SIX IDILLIA

SIX IDILLIAchosen out of the famous Sicilian PoetTHEOCRITUS,and translated into English verse.THE EIGHTH IDILLION.Argument.Menalcasa Shepherd andDaphnisa Neatherd, two Sicilian Lads, contending who should sing best, pawn their Whistles; and choose a Goatherd to be their Judge: who giveth sentence onDaphnishis side. The thing is imagined to be done in the Isle of Sicily, by the sea-shore. Of whose singing, this Idillion is calledBucoliastæ, that is, "Singers of a Neatherd's Song."BUCOLIASTÆ.Daphnis,Menalcas, Goatherd.WIthlovely NeatherdDaphnison the hills, they say,ShepherdMenalcasmet upon a summer's day:Both youthful striplings, both had yellow heads of hair;In whistling both, and both in singing skilful were.Menalcasfirst, beholdingDaphnis, thus bespake:Menalcas."Wilt thou in singing, NeatherdDaphnis, undertakeTo strive with me? For I affirm that, at my will,I can thee pass!" ThusDaphnisanswered on the hill.Daphnis."WhistlerMenalcas, thou shalt never me excelIn singing, though to death with singing thou should'st 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 be fit?"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 fellAre very hard; and all my sheep at e'en they tell."Daphnis."What then? What shall he gain that wins the victory?"Menalcas."A gallant Whistle which I made with notes thrice three,Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above;This will I lay! My father's things I will not move!"Daphnis."And I a Whistle have with notes thrice three a row,Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above.I lately framed it: for this finger yet doth acheWith pricking, which a splinter of the reed did make.But who shall be our Judge, and give us audience?"Menalcas."What if we call this Goatherd here, not far from hence,Whose dog doth bark hard by the kids?" The lusty boysDid call him, and the Goatherd came to hear their toys.The lusty boys did sing, the Goatherd judgment gave.Menalcasfirst, by lot, unto his Whistle brave,Did sing a Neatherd's Song; and NeatherdDaphnisthenDid sing, by course: but firstMenalcasthus began:Menalcas."Ye Groves and Brooks divine, if on his reedMenalcasever sang a pleasant Lay;Fat me these lambs! IfDaphnishere will feedHis calves, let him have pasture too I pray!"Daphnis."Ye pleasant Springs and Plants, wouldDaphnishadAs sweet a voice as have the nightingales!Feed me this herd! and if the Shepherd's ladMenalcascomes, let him have all the dales!"Menalcas."'Tis ever Spring; there meads are ever gay;There strout the bags; there sheep are fatly fed,WhenDaphnecomes! Go she away;Then both the Shepherd there, and grass are dead."Daphnis."There both the ewes, and goats, bring forth their twins;There bees do fill their hives; there oaks are high;WhereMilotreads! When he away beginsTo go, both Neatherd and the neat wax dry."Menalcas."O husband of the goats! O wood so high!O kids! come to this brook, for he is there!Thou with the broken horns tellMiloshy,ThatProteuskept sea-calves, though god he were."Daphnis."NorPelops'kingdom may I crave, nor gold;Nor to outrun the winds upon a lea: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. OJove, alone his stingI have not felt; for thou a lover art!"Thus sang these boys, by course, with voices strong;Menalcasthen 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 should'st 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 may have; and part, my milking pail."ThenDaphnisin his turn sweetly began to sing:Daphnis."And me, not long ago, fairDaphnewhistly eyedAs 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 on.Sweet is a cow-calf's voice, and sweet her breath doth smell;A bull calf, and a cow, do low full pleasantly.'Tis sweet in summer by a spring abroad to dwell!Acorns become the oak; apples, the apple-tree;And calves, the kine; and kine, the Neatherd much set out."Thus sung these youths. The Goatherd thus did end the doubt:Goatherd."ODaphnis, what a dulcet mouth and voice thou hast!'Tis sweeter thee to hear than honey-combs to taste!Take thee these Pipes, for thou in singing dost excel!If me, a Goatherd, thou wilt teach to sing so well;This broken-hornèd goat, on thee bestow I will!Which to the very brim, the pail doth ever fill."So then wasDaphnisglad, and lept and clapt his hands;And danced as doth a fawn, when by the dam he stands.Menalcasgrieved, the thing his mind did much dismay:And sad as Bride he was, upon the marriage day.Since then among the Shepherds,Daphnischief was had!And took a Nymph to wife when he was but a lad.Daphnishis Emblem.Me tamen urit Amor.Menalcashis Emblem.At hæcDaphneforsan probet.Goatherd's Emblem.Est minor nemo nisi comparatus.THE ELEVENTH IDILLION.Argument.Theocrituswrote this Idillion toNiciasa learned Physician: wherein he sheweth—by the example ofPolyphemusa giant in Sicily, of the race of theCyclops, who loved the Water NymphGalatea—that there is no medicine so sovereign against Love as is Poetry. Of whose Love Song, as this Idillion, is termedCyclops; so he was calledCyclops, 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 medicine of the mindGrows 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 speechACyclopsis, who lived here with us right wealthily;That ancientPolyphem, when first he lovedGalate(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 layIn honour of his Love, and on the shore consumed awayFrom morning until night; sick of the wound, fast by the heart,Which mightyVenusgave, and in his liver stuck the dart.For which, this remedy he found, that sitting oftentimesUpon a rock and looking on the sea, he sang these rhymes:"OGalateafair, 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 allYou, with my mother, came to gather leaves of crowtoe [hyacinth] smallUpon 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 strongFrom 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 anyCyclopsmay 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 certainlyI'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, fairGalate! 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 sheSpake 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."OCyclops,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 anothergalate, 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."ThusPolyphemussinging, fed his raging love of old;Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her sums of gold.Polyphem's Emblem.Ubi Dictamum inveniam?THE SIXTEENTH IDILLION.Argument.The style of this Poem is more lofty than any of the rest, andTheocrituswrote it toHiero, King of Syracuse in Sicily. Wherein he reproveth the nigardise of Princes and Great Men towards the Learned, and namely [especially] Poets: in whose power it is to make men famous to all posterity. Towards the end, he praisethHiero; and prayeth that Sicily may be delivered by his prowess from the invasions of the Carthaginians. This Idillion is namedHieroin respect of the person to whom it was written; orCharites, that is, "Graces," in respect of the matter whereof it treateth.CHARITES, orHIERO.POetshave 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 wellThat 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 amainCoin 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, oneHomeris;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 KingAntiochushis Court, and KingAlevas'tooTo 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 miseryAmong the dead, without renown, for ever they should lie:Had notSimonidesthe Chian Poet, with his penAnd with his lute of many strings so famous made these menTo 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, ofCignus[Cycnus] with his woman's coloured face:Had not the Poets sung the famous Wars of them of old?Nor yetUlysses(who, for ten years space on seas was rolled,By sundry sorts of men; and who at last went down to HellAs yet alive; and from theCyclops'den escapèd well)Had got such lasting fame: and drowned should lie in silence deepSwineherdEumæus, andPhilætuswho had to keepA herd of neat;Laerteseke himself had been unknown—If far and wide their names, greatHomer'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 haveHuge silver heaps at will, and more and more still let him crave!But I, Goodwill of Men, and Honour, will prefer beforeA many mules of price, or many horses kept in store.Therefore I ask, To whom shall I be welcome with my trainOf Muses nine? whose ways are hard, ifJoveguides 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 asAjax, orAchillesstout,Did in the field of Simois, whereIlus'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 KingHiero, the ancient Worthies' match, I seeIn armour shine; whose plume doth overshade his helmet bright.O Jupiter, and thouMinervafierce in fight,And thouProserpina(who, with thy mother, has renownBy 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 relateUnto their children and their wives! and that the towns opprestBy enemies, of th'old inhabitants may be possesst!That they may till the fields! and sheep upon the downs may bleatBy thousands infinite, and fat! and that the herds of neatAs to their stalls they go, may press the ling'ring traveller!Let grounds be broken up for seed, what time the grasshopperWatching 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, KingHiero's glory for to strainBeyond the Scythean sea; and far beyond those places whereSemiramisdid 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 warlikeHiero. Ye Graces! (who keep resiance [residence]In the Thessalian Mount Orchomenus; to Thebes of oldSo 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 beWithout your company? The Graces always be with me!Emblem.Si nihil attuleris, ibisHomereforas.THE EIGHTEENTH IDILLION.Argument.Twelve noble Spartan Virgins are brought in singing, in the evening, at the chamber door ofMenelausandHelenaon their Wedding Day. And first they prettily jest with the Bridegroom, then they praiseHelena, last they wish them both joy of their marriage. Therefore this Idillion is entitledHelen's Epithalamion, that is "Helen's Wedding Song."Helen's Epithalamion.IN Sparta, long ago, whereMenelauswore 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 ofHelenathe Queen:What time thisMenelaus, the younger son ofAtreus,Did marry with this lovely daughter of PrinceTyndarus;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 oppresstThat 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 meetTo be the Son-in-law toJove! for underneath one sheetHis daughter lies with thee! Of all that tread on ground with feetThere is not such a one in Greece! Now sure some goodly thingShe 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 withHelenwe compare.Like as the rising morn shews a grateful lightening,When sacred night is past; and Winter now lets loose the Spring:So glitteringHelenshined 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 skillDoth cut off from the loom; nor any hath such Songs and LaysUnto her dainty harp, inDian's andMinerva's praise,AsHelenhath: 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 goTo gather garlands sweet; and there, not with a little woe,Will often think of thee, OHelen! as the suckling lambsDesire 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!Latonasend your happy issue! who is most of mightIn helping youth; and blissfulVenussend you equal loveBetwixt you both! andJovegive 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 riseAnd in the chamber stir, and first of all lift up the head!Hymen! OHymen! now be gladsome at this marriage bed!"Emblem.Usque adeo latet utilitas.THE TWENTY-FIRST IDILLION.Argument.A Neatherd is brought chafing thatEunica, a Maid of the city, disdained to kiss him. Whereby it is thought thatTheocritusseemeth to check them that think this kind of writing in Poetry to be too base and rustical. And therefore this Poem is termedNeatherd.NEATHERD.EUNICA scorned me, when her I would have sweetly kistAnd railing at me said, "Go with a mischief, where thou list!Thinkest thou, a wretched Neatherd, me to kiss! I have no willAfter 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 meThat 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 areMinerva's eyes, I know.My mouth for sweetness passèd cheese; and from my mouth did flowA voice more sweet than honey-combs. Sweet is my RoundelayWhen 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 airDid never love me yet. And why? The cause is this I know.That I a Neatherd am. They hear not how in vales below,FairBacchuskept a herd of beasts. Nor can these nice ones tellHowVenus, raving for a Neatherd's love, with him did dwellUpon the hills of Phrygia; and how she loved againAdonisin the woods, and mourned in woods when he was slain.Who wasEndymion? Was he not a Neatherd? Yet the MoonDid love this Neatherd so, that, from the heavens descending soon,She came to Latmos grove where with the dainty lad she lay.AndRhea, thou a Neatherd dost bewail! and thou, all day,O mightyJupiter! but for a shepherd's boy didst stray!Eunicaonly, deigned not a Neatherd for to love:Better, forsooth, thanCybel,Venus, or the Moon above!AndVenus, thou hereafter must not love thy fairAdoneIn city, nor on hill! but all the night must sleep alone!"Emblem.Habitarunt Dii quoque sylvas.THE THIRTY-FIRST IDILLION.Argument.

SIX IDILLIA

chosen out of the famous Sicilian PoetTHEOCRITUS,and translated into English verse.

Argument.

Menalcasa Shepherd andDaphnisa Neatherd, two Sicilian Lads, contending who should sing best, pawn their Whistles; and choose a Goatherd to be their Judge: who giveth sentence onDaphnishis side. The thing is imagined to be done in the Isle of Sicily, by the sea-shore. Of whose singing, this Idillion is calledBucoliastæ, that is, "Singers of a Neatherd's Song."

Daphnis,Menalcas, Goatherd.

WIthlovely NeatherdDaphnison the hills, they say,ShepherdMenalcasmet upon a summer's day:Both youthful striplings, both had yellow heads of hair;In whistling both, and both in singing skilful were.

Menalcasfirst, beholdingDaphnis, thus bespake:

Menalcas.

"Wilt thou in singing, NeatherdDaphnis, undertakeTo strive with me? For I affirm that, at my will,I can thee pass!" ThusDaphnisanswered on the hill.

Daphnis.

"WhistlerMenalcas, thou shalt never me excelIn singing, though to death with singing thou should'st 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 be fit?"

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 fellAre very hard; and all my sheep at e'en they tell."

Daphnis.

"What then? What shall he gain that wins the victory?"

Menalcas.

"A gallant Whistle which I made with notes thrice three,Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above;This will I lay! My father's things I will not move!"

Daphnis.

"And I a Whistle have with notes thrice three a row,Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above.I lately framed it: for this finger yet doth acheWith pricking, which a splinter of the reed did make.But who shall be our Judge, and give us audience?"

Menalcas.

"What if we call this Goatherd here, not far from hence,Whose dog doth bark hard by the kids?" The lusty boysDid call him, and the Goatherd came to hear their toys.The lusty boys did sing, the Goatherd judgment gave.Menalcasfirst, by lot, unto his Whistle brave,Did sing a Neatherd's Song; and NeatherdDaphnisthenDid sing, by course: but firstMenalcasthus began:

Menalcas.

"Ye Groves and Brooks divine, if on his reedMenalcasever sang a pleasant Lay;Fat me these lambs! IfDaphnishere will feedHis calves, let him have pasture too I pray!"

Daphnis.

"Ye pleasant Springs and Plants, wouldDaphnishadAs sweet a voice as have the nightingales!Feed me this herd! and if the Shepherd's ladMenalcascomes, let him have all the dales!"

Menalcas.

"'Tis ever Spring; there meads are ever gay;There strout the bags; there sheep are fatly fed,WhenDaphnecomes! Go she away;Then both the Shepherd there, and grass are dead."

Daphnis.

"There both the ewes, and goats, bring forth their twins;There bees do fill their hives; there oaks are high;WhereMilotreads! When he away beginsTo go, both Neatherd and the neat wax dry."

Menalcas.

"O husband of the goats! O wood so high!O kids! come to this brook, for he is there!Thou with the broken horns tellMiloshy,ThatProteuskept sea-calves, though god he were."

Daphnis.

"NorPelops'kingdom may I crave, nor gold;Nor to outrun the winds upon a lea: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. OJove, alone his stingI have not felt; for thou a lover art!"Thus sang these boys, by course, with voices strong;Menalcasthen began a latter song:

"NorPelops'kingdom may I crave, nor gold;Nor to outrun the winds upon a lea: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. OJove, alone his stingI have not felt; for thou a lover art!"

Thus sang these boys, by course, with voices strong;Menalcasthen 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 should'st 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 may have; and part, my milking pail."

ThenDaphnisin his turn sweetly began to sing:

Daphnis.

"And me, not long ago, fairDaphnewhistly eyedAs 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 on.Sweet is a cow-calf's voice, and sweet her breath doth smell;A bull calf, and a cow, do low full pleasantly.'Tis sweet in summer by a spring abroad to dwell!Acorns become the oak; apples, the apple-tree;And calves, the kine; and kine, the Neatherd much set out."

Thus sung these youths. The Goatherd thus did end the doubt:

Goatherd.

"ODaphnis, what a dulcet mouth and voice thou hast!'Tis sweeter thee to hear than honey-combs to taste!Take thee these Pipes, for thou in singing dost excel!If me, a Goatherd, thou wilt teach to sing so well;This broken-hornèd goat, on thee bestow I will!Which to the very brim, the pail doth ever fill."

So then wasDaphnisglad, and lept and clapt his hands;And danced as doth a fawn, when by the dam he stands.Menalcasgrieved, the thing his mind did much dismay:And sad as Bride he was, upon the marriage day.

Since then among the Shepherds,Daphnischief was had!And took a Nymph to wife when he was but a lad.

Daphnishis Emblem.Me tamen urit Amor.

Menalcashis Emblem.At hæcDaphneforsan probet.

Goatherd's Emblem.Est minor nemo nisi comparatus.

Argument.

Theocrituswrote this Idillion toNiciasa learned Physician: wherein he sheweth—by the example ofPolyphemusa giant in Sicily, of the race of theCyclops, who loved the Water NymphGalatea—that there is no medicine so sovereign against Love as is Poetry. Of whose Love Song, as this Idillion, is termedCyclops; so he was calledCyclops, because he had but one eye, that stood like a circle in the midst of his forehead.

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 mindGrows 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 speechACyclopsis, who lived here with us right wealthily;That ancientPolyphem, when first he lovedGalate(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 layIn honour of his Love, and on the shore consumed awayFrom morning until night; sick of the wound, fast by the heart,Which mightyVenusgave, and in his liver stuck the dart.For which, this remedy he found, that sitting oftentimesUpon a rock and looking on the sea, he sang these rhymes:"OGalateafair, 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 allYou, with my mother, came to gather leaves of crowtoe [hyacinth] smallUpon 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 strongFrom 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 anyCyclopsmay 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 certainlyI'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, fairGalate! 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 sheSpake 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."OCyclops,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 anothergalate, 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."ThusPolyphemussinging, fed his raging love of old;Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her sums of gold.

Polyphem's Emblem.Ubi Dictamum inveniam?

Argument.

The style of this Poem is more lofty than any of the rest, andTheocrituswrote it toHiero, King of Syracuse in Sicily. Wherein he reproveth the nigardise of Princes and Great Men towards the Learned, and namely [especially] Poets: in whose power it is to make men famous to all posterity. Towards the end, he praisethHiero; and prayeth that Sicily may be delivered by his prowess from the invasions of the Carthaginians. This Idillion is namedHieroin respect of the person to whom it was written; orCharites, that is, "Graces," in respect of the matter whereof it treateth.

POetshave 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 wellThat 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 amainCoin 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, oneHomeris;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 KingAntiochushis Court, and KingAlevas'tooTo 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 miseryAmong the dead, without renown, for ever they should lie:Had notSimonidesthe Chian Poet, with his penAnd with his lute of many strings so famous made these menTo 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, ofCignus[Cycnus] with his woman's coloured face:Had not the Poets sung the famous Wars of them of old?Nor yetUlysses(who, for ten years space on seas was rolled,By sundry sorts of men; and who at last went down to HellAs yet alive; and from theCyclops'den escapèd well)Had got such lasting fame: and drowned should lie in silence deepSwineherdEumæus, andPhilætuswho had to keepA herd of neat;Laerteseke himself had been unknown—If far and wide their names, greatHomer'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 haveHuge silver heaps at will, and more and more still let him crave!But I, Goodwill of Men, and Honour, will prefer beforeA many mules of price, or many horses kept in store.Therefore I ask, To whom shall I be welcome with my trainOf Muses nine? whose ways are hard, ifJoveguides 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 asAjax, orAchillesstout,Did in the field of Simois, whereIlus'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 KingHiero, the ancient Worthies' match, I seeIn armour shine; whose plume doth overshade his helmet bright.O Jupiter, and thouMinervafierce in fight,And thouProserpina(who, with thy mother, has renownBy 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 relateUnto their children and their wives! and that the towns opprestBy enemies, of th'old inhabitants may be possesst!That they may till the fields! and sheep upon the downs may bleatBy thousands infinite, and fat! and that the herds of neatAs to their stalls they go, may press the ling'ring traveller!Let grounds be broken up for seed, what time the grasshopperWatching 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, KingHiero's glory for to strainBeyond the Scythean sea; and far beyond those places whereSemiramisdid 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 warlikeHiero. Ye Graces! (who keep resiance [residence]In the Thessalian Mount Orchomenus; to Thebes of oldSo 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 beWithout your company? The Graces always be with me!

Emblem.

Si nihil attuleris, ibisHomereforas.

Argument.

Twelve noble Spartan Virgins are brought in singing, in the evening, at the chamber door ofMenelausandHelenaon their Wedding Day. And first they prettily jest with the Bridegroom, then they praiseHelena, last they wish them both joy of their marriage. Therefore this Idillion is entitledHelen's Epithalamion, that is "Helen's Wedding Song."

IN Sparta, long ago, whereMenelauswore 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 ofHelenathe Queen:What time thisMenelaus, the younger son ofAtreus,Did marry with this lovely daughter of PrinceTyndarus;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 oppresstThat 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 meetTo be the Son-in-law toJove! for underneath one sheetHis daughter lies with thee! Of all that tread on ground with feetThere is not such a one in Greece! Now sure some goodly thingShe 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 withHelenwe compare.Like as the rising morn shews a grateful lightening,When sacred night is past; and Winter now lets loose the Spring:So glitteringHelenshined 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 skillDoth cut off from the loom; nor any hath such Songs and LaysUnto her dainty harp, inDian's andMinerva's praise,AsHelenhath: 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 goTo gather garlands sweet; and there, not with a little woe,Will often think of thee, OHelen! as the suckling lambsDesire 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!Latonasend your happy issue! who is most of mightIn helping youth; and blissfulVenussend you equal loveBetwixt you both! andJovegive 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 riseAnd in the chamber stir, and first of all lift up the head!Hymen! OHymen! now be gladsome at this marriage bed!"

Emblem.Usque adeo latet utilitas.

Argument.

A Neatherd is brought chafing thatEunica, a Maid of the city, disdained to kiss him. Whereby it is thought thatTheocritusseemeth to check them that think this kind of writing in Poetry to be too base and rustical. And therefore this Poem is termedNeatherd.

EUNICA scorned me, when her I would have sweetly kistAnd railing at me said, "Go with a mischief, where thou list!Thinkest thou, a wretched Neatherd, me to kiss! I have no willAfter 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 meThat 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 areMinerva's eyes, I know.My mouth for sweetness passèd cheese; and from my mouth did flowA voice more sweet than honey-combs. Sweet is my RoundelayWhen 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 airDid never love me yet. And why? The cause is this I know.That I a Neatherd am. They hear not how in vales below,FairBacchuskept a herd of beasts. Nor can these nice ones tellHowVenus, raving for a Neatherd's love, with him did dwellUpon the hills of Phrygia; and how she loved againAdonisin the woods, and mourned in woods when he was slain.Who wasEndymion? Was he not a Neatherd? Yet the MoonDid love this Neatherd so, that, from the heavens descending soon,She came to Latmos grove where with the dainty lad she lay.AndRhea, thou a Neatherd dost bewail! and thou, all day,O mightyJupiter! but for a shepherd's boy didst stray!Eunicaonly, deigned not a Neatherd for to love:Better, forsooth, thanCybel,Venus, or the Moon above!AndVenus, thou hereafter must not love thy fairAdoneIn city, nor on hill! but all the night must sleep alone!"

Emblem.Habitarunt Dii quoque sylvas.

Argument.

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