SIX IDILLIA

WIth lovely Neatherd Daphnis on the hills, they say, Shepherd Menalcas met upon a summer's day: Both youthful striplings, both had yellow heads of hair; In whistling both, and both in singing skilful were.

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 medicine of the mind Grows among men; and seems but lite, yet very hard to find: As well I wote 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 wealthily; That ancient 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 curlèd hair; But with the Furies' rage. All other things he little plied. Full often to their fold, from pastures green, without a guide, His sheep returnèd 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 sang 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 then began to love thee, Galate, when first of all You, with my mother, came to gather leaves of crowtoe [hyacinth] small Upon our hill; when I, as Usher, squired you all the way. Nor when I saw thee first, nor afterwards, 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 thus you fly. Because upon my front, one only brow, with bristles strong From one ear to the other ear is stretchèd all along: 'Neath which, one eye; and on my lips, a hugy nose, there stands. Yet I, this such a one, a thousand sheep feed on these lands; And pleasant milk I drink, which from the strouting bags is presst. Nor want I cheese in summer, nor in autumn of the best, Nor yet in winter time. My cheese racks 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! eleven fawns up I bring, All great with young: and 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 coloured sea beat on the shore so nigh, The night with me in cave, thou shalt consume more pleasantly! There are the shady bays, and there tall cypress trees do sprout: And there is ivy black, and fertile vines are all about. Cool water there I have, distilled of the whitest snow, A drink divine, which out of woody Etna mount doth flow. In these respects, who in the sea and 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-quenchèd 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 iwis, And tender poppy-toe that bears a top like rattles red, And these in summer time: but others 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 by, 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, and 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 Spake 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 swoll'n. "O Cyclops, Cyclops! whither is thy wit and reason flown? If thou would'st baskets make; and cut down brouzing from the tree, And bring it to thy lambs, a great deal wiser thou should'st be! Go, coy some present Nymph! Why dost thou follow flying wind? Perhaps another galate, and fairer, thou shalt find! }For many Maidens in the evening tide with me will play, And all do sweetly laugh, when I stand heark'ning what they say: And I somebody 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.

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 goddesses, 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, &c. That they went for nought they grudge; And all too weary, in the bottom of an empty hutch, Laying their heads upon their 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 overcome with gain. For every man looks round, with hand in bosom, whence amain Coin he may get: whose rust rubbed off, he will not give again. But straightway thus he says, "The leg is further than the knee, Let me have gold enough; the gods to Poets pay their fee!" Who would another hear, "Enough for all, one Homer is; Of poets he is Prince: yet gets he nought of me iwis!" Madmen, what gain is this, to hoard up bags of gold within? This is not money's use, nor hath to wise men ever been! But part is due unto ourselves, part to the Poet's pen; And many kinsfolk must be pleasured, and many men: And often to the gods thou must do solemn sacrifice. Nor must thou keep a sparing house: but when, in friendly wise, Thou hast receivèd strangers at thy board; when they will thence, Let them depart! But chiefly Poets must thou reverence! That after thou art hidden in thy grave, thou mayest hear well! Nor basely mayest thou mourn when thou in Acheron dost dwell! Like to some ditcher vile, whose hands with work are hard and dry; Who from his parents poor, bewails his life in beggary. In King Antiochus his Court, and King Alevas' too To distribute the monthly bread a many had to do. The Scopedans had many droves of calves, which in their stalls 'Mong oxen lowed; and shepherds kept, in the Cranonian dales, }Infinite flocks to bear the hospital [hospitable] Creondan's charge. No pleasure should these men enjoy of their expenses large, When once 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 were renowned; Which, from their races swift returned, with olive garlands crowned. Whoever should have known the Lycian Princes and their race, Or them of Troy, of Cignus [Cycnus] 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 escapèd well) Had got such lasting fame: and drowned should lie in silence deep Swineherd Eumæus, and Philætus who had to keep A herd 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[s] 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 once 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 price, 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 rein. The heavens yet have not left to roll both months and years on reels; And many horses yet shall turn about the Chariot's 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 Liby' dwell, in arms are prest: And now the Syracuseans their spears do carry in the rest; Whose left arms laden are with targets made of willow tree. 'Mongst whom King Hiero, the ancient Worthies' match, I see In armour shine; whose plume doth overshade his helmet bright. O Jupiter, and thou Minerva fierce in fight, And thou Proserpina (who, with thy mother, has 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 opprest By enemies, of th'old inhabitants may be possesst! That they may till the fields! and sheep upon the downs may bleat By thousands infinite, and fat! and that the herds of neat As to their stalls they go, may press the ling'ring 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 armories; So that of War, the very name may not be heard again! But let the Poets strive, King Hiero's glory for to strain Beyond the Scythean sea; and far beyond those places where Semiramis did build those stately walls, and rule did bear. 'Mongst whom, I will be one: for many other men beside, Jove's daughters 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 [residence] 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 Muses' train. Nor you, will I forsake! For what to men can lovely be Without your company? The Graces always be with me!

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 [hyacinth] garlands fresh and green, Danced at the chamber door of Helena the Queen: What time this Menelaus, the younger son of Atreus, Did marry with this lovely daughter of Prince Tyndarus; And therewithal, at eve, a Wedding Song they jointly sang, With such a shuffling of their feet that all the palace rang. }"Fair Bridegroom, do you sleep? Hath slumber all your limbs possesst? What, are you drowsy? or hath wine your body so oppresst 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 to 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 some 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 e'en the same; Who, at Eurotas' streams, like men, are oilèd 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 morn shews a grateful lightening, When sacred night is past; and Winter now lets loose the Spring: So glittering Helen shined among her Maids, lusty and tall. As is the furrow in a field that far outstretcheth all; Or in a garden is a cypress 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 divers 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 Dian's and Minerva's praise, As Helen hath: in whose bright eyes all Loves and Graces be. "O fair, O lovely Maid! a Matron is now made of thee! But we will, every Spring, unto the leaves in meadow go To gather garlands sweet; and there, not with a little woe, Will often think of thee, O Helen! as the suckling lambs Desire the strouting bags 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! and thou, O happy Bridegroom, now good night! Latona send your 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 breathe 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!"

EUNICA scorned me, when her I would have sweetly kist And railing at me said, "Go with a mischief, where thou list! Thinkest thou, a wretched Neatherd, me to kiss! I have no will After the country guise to smouch! 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 play'st 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 wryed, And proudly mocked me to my face. My blood boiled in each vein, And red I wox for grief as doth the rose with dewy rain. Thus leaving me, away she flang! Since when, it vexeth me That I should be so scorned of such a filthy drab as She. "Ye shepherds, tell me true, am not I as 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 crispèd locks, like parsley, on my temples wont to spread; And on my eyebrows black a milk white forehead glisterèd: More seemly were mine eyes than are Minerva's eyes, I know. My mouth for sweetness passèd cheese; and from my mouth did flow A voice more sweet than honey-combs. Sweet is my Roundelay 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 breathe the city air Did never love me yet. And why? The cause is this I know. That I a Neatherd am. They hear not how in vales below, Fair Bacchus kept a herd of beasts. Nor can these nice ones tell How Venus, raving for a Neatherd's 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. Who was Endymion? Was he not a Neatherd? Yet the Moon Did love this Neatherd so, that, from the heavens descending soon, She came to Latmos grove where with the dainty lad she lay. And Rhea, thou a Neatherd dost bewail! and thou, all day, O mighty Jupiter! but for a shepherd's boy didst stray! Eunica only, deigned not a Neatherd 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!"

WHEN Venus first did see Adonis dead to be; With woeful tattered hair And cheeks so wan and sear, The wingèd Loves she bade, The Boar should straight 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 curst: "Of all the beasts the worst, Didst thou this thigh so wound? Didst thou my Love confound?" The beast thus spake 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 mindèd 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 these 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 burnt up his desire.