SIX IDILLIA THAT IS, SIX SMALL, OR PETTY POEMS, OR ÆGLOGVES, Choose out of the right famous Sicilian Poet THEOCRITUS, and translated into English verse. Dum defluat amnis. PRINTED At Oxford, by JOSEPH BARNES. 1588. E. D. Libenter hic, & omnis exantlabitur Labour, in tuae spem gratiae. SIX IDILLIA, CHOSEN OUT OF THE famous Sicilian Poet THEOCRITUS, and translated into English verse. THE VIII. JDILLION. Argument. Menalcas a shepherd, and Daphnis a Netehearde, two Sicilian jads, contending who should sing best, pawn their whistles, and choose a Gotehearde, to be their judge. Who giveth sentence on Daphnis his side. The thing is imagined to be done in the isle of Sicily by the Sea shore of whose singing, this Idillion is called BUCOLIASTAE, that is, Singers of a Neteheards' song. BUCOLIASTÆ. DAPHNIS. MENALCAS. GOTEHEARDE. WITH lovely Netehearde Daphnis on the hills, they say, Shepherd Menalcas met, upon a summer's day. Both yuth fullstriplings, both had yellow heads of hear, In whistling both, and both in singing skilful wear. Menalcas first, beholding Daphnis, thus bespoke. MENALCAS. Wilt thou in singing, Netehearde Daphnis, undertake To strive with me? for I affirm, that at my will I can thee pass. thus Daphnis answered on the hill. DAPHNIS. Whistler Menalcas, thou shalt never me excel In singing, though to death with singing thou shouldst swell. MENALCAS. Then wilt thou see, and something for the victor wage? DAPHNIS. I will both see, and something for the victor gage. MENALCAS. What therefore shall we pawn, that for us may befit? DAPHNIS. I'll pawn a calf, a wennell lamb lay thou to it. MENALCAS. I'll pawn no lamb, for both my Sire and Mother fell Are very hard, and all my sheep at even they tell. DAPHNIS. What then? what shall he gain that wins the victore? MENALCAS. A gallant Whistell which I made with notes thrice three, Joinde with white wax, both even below and even above, This will I lay, my Father's things I will not move. DAPHNIS. And I a Whistle have with notes thrice three arrow, Joinde with white wax, both even above, and even below. I lately framed it, for this finger yet doth ache With pricking, which a splinter of a reed did make. But who shall be our judge, and give us audience? MENALCAS. What if we call this Goteheard here, not far from hence, Whose dog doth bark hard by the kids? the lusty boys Did call him, and the Gotehearde came to hear their toys. The lusty boys did sing, the Gotehearde judgement gave. Menalcas first by lot unto his whistle brave Did sing a Neteheards' song, and Neteheard Daphnis than Did sing by course, but first Menalcas thus began. MENALCAS. Ye Groves, and Brooks divine, if on his reed Menalcas ever sung a pleasant lay, Fat me these Lambs; if Daphnis here will feed His calves, let him have pasture toe I pray. DAPHNIS. Ye pleasant Springs, and Plants, would Daphnis had As sweet a voice as have the Nightingales; Feed me this heard, and if the shepherds lad Menalcas comes, let him have all the dales. MENALCAS. 'tis ever spring, their meads are ever gay, There strowt the bags, their sheep are fatly fed Where Daphne comes; go she away, Then both the shepherd there, and grass is ded. DAPHNIS. There both the Ewes, and Goats bring forth their twins, Their Bees do fill their hives, their Oaks are high Where Milo treads; when he away gins To go, both Neteheard, and the Neat wax dry. MENALCAS. O husband of the Goats! O wood so hie! O kids, come to this brook, for he is there; Thou with the broken horns, tell Milo shy, That Proteûs kept Sea-calfes', though God he were. DAPHNIS. Nor Pelops kingdom may I crave, nor gold, Nor to outrun the winds upon a lee; But in this cave I'll sing, with thee in hold, Both looking on my sheep, and on the sea. MENALCAS. A tempest marreth trees, and drought a spring, Snares unto fowls, to beasts, nets are a smart, Love spoils a man. O jove, alone his sting I have not felt, for thou a lover art. Thus sung these boys by course, with voices strong, Menalcas then began a latter song. MENALCAS. Wolf, spare my kids, and spare my fruitful sheep, And hurt me not, though but a lad these flocks I guide; Lampur my dog, art thou indeed so sound asleep? Thou shouldst not sleep, while thou art by thy Master's side. My sheep, fear not to eat the tender grass at will, Nor when it springeth up again, see that you fail; Go to, and feed apace, and all your bellies fill, That part your Lambs my have, and part my milking pail. Then Daphnis in his turn sweetly began to sing. DAPHNIS. And me not long ago fair Daphne whistle eide As I drove by, and said I was a paragon; Nor then indeed to her I churlishly replied, But looking on the ground, my way still held I one. Sweet is a cowcalfes' voice, and sweet her breath doth smell, A bulcalfe, and a cow do low full pleasantly; 'tis sweet in summer by a spring abroad to dwell, Acorns become the Oak, apples the Appletree, And calves the kine, and kine, the Neteheard much set out. Thus sung these Yuthes; the Gotehearde thus did end the doubt. GOTEHEARD. O Daphnis, what a dulcet mouth, and voice thou hast? 'tis sweeter thee to hear, than honie-combes to taste. Take thee these pipes, for thou in singing dost excel. If me a Gotehearde thou wilt teach to sing so well, This broken horned Goat, on thee bestow I will, Which to the very brim, the pail doth ever fill. So then was Daphnis glad, and leapt, and clapped his hands, And danced, as doth a fawn, when by the dam he stands. Menalcas grieved, the thing his mind did much dismay, And sad as Bride he was, upon the marriage day. Since then, among the Shepherds, Daphnis chief was had, And took a Nymph to wife, when he was but a lad. DAPHNIS his Emblem. Me tamen urit amor. MENALCAS his Emblem. At haec Daphne for sand probet. GOTEHEARDES Emblem. Est minor nemo nisi comparatus. THE XI. JDILLION. Argument. Theocritus wrote this Idillion to Nicias a learned Physician. wherein he showeth by the example of Polyphemus, a Giant in Sicily, of the race of the Cyclopes, who loved the water Nymph Galatea, that there is no medicine so sovereign against love, as is Poetry. Of whose lovesong, as this Idillion is termed Cyclops, so he was called Cyclops, because he had but one eye, that stood like a circle in the midst of his forehead. CYCLOPS. O Nicias, there is no other remedy for love, With ointing, or with sprinkling on, that ever I could prove, Beside the Muses nine. this pleasant medsun of the mind Grows among men, and seems but light, yet very hard to find. As well I wot you know, who are in Physic such a leech, And of the Muses so beloved. the cause of this my speech, A Cyclops is, who lived here with us right welthele, That anchent Polyphem, when first he loved Galate; When with a bristled beard, his chin and cheeks first clothed were. He loved her not, with roses, apples, or with curled hear, But with the Furies rage. all other things he little plied. For often to their fold, from pastures green, without a guide His sheep returned home, when all the while he singing lay In honour of his love, and on the shore consumed away From morning until night, sick of the wound, fast by the heart, Which mighty Venus gave, and in his liver stuck the dart. For which, this remedy he found, that sitting oftentimes Upon a rock, and looking on the Sea, he sung these rhymes. O Galatea fair, why dost thou shun thy lover true? More tender than a Lamb, more white than cheese when it is new, More wanton than a calf, more sharp than grapes unripe I find. You use to come, when pleasant sleep my senses all do bind. But you are gone again, when pleasant sleep doth leave mine eye, And as a sheep you run, that on the plain a Wolf doth spy. I than began to love thee, Galate, when first of all You with my mother came, to gather leaves of Crowtoe small Upon our hill, when I as usher, squirde you all the way. Nor when I saw thee first, nor afterward, nor at this day, Since then could I refrain; but you, by Jove, nought set thereby. But well I know, fair Nymph, the very cause why you thus fly. Because upon my front, one only brow, with bristles strong From one ear to the other ear, is stretched all along. Nethe which, one eye, and on my lips a hugy nose there stands. Yet I, this such a one, a thousand sheep seed on these lands. And pleasant milk I drink, which from the strutting bags is priest. Nor want I cheese in summer, nor in Autumn of the best, Nor yet in winter time. my cheese-rackes ever laden are, And better can I pipe, than any Cyclops may compare. O Apple sweet, of thee, and of myself, I use to sing, And that at midnight oft. for thee, aleaune fauns up I bring, All great with young, & four bears whelps, I nourish up for thee. But come thou hither first, and thou shalt have them all of me. And let the bluish colorde Sea beat on the shore so nigh. The night with me in cave, thou shalt consume more pleasantly. There are the shady bay, and there tall Cypres-trees do sprout, And there is Juie black, and fertile Vines are all about. Cool water there I have, distilled of the whitest snow, A drink divine, whiich out of woody Aetna mount doth flow. In these respects, who in the Sea & waves would rather be? But if I seem as yet, too rough and savage unto thee, Great store of Oaken wood I have, and never quenched fire; And I can well endure my soul to burn with thy desire, With this my only eye, than which I nothing think more trim. Now woe is me, my mother bore me not with fins to swim, That I might dive to thee, that I thy dainty hand might kiss, If lips thou wouldst not let; then would I Lilies bring Jwis, And tender Poppy toe, that bears a top like rattells red. And these in summer time, but other are in winter bred, So that I cannot bring them all at once. now certainly, I'll learn to swim of some or other stranger passing buy, That I may know what pleasure 'tis in waters deep to dwell. Come forth, fair Galate, and once got out, forget thee well (As I do sitting on this rock) home to return again. But feed my sheep with me, & for to milk them take the pain, And cheese to press, and in the milk, the rennet sharp to strain. My mother only wrongeth me, and her I blame, for she Spoke never yet to thee, one good or lovely word of me, And that, although she daily sees, how I away do pine. But I will say my head and feet do ache, that she may whine And sorrow at the heart, because my heart with grief is swollen. O Cyclops, Cyclops, whither is thy wit and reason flown? If thou wouldst baskets make, and cut down browzing from the tree, And bring it to thy Lambs, a great deal wiser thou shouldst be? Go coy some present Nymph, why dost thou follow flying wind? Perhaps an other Galate, and fairer thou shalt find. For many maidens in the evening tied with me will play, And all do sweetly laugh, when I stand hearkening what they say, And I some body seem, and in the earth do bear a sway. Thus Polyphemus singing, fed his raging love of old, Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her sums of gold. POLYPHEM'S Emblem. Vbi Dictamum inveniam? THE XVI. JDILLION. Argument. The style of this Poem is more lofty than any of the rest, & Theocritus wrote it to Hiero king of Siracuse in Sicily. Wherein he reproveth the niggardize of Princes and great men, towards the learned, and namely Poets, in whose power it is, to make men famous to all posterity. Towards the end he praiseth Hiero, and prayeth that Sicily may be delivered, by his prows, from the invasions of the carthaginians. This Idillion is named Hiero, in respect of the Person to whom it was written, or Charites, that is Graces, in respect of the matter whereof it treateth. CHARITES, or HIERO. POETS have still this care, and still the Muses have this care To magnify the Gods with songs, and men that worthy are. The Muses they are Goddeses, and Gods with praise they crown, But we are mortal men, and mortal men let us renown. But who of all the men, under the cope of heaven that dwell, By opening of his doors, our Graces entertains so well, That unrewarded quite he doth not send them back again? They in a chafe, all barefoot home to me return with pain, And me they greatly blame, &, that they went for nought, they grudge, And all to weary, in the bottom of an empty hutch, Laying there heads upon there knees full cold, they still remain, Where they do poorly dwell, because they home returned in vain. Of all that living are, who loves a man that speaketh well? I know not one; for now a days for deeds that do excel, Men care not to be praised. But all are overcum with gain. For every man looks round, with hand in bosom, whence amain Coin he may get, whose rust rubbeth off, he will not give again. But strait way thus he says; the leg is further than the knee, Let me have gold enough, the Gods to Poets pay their fee. Who would an other here? Enough for all, one Homer is. Of Poets he is prince, yet gets he nought of me Iwis. Mad men, what gain is this to hoard up gabs of gold within? This is not moneys use, nor hath to wise men ever been. But part is due unto ourselves, part to the Poet's pen, And many kinsfolks must be pleasured, and many men, And often to the Gods thou must do solleme sacrifice. Nor must thou keep a sparing house, but when in friendly wise Thou hast received strangers at thy board, when they will thence. Let them departed, but chiefly Poets must thou reverence. That after thou art hidden in thy grave, thou mayst here well, Nor basely mayst thou mourn, when thou in Acheron dost dwell; Like to sum ditcher vile, whose hands with work are hard & dry, Who from his parents poor, bewails his life in beggary. In king Antiochus his Court, and king Alevas toe, To distribute the monthly bred, a many had to do. The Scopedans had many droves of calves, which in their stales 'Mong Oxen loud, and shepherds kept in the Cranonian dales Infinite flocks, to bear the hospital Creondan's charge. No pleasure should these men enjoy, of their expenses large, When on's their souls they had embarked in the infernal Barge, But leaving all this wealth behind, in wretched misery, Among the dead, without renown, for ever they should lie, Had not Simonides, the Chian Poet with his pen, And with his Lute of many strings, so famous made these men To all posterity. the very horses are renowned, Which from their races swift returned, with olive garlands crowned. Who ever should have known the Lician Princes, and their race, Or them of Troy, or Cignus with his woman's coloured face, Had not the Poets sung the famous wars of them of old? Nor yet Ulysses (who for ten years space, on Seas was rolled By sundry sorts of men, and who at last went down to Hell As yet alive, and from the Cyclops den escaped well) Had got such lasting fame; and drowned should lie in silence deep swineherd Eumaeus, and Philaetius, who had to keep A heard of Neat; Laertes eke himself had been unknown, If far and wide their names, great Homer's verses had not blown. Immortal fame to mortal men the Muses nine do give. But dead men's wealth is spent, and quite consumed of them that live. But all one pain it is, to number waves upon the banks, Whereof great store, the wind from Sea, doth blow to land in ranks, Or for to wash a brick with water clear, till it be white, As for to move a man, whom avarice doth onhis delight. Therefore adieu to such a one for me, and let him have Huge silver heaps at will, and more and more still let him crave; But I, Goodwill of men, and Honour will prefer, before A many Mules of prize, or many horses kept in store. Therefore I ask, to whom shall I be welcome with my train Of Muses nine? whose ways are hard, if Jove guides not the rain. The heavens yet have not left to roll both months & years on reels, And many horses yet, shall turn about the charet wheels; The man shall rise, that shall have need of me, to set him out, Doing such deeds of arms, as Ajax, or Achilles' stout Did in the field of Simois, where Ilus bones do rest. And now the carthaginians, inhabiting the West, Who in the utmost end of Libya dwell, in arms are priest; And now the Syracusians their spears do carry in the rest. Whose left-armes laden are with targets made of willoe tree. 'mongst whom, king Hiero, the anchent Worthies match, I see In armour shine, whose plume doth over shade his helmet bright. O jupiter, and thou Minerva fierce in fight, And thou Proserpina, who with thy mother, hast renown By Lysimelia streams, in Ephyra that wealthy town, Out of our Island drive our enemies, our bitter fate, Along the Sardine Sea, that death of friends they may relate Unto their children and their wives, and that the towns oppressed By enemies, of th'old inhabitants may be possessed; That they may till the fields, and sheep upon the downs may blete By thousands infinite, and fat, and that the herds of Neat As to their stalls they go, may press the lingering traveller. Let grounds be broken up for seed, what time the grasshopper Watching the shepherds by their flocks, in boughs close singing lies; And let the Spiders spread their slender webs in armouries, So that of war, the very name may not be heard again. But let the Poets strive, king Hieros' glories for to strain Beyond the Scythean Sea, & far beyond those places, where Semiramis did build those stately walls, and rule did be are. 'mongst whom, I will be one; for main other men beside Joves daughter's love, whose study still shall be, both far and wide Sicilian Arethusa, with the people, to advance, And warlike Hiero. Ye Graces, who keep resiance In the Thessalian mount Orchomenus, to Thebes of old So hateful, though of you beloved, to stay I will be bold, Where I am bid to come, and I with them will still remain, That shall invite me to their house, with all my Muse's train. Nor you will I forsake; for what to men can lovely be Without your company? the Graces always be with me. Emblem. Sinihil attuleris, ibis Homer forás. THE XVIII. JDILLION. Argument. Twelve noble Spartan Virgins are brought in singing in the evening at the chamber door of Menelaus and Helena, on their wedding day. And first they prettily jest with the Bridegroom, than they praise Helen, lastly they wish them both joy of their marriage. Therefore this Idillion is entitled Helen's Epithalamion, that is, Helen's wedding song. HELEN'S Epithalamion. IN Sparta long ago, where Menelaus wore the crown, Twelve noble Virgins, daughters to the greatest in the town, All dight upon their hair in Crowtoe garlands fresh and green, Danced at the chamber door of Helena the Queen, What time this Menelay, the younger Son of Atreus, Did marry with this lovely daughter of Prince Tyndarus. And therewithal at eve, a wedding song they jointly sung, With such a shuffling of their feets, that all the Palace rung. Fair Bridegroom, do you sleep? hath slumber all your limbs possessed? What, are you drowsy? or hath wine your body so oppressed That you are gone to bed? for if you needs would take your rest, You should have ta'en a season meet. mean time, till it be day Suffer the Bride with us, and with her mother dear to play. For, Menelaus, she at evening and at morning tide, From day to day, and year to year shall be thy loving Bride. O happy Bridegroom, sure some honest man did sneeze to thee When thou to Sparta came, to meet with such a one as she. Among the demi-gods thou only art accounted meet To be the Son in law of Jove; for underneath one sheet His daughter lies with thee. of all that tread on ground with feet There is not such a one in Greece. now sure sum goodly thing She will thee bear, if it be like the mother that she bring. For we her peers in age, whose course of life is even the same, Who at Eurotas streams, like men are oiled to the game, And four times sixty maids, of all the women youth we are, Of these none wants a fault, if her with Helen we compare. Like as the rising Morning shows a grateful lightning, When sacred night is past, and winter now let's lose the spring; So glittering Helen shined among the maids, lusty and tall; As is the furrow in a field that far out-stretcheth all, Or in a garden is a Cypres-tree, or in a trace A steed of Thessaly, so she to Sparta was a grace. No damsel with such works as she, her baskets used to fill, Nor in a diverse coloured web, a woof, of greater skill Doth cut off from the loom, nor any hath such songs and lays Unto her dainty harp, in Diane's and Minerva's praise As Helen hath, in whose bright eyes, all Loves and Graces be. O fair, o lovely maid, a matron now is made of thee. But we will every spring, unto the leaves in meadows go, To gather Garlands sweet, and there not with a little woe Will often think of thee, O Helen, as the sucking Lamms Desire the strutting gabs, and presence of their tender dams. We all betimes for thee, a wreath of Melitoe will knit, And on a shady Plane, for thee will safely fasten it. And all betimes for thee, under a shady Plane below, Out of a silver box the sweetest ointment will bestow. And letters shall be written in the bark, that men may see, And read, Do humble reverence, for I am Helen's tree. Sweet Bride, good night, & thou, O happy Bridegroom, now good night, Latona send you happy issue, who is most of might In helping youth, and blissful Venus send you equal love betwixt you both, and jove give lasting riches from above, Which from your noble selves, unto your noble imps may fall. Sleep on, and breath into your breasts desires mutual. But in the morning wake, forget it not in any wise. And we will then return as soon as any one shall rise, And in the chamber stir, and first of all lift up the head. Hymen, O Hymen, now be gladsome at this marriage bed. Emblem. Vsque adeo latet utilitas. THE XXI. JDILLION. Argument. A Neteheard is brought in chase, that Eunîca a maid of the city disdained to kiss him. Whereby it is thought that Theocritus seemeth to check them, that think this kind of writing in Poetry, to be too base & rustical. And therefore this Poem is termed Neteheard. NETEHEARDE. EUNÎCA scorned me, when her I would have sweetly kissed, And railing at me said, go with a mischief where thou list. Thinkest thou a wretched Neteheard me to kiss? I have no will After the Country guise to smooch, of City lips I skill. My lovely mouth, so much as in thy dream thou shalt not touch. How dost thou look? How dost thou talk? How playest thou the slouch? How daintily thou speak'st? What courting words thou bringest out? How soft a beard thou hast? How fair thy locks hang round about? Thy lips are like a sick-man's lips, thy hands, so black they be, And rankly thou dost smell, away, lest thou defilest me. Having thus said, she spattered on her bosom twice or thrice, And still beholding me from top to toe, in scornful wise, She muttered with her lips, and with her eyes she looked aside, And of her beauty wondrous coy she was, her mouth she wride, And proudly mocked me to my face. my blood boiled in each vain, And red I wox for grief, as doth the rose with dewy rain. Thus leaving me, away she fling; since when, it vexeth me, That I should be so skornde, of such a filthy drab as she. Ye Shepherds, tell me true, am I not fair as any swan? Hath of a sudden any God, made me another man? For well I wot before, a comely grace in me did shine, Like ivy round about a tree, and decked this beard of mine. My crisped locks, like Parslie on my temples wont to spread, And on my eiebrowes black, a milk white forehead glistered. More seemly were mine eyes, than are Minerva's eyes I know. My mouth for sweetness passed cheese, and from my mouth did flow A voice more sweet than hunniecombes. Sweet is my rundelaie, When on the whistle, flute, or pipe, or cornet I do play. And all the women on our hills, do say that I am fair, And all do love me well. But these that breath the city air Did never love me yet. And why? The cause is this I know, That I a Neteheard am. They hear not, how in vales below Fair Bacchus kept a heard of beasts; nor can these nice ones tell, How Venus raving for a Neteheards' love, with him did dwell Upon the hills of Phrygia, and how she loved again Adonis in the woods, and mourned in woods, when he was slain. What was Endymion? Was he not a Netehearde? Yet the Moon Did love this Neteheard so, that from the heavens descending soon, She came to Latmos grove, where with the dainty lad she lay. And Rhea, thou a Neteheard dost bewail, and thou all day O mighty Jupiter, but for a shepherds boy didst stray. Eunica only deigned not, a Neteheard for to love. Better forsooth than Cybel, Venus, or the Moon above. And Venus, thou hereafter must not love thy fair Adone In city, nor on hill, but all the night must sleep alone. Emblem. Habitarunt Dij quoque Syluas. THE XXXI. JDILLION. Argument. The conceit of this Idillion is very delicate. Wherein it is imagined, how Venus did send for the Boar, who in hunting slew Adonis, a dainty yuth, whom she loved; And how the Boar answering for himself, that he slew him against his will, as being enamoured on him, & thinking only to kiss his naked thigh, she forgave him. The Poet's drift is, to show the power of love, not only in men, but also in brute beasts. Although in the two last verses, by the burning of the Boar's amorous teeth, he intimateth, that extravagant and unorderly passions, are to be restrained by reason. ADONIS. WHEN VENUS first did see, Adonis' dead to be, With woeful tattered hear, And cheeks so wan and sear, The winged Loves she bad, The Boar should strait be had. Forthwith like birds they fly, And through the wood they hie. The woeful beast they find, And him with cords they bind. One with a rope before, Doth lead the captive Boar. Another on his back, Doth make his bow to crack. The beast went wretchedly, For Venus horribly He feared, who thus him cursed. Of all the beasts the worst, Didst thou this thigh so wound? Didst thou my Love confound? The beast thus spoke in fear; Venus, to thee I swear, By thee, and husband thine, And by these bands of mine, And by these hunters all, Thy husband fair and tall, I minded not to kill, But as an image still, I him beheld for love, Which made me forward shove, His thigh, that naked was, Thinking to kiss alas. And that hath hurt me thus. Wherefore these teeth, Venus, Or punish, or cut out. Why bear I in my snout, These needless teeth about? If this may not suffice, Cut off my chaps likewise. To ruth he Venus moves, And she commands the Loves, His bands for to untie. After, he came not nigh The wood, but at her will, He followed Venus still. And coming to the fire, He burned up his desire. Emblem. Raris forma viris, sęcula prospice, Impunita fuit. FINIS.