindness ●●'s distress.  

I'll Naso's letter come from th' Euxine strand,  
Ty●d out with travail both by Sea and land.  
He weeping said go thou and visit Rome,  
Whose fate is better than thy Master's doom.  
And weeping wrote me, and the seal here set,  
Not with his mouth but with his cheeks did wet.  
If any ask me, wherefore he repines.  
He bids me point him to the sun that shines.  
Discerns no leaves i'th' wood, no grass i'th' field,  
And thinks full Rivers do no waters yield,  
Wonders, at Hector's death why Priam moans,  
Or 
1 Wounded with a poisoned Arrow.  Philoctetes stung with poison groans.  
I wish the Gods had sent him such a state,  
He had no cause to blame his cruel fate.  
And yet he bears his cross with patience fit,  
And doth not like a Colt refuse the bit.  
Hoping that Caesar's wrath will end in time,  
As being conscious of no heinons' crime.  
Of Caesar's mildness he doth mention make,  
And in himself he doth example take.  
For, 〈◊〉 olding life, and lands and freeman's name,  
To Caesar's gift he doth ascribe the same.  
Yet thee his friend, believe me, he doth bear  
Still next his heart, of all his friends most dear.  
thou his Patroclus, thou his Theseus' calls,  
His Pylades and Euryalus withal.  
Nor more doth long to see his Country dears,  
And th'other jewels that he wanteth here;  
Then thy dear eyes, to him fare sweeter still,  
Then combs which Attic Bees from flowers distil  
And oft that fatal hour to mind doth call,  
Grieving that death did not prevent his falls  
And, when his ruin other men did shun  
And balked the threshold of a man undone,  
He tells how thou with few remainedst true,  
If two or three be fitly called a few.  
For (though amazed) yet he well perceived,  
Thou at his fall even as himself was grieved.  
Th● countenance, words, & groans he's wont to show,  
And how thy tears his bosom did bedew:  
And didst no help deny, no comfort scant,  
Although thyself didst then much comfort want.  
All which he vows, whether he live or dye,  
He will retain in grateful memory.  
Yea, by's own head and thine he's wont to swear,  
I say by thine, which he doth prize as dear:  
he'll full requital make of all thy pains  
Not suffering thee to blow the sands in vain.  
Only defend him still, at my request  
Not his, who fully knows thy constant breast.    

ELEGY 6.  
He doth his wife's Birth day solemnize here, Argu.  
Wishing her after fortunes fair and clear.  

MY Wives wished birthday honour doth expect,  
Let not mine hands her holy rites neglect.  
Lo thus in utmost cost Ulysses placed,  
His Wife's birthday, long since with feasting graced.  
And let my tongue her former plaints forbear,  
Which hath, I doubt, forgot to speak with cheer,  
And let it not offend, if I shall wear  
White Robes unlike my fortune once a year.  
And let an Altar of green turf be made,  
Whose flaming fires the woven garlands shade.  
And bring some incense, boy, to feed the flame,  
And wine, which poured therein will hisse again.  
I wish, 
1 〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉.  most welcome day, thou mayst prove kind,  
To her that's absent, and unlike to mine.  
If any danger hover o'er her head,  
Of my bad fortune let her now be rid.  
And let her ship, late bruised with grievous storm,  
Henceforth make happy voyage safe from harm.  
Let her her Country, Daughter, house retain,  
Let it suffice that these from me are ta'en.  
And though she be unfortunate in me,  
Yet let her other life unclouded be.  
Still let her live, and love her absent mate,  
And not till many years resign to fate,  
I'd add mine own to hers, but for my fears,  
My fate's contagion should corrupt her years.  
●othing is sure to man: who would have guessed,  
Among the Geteses I should have kept this feast?  
But lo the swelling wind to Rome-ward drives  
The smoke, which from our Incense doth arise.  
It seems the vapours which the fire doth raise  
Have sense, as others do to shun my cause,  
When common sacrifice those 
1 Eteocles and Poly●ices.  brothers twain  
Did make, yet after by each other slain,  
Into two parts the dusky flames did flow,  
As if the brethren had commanded so.  
Once I did think this tale a fable vain,  
And that 
2 A Poet Son of Batt●●.  Call●machus did merely feign.  
Now I believe it, seeing smoke did bend  
So wisely from the North, and Rome-ward wend.  
This is the day, which had it never been.  
I wretched man no festival had seen.  
This day those virtues brought, which match the fame  
Of 
3 The daughters of ●●●on, and Icarius.  Hector's wife, or chaste Penelope's name,  
With her, faith, goodness, chastity were bred,  
Yet poured this day no joy upon her head.  
But labours cares, an ill-besuting fate,  
And just complaints of an halfe-widowed state.  
Indeed in hardest state is goodness tried,  
she's praised which doth in crosses constant bide.  
Had not Ulysses seen such dismal days,  
Then had Penelope lost her glorious praise.  
Had valiant Capaneus won the Theban Town,  
Evadne then had never had renown,  
Of Pelias daughters why admire we 
4 Alcestis wi●e of Admetus' King of Thessaly, he being sick, sent to the Oracle. and received answer that he must dye presently unless so●●e friend would dye for him, this all refused and ●he voluntarily died for him.  one;  
Her husband's woes ennobled her alone.  
Laodameia too obscure had laid,  
Had not her Lord at Troy been foremost slain.  
So had thy kindness, wife, been sti●● unknown,  
If on my sails the winds had surely blown.  
Yet ye, O gods, and Caesar who shalt be,  
At Nestor's years an heavenly Deity,  
O spare, I pray, though not my guilty head,  
Yet her who hath no sorrow merited.    

ELEGY. 7.  
He woos his friend that he would not withdraw  
His kindness, Argu. but abide in friendship's Law,  

DOst thou the Quondam hope of mine affairs,  
The Refuge and the Port of all my cares,  
Dost thou likewise forsake thy ancient friend?  
Dost thou so soon thy Pious office end?  
I am a burden: true, but why at first,  
Didst take it up to lay it down at th' worst?  
What 
1 〈…〉  Palinurus leave thy ship i'th' storm?  
Flee not, but show thy skill in times forlorn.  
I'th' ' fight 
2 〈…〉  Automedon near left his charge,  
Nor yet Achilles' chariot run at large.  
And 
3 〈…〉  Podalirius, his Greek Patients still  
Once undertaken, followed with his skill.  
Better near harbour, than thrust out thy guest,  
Then let me on mine Altar firmly rest.  
At first, thou only didst maintain thy friend.  
But now with me thy judgement must defend,  
At lest if I have done no trespass since,  
To make t●ee change thy faith by mine offence.  
First let my breath out of my br●st repair,  
Which I but hardly draw in Scythian air,  
Ere my default should thy displeasure move,  
Or I should seem unworthy of thy love.  
I am not so through cruel fates declined,  
That ●riefe should breed a frenzy in my mind;  
But say it had: oft, in his frantic fie,  
Flerce words at Pylades did Orestes spit,  
Nor Is't unlike but that he strooke his friend,  
Who yet remained officious to the end.  
Mer●●● the wretched with the rich agree,  
Both must be pleased, and both must humoured be,  
We give blind men the way, as well as those,  
Whose mazes awe us and their purple clothes.  
Then spare my fortune, though thou spare not me;  
Who am no subject fit to anger thee.  
Choose out but part of that which I sustain,  
'tis more than all of which thou canst complain;  
Number the reeds which in the marshes stand,  
Or Bees which feed on Hyb●as flowery land.  
Or count the Pismires which in toiling swarms,  
Do lig the grain into their earthly barns,  
Such troops of sorrows me environ round,  
That far above my plaints, my woes abound.  
Whom they content not: let him heap on more,  
Waterith ' Seas, or Sands upon the shore.  

1 The untimely●  Thy groundless fury then, my friend appease  
Desert me not in midst of stormy Seas.    

ELEGY. 8.  
Our Poet here his woeful plight repeats, Argu.  
And shows the attire and manners of the Geteses.  

THis Letter Reader, comes from Scythian clime,  
Where Ister's streams with th'Ocean waves combine.  
If thou a life of health dost now retain,  
I shall an happy man in part remain.  
I know my dear, thou askest how I far,  
Which thou mayst gather, though I silent were.  
I am, in brief and sum, a wretched wight,  
As he must be, whom Caesar shall despite.  
Besides, I know thou wouldst, that I should tell,  
The manner of these T●mites where I dwell.  
The Greeks' with Geteses are mixed here in store,  
Yet of fierce Geteses, this coast containeth more.  
Whole troops of Geteses and rude Sarmatians go,  
Tracing our roads with horses to and fro.  
And there's not one but bow, and bowcase wears,  
And arrows blew with gall of Vipers bears.  
Rough speech, and looks that threaten death they have  
Their heads and beards these shack-haires never shave  
Their hands are ready still to stab and wound  
With knives, which ever by their sides are bound.  
With these he lives that wrote Loves tender glee,  
These, these thy Poet still doth hear and see.  
And yet, with these O may he never dye,  
But let his ghost this loathed Region fly!  
Whereas thou writest of applauses rung  
In the full theatres, to my verses sung.  
Thou knowst, I never penned to stage's Laws,  
Not was my Muse ambitious of applause.  
Yet am I pleased, that I still retain  
In fresh remembrance a poor exiles name.  
My Muse and verses though I oft forswear,  
When I consider what for them I bear;  
Yet having cursed them, cannot give them o'er,  
But love the weapons died in my gore.  
The Greekish ship torn i'th' Euboian maine,  
Yet near Caphareus 
1 〈◊〉  rock dares sail again.  
Yet wish I not for praise or late renown:  
Who had been safer, had I ne'er been known:  
But with my studies do beguile my grief,  
And yield my careful mind some short relief.  
How else should I alone my time employ?  
Or other cure of sorrow here enjoy?  
For lo the place is most unpleasant ground,  
In all the world a vilder is not found.  
As for the men, they scarce deserve the name,  
More freity than wolves they do retain.  
They fear no laws, but right gives place to might,  
The stronger sword hath still the better right.  
They fence the cold with skins, and mantles wide,  
And with long locks their dreadful countenance hide  
In some of them a smack of Greek is sound.  
Though much corrupted by the Geticke sound.  
Yet there's not one of all this savage throng,  
That can express a word i'th' Latin tongue.  
Pardon ye Muses, I (even forced erewhile)  
A Roman Poet speak their Geticke style.  
I blush to say't, ●et through disuse do find.  
That Latin words come 
1 Hardly  slowly to my mind.  
And doubtless, barbarous words these Poem's shame  
For which you must the place not Poet blame.  
Yet lest I quite should lose th' Ausonian tongue,  
And in my Country speech prove wholly dumb,  
I with myself discourse in words disused.  
Under the Muse's standard long refused.  
Thus do I pass my hours, and so a while  
Of fretting thoughts my pensive mind beguile.  
Seeking by Poetry to forget my grief,  
And well paid, if thus I find relief.    

ELEGY. 9  
Argu. Here Ovid doth a tart invective write,  
'Gainst one that had provoked him with despite.  

THough I be fall'n, I am not under thee,  
Than whom there's nothing can more abject be.  
What makes thee stomach thus, vild wretch? or why  
Dost thou insult o'er humane misery?  
Can not my miseries make thee mild and tame  
To me, when Tigers would condole the same?  
Nor fearest thou Fortune's power, which tickle stands  
Upon a ball? nor yet her proud commands?  
Yet will just Nemesis take revenge for me,  
Since thou dost trample on calamity.  
I saw a ship, and passengers all lost,  
And said, lo never was the sea more just.  
And some that grudged the poor their broken meat,  
Themselves are fain to beg before they eate.  
Thus sickle fortune roves with wand'ring pace, 
Sentence.   
And never constant bides in any place.  
she's merry now, but mourning by and by,  
In nothing constant but inconstancy.  
I once did flourish, but did quickly fade.  
My blazing flame was but of stubble made.  
Yet lest thy cruel joy should be entire,  
I have some hope to quench this heavenly ire,  
Since both I meant no harm, and though for shame  
I blush, yet doth not envy fret my name:  
Besides the massy world from East to west,  
Holds not then Caesar's a more tender breast.  
For though he scorn to stoop to hostile strength,  
Yet humble prayers will melt his heart at length.  
And like the Gods. whose number he'll increase,  
he'll grant me many a boon, besides release.  
Count all the days i'th' year, both foul and fair,  
And thou shalt find that these most frequent are.  
Lest then thou chance to over joy my pain,  
Suppose I may be yet restored again.  
Suppose, when Caesar's wrath shall milder be,  
My face i'th' City thou with grief mayst see,  
And I thee banished for some fouler crime:  
To this my twofold wish, let heaven incline.    

ELEGY 10.  
He shows the reason why he doth not nam●,  
His worthy friend for sear he purchase blame. Argu.  

WOuldst thou permit thy name within my verse,  
How often there would I the same rehearse?  
Thee only would I sing, and all my lays,  
In every Page should sound thy worthy praise.  
My debt to thee should through the City spread,  
If I poor Exile, be i'th' City read.  
This age, and after times should know thy love.  
If these my slender rhymes shall lasting prove.  
Yea learned Readers should thy praises ring,  
A Poet saved might well such honour bring.  
That now I breath, is first great Caesar's fee,  
And next to him, the thankes are due to thee,  
He gave me life, thou dost his gift maintain,  
And causest me that 
1 〈…〉  grace to entertain.  
When at my fall, the most men were dismayed,  
And others would be thought to be afraid,  
And on my shipwreck gazed from the land;  
Yet to me floating reached no helping hand,  
Thou only didst from present death recall me,  
And makest me live to know what did befall me.  
Let all the gods, with Caesar thee befriend,  
What can I wish thee better to thy end?  
Wouldst thou give leave, all this, my painful skill.  
Should publish to the world in accents shrill.  
My Muse even now (though charged to hold her peace)  
From publishing thy name can scarcely cease.  
But as the dog, when the Deers sent is found,  
Contends to break the Lease wherein he's bound.  
And as the Courser's hoof and head doth beat,  
The Lists and Bars till they be open set,  
So my Thalia, with thy Laws enclosed,  
To name thee, though forbidden is disposed.  
Yet lest this friendly office do thee harm,  
Fear not, my blabbing tongue thy law shall charm,  
Yet not my thoughts, I'll still remember thee,  
And (which thou barrest not) will grateful be.  
Yea whilst I live (which may it be but short)  
My soul shall from thy service never start.    

ELEGY 11.  
Argu. Ovid complains he hath in Pontus spent,  
Three years already since his banishment.  

THrice hath the cold congealed Ister's stream,  
Thrice bound the Euxine, since I hither came.  
The time, me thinks, since I did Rome enjoy,  
Doth seem as long as was the siege of Troy,  
The months you'd think did rather stand then go,  
The year doth pass and pace away so slow.  
The Solstice shortens not the tedious night,  
Nor Winter breviate the loathed light.  
The natural course of things is changed to me,  
Which with my cares me thinks enlarged be.  
Or else the times their wont courses run,  
And only tedious seem to me alone,  
Whom Pontus holdeth Euxine falsely styled, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Hospitable   
Being indeed the land of Scythia wild.  
Where bordering nations threaten wars amain,  
Accounting spoil the only honest gain.  
Where nothing's safe abroad: our hil's entrenched  
With slender walls, and its own native strength.  
O● foes, ere we perceive, like Birds of prey,  
Flock to our spoils, and drive them quite away.  
We often gather up within our wall  
Their darts which in our closed streets do fall.  
Few here dare blow the ground, who ever ears  
With one hand ploughs, i'th' other weapons bears.  
The Shepherd armed pipes on's Oaten reed,  
Instead of wolves, the sheep do warriors dread.  
Our Castle scarce defends from foes without,  
We fear within a mixed barbarous rout.  
For here nixt savages and Grecians 
1 Rest.  nest,  
Our houses most what are by them possessed.  
Whom though you fear not, you must needs detest,  
With skins and shagged hair to see them dressed.  
Even those which from the Greekish line descend,  
With Persian mantles do the cold defend:  
And with the neighbouring Geteses in speech commerce  
So that I do by signs with them converse.  
And no man understands m● language here,  
But at my Latin tongue these rustics jeer,  
And rail upon me Scotfree to my face,  
Objecting oft mine exile in disgrace.  
And take in evil part, when many times  
I strive to answer them by nods and signs,  
Swords here determine what is wrongful right,  
And oft i'th' Court they fall to bloody fight.  
O cruel Lachesis, to draw so fare.  
My thread of life, which had so ill a starie.  
I wail my want of friends and Country dear,  
And that I live with Scythian people here.  
As two great evils: the first I did deserve,  
Yet might a place of less disquiet serve.  
What say I soole? who then deserved death,  
When I did first incur great Caesar's wrath.    

ELEGY 12.  
Argu. He cheers his Wife 'gainst one who had revilde he●●  
And in disdain an Exiles wife had styled her.  

THy Letter doth complain, that one, in strife  
Mistermed thee by the name of Exiles wife,  
I grieved, not that my fortune ill doth hear,  
Who am enured with patience wrongs to bear,  
But that I'm cause of shame dear wife, to thee,  
And fear thou blushest at my low degree.  
Hold out to bear: thou suffered'st more that day,  
When Caesar's anger sent me first away.  
Yet was he wide, that me exiled thought,  
A gentler Censure did attend my fault.  
My greatest Cross was Caesar to offend,  
Oh that I first had met my fatal end.  
Indeed my ship is shattered, but not drowned,  
It bears up still, though't have no haven found.  
He seized not on my life, wealth, Cities-right,  
Although for my offence he justly might.  
But, 
1 F●t.  cause no wickedness in me was found,  
He only banished me my native ground.  
And as to others, more than I can count,  
So Caesar's mercy did to me surmount.  
And styled me not an exile, but proscribed.  
My judge, himself my cause can best decide.  
Therefore my verses, to my slender power,  
Shall chant thy praises, Caesar, every hour,  
I'll pray the gods to shut their heavenly gate,  
A while, and thou mayst hold thy royal state,  
So pra●es the people, yet my prayer shall run  
Like a small Brook into th'vast Ocean.  
But thou, who callest me exile, spare to press,  
With lying titles this my hard distress.    

ELEGY 13.  
Argu. He answers here his friend, that wished him write,  
Verses in's Exile for a small delight.  

THou writ'st that I should pass my mournful time  
With study, lest my mind with rust decline.  
'tis hard my friend to do, for Verses ask,  
A quiet mind, being a cheerful task.  
But my hard Fortune's driven with adverse wind,  
So that a worse can hardly be assigned.  
Thou bidst King Priam at's sons funerals sport,  
And childless Niobe keep a dancing Court.  
What, seem I fit for study, or for moan,  
Who to the utmost Geteses am sent alone?  
Had I a mind with matchless strength sustained,  
Like 
1 Anyti●ens.  Soorates whom Anytu● defamed,  
Yet such a weight would sink my wits at length,  
joves' anger fare exceedeth humane strength.  
That aged man whom Phoebus styled wise,  
Can not have wrote in such a woeful guise.  
For say I could forget my home and fall,  
And have no fe●ling of my grief at all,  
Yet fear itself this quiet task would let,  
Who am with sundry cruel foes beset.  
Add that my wit is dulled, or rusted o'er,  
And grown much weaker than it was before.  
The fertile field, if'ft be not duly tilled,  
Will nought but grass, Sim. with thorns and thistles yield:  
The resty Horse, runs slowly, and arrives,  
Hindmost of those, Sim. which for the mastery strive.  
The Boat that long stands dry, it is no wonder,  
If it in time grow sear, Sim. and cleave in sunder.  
Well then may I despair (though weak before)  
To reach that strain of verse I had of yore.  
Continual troubles make my Genius fade,  
Much of my former vigour is decayed.  
Yet oft my Table books I take in hand,  
Wooing my words in lawful feet to stand:  
Yet can no verses make, or such as these  
Which suit the Authors time, and states disease.  
Lastly 'tis glory which the mind doth raise, 
〈…〉   
And eloquent strains do flow from love of praise  
With fames bright lustre was I moved of yore,  
So long as prosperous winds my sails outbore.  
Now 'tis not so with me, to seek for glory.  
I rather wish that none should know my story.  
Because my verse at first had good success,  
Wouldst have me still my former labours press?  
Ye sisters nine (I'll speak it with your leave)  
'twas you that did of Italy me bereave.  
And as in's Bull the 
2 〈◊〉  Author first did smart,  
So am I justly punished for my 
1 Of Love.  Art.  
T●cre meet, that I should verses quite forbear,  
And after shipwreck the rough Ocean fear.  
But say I would resume my harmful Muse,  
Here are no tools to serve a Poet's use.  
Here's not a book, nor one to lend an ear.  
Or that can understand me when they hear.  
●●●hpl●●e is full of rude and brutish no●se,  
Each place is full of Geticke fearful voice,  
And I the Latin tongue have much forgot,  
And fall to speak the rude sarmatic note.  
And ●et (to say the truth) cannot refaine.  
But now and then my Muse a verse will frame,  
I ●nte, and what I writ with fire consume,  
And all my study ends in flame and fume.  
Not can I make a verse, nor do desire,  
And therefore cast my labours in the fire.  
So that to you, none of my fancies came,  
But what by chance or stealth escaped the flame.  
Even so, I wish my Art itself had burned,  
Which to such sorrow hath her Author turned    

ELEGY 14.  
Here O vid kindly chides a real friend,  
Because he did no loving Letters send. Argu.  

FRom Pontus' land, thine Ovid sends thee health.  
If one can send what he doth want himself.  
My sickly body grief of mind doth taint,  
Lest any part in me should torment want.  
A stitch my pained side doth daily hold,  
Which I have got by Winter's deadly cold.  
Yet am I well in part if thou be'st so,  
Whose shoulders did support mine overthrow.  
Thou nav'st me many pledges of thy love,  
And the true Patron of my life didst prove;  
And yet in seldom writing dost offend.  
Withholding words, not deeds from me thy friend  
Mend this I pray thee, which if thou correct,  
There shall be found in thee no one defect.  
I'd blame thee more, but that thy Letters sent,  
Perhaps miscarried, 'gainst thy true intent.  
Let my complaint, O gods be rash and hot,  
And let me falsely fear, I was forgot,  
I have my wish: for sure I shall not find,  
That thou hast ever changed thy constant mind.  
First shall cold Pontus' land grey Wormwood want,  
And sweetest Time shall be in Hyb●a scant;  
Ere thou to think upon thy fr●end grow slack,  
My Destinies are not spun of threads so black.  
Yet to prevent the least suspicions searre,  
L●st thou shouldst seem, w●at thou'rt not, pray beware  
And as we want our time to posse away,  
In friendly talk tiring the tedious day,  
Let Letters now our words transport along;  
And pen and paper make supply of tongue.  
But lest I seem distrustful of my friend,  
Let me in these few lines my caution end.  
And (that thy fates from mine may distant dwell)  
I add our letters common close, farewell.    

ELEGY 15  
Hear Ovid to his Wise, this comfort gives,  
That she for ever in his Poems lives. Argu.  

WHat monuments in my Book●s, thou seest●d are wife,  
I leave of thee far dearer than my life.  
For though hard Fortune press the Author sore,  
Yet shall my works renown thee more and more.  
Whilst I am read, the world shall read thy fame,  
Thou shalt not all consume in funeral flame.  
And though thou seemest unhappy by my fate,  
Yet many Wives will wish even thine estate,  
Will call thee happy, yea and will envy,  
Their bearest a part in Ovid's misery.  
Can I give thousands, I could give no more,  
The rich man's ghost must leave his wealthy store.  
I give thee this, thy name shall ever live,  
Than which, what greater dowry could I give?  
And, when thou art alone my state's defender,  
This make thine honour neither light nor slender,  
And that my tongue still chants thy praise aloud,  
Thy husband's witness 
1 Well mav.  ought to make thee proud.  
Which lest it should be rash, persist to th'end,  
And still thy husband and thy faith defend.  
For while I stood upright, thou didst maintain  
Thy goodness free from any crime or s●ame.  
Not i● it lessened by this fall of mine,  
Here may thy V●rtue much the brighter shine.  
'Tis easy to be good, when all things prove,  
Fit to invite a wife to d●teout love Sent. 1  
But in a thundering tempest not to fly,  
This is true wedlock●●love and piety.  
Ra●e virtue 'tis, which Fortune doth not gurde,  
But Fortune fleeing, yet doth firm abide,  
If there b● any such which virtue prize,  
Even for itself, and scorns adversities,  
Recount the times, she never was concealed,  
But of the world admired and famous held,  
Thou seest how chaste Pene●ope retains,  
Through tract of time, a never dying name.  

2 Alcest● Admetus wife ●●ved to save him alive.  Admetus' wife, and Hector's, Poets same,  
And 
3 She was butned with her husband.  Hiphias, that despised the funeral flame.  
Laodame●a's praise doth still resound,  
Whose lord did first set eight on Trojan ground.  
Thou needest not dye for me: by faithful love  
At easy rate thou mayst renowned prove:  
Nor by this counsel, think thyself accused,  
Though Oars do good, yet are not sails refused. Sim.  
Who warns thee to persist, commends thy fact,  
And by his Counsel doth approve the act.   

Ovid de seipso.  
What unto Maro high Heroickes own,  
To me soft Elegies are indebted so.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉    
The fifth Book containeth 750. Verses.   
The five Books contain 3556, Verses. The Arguments, 100 Verses.  
FINIS.