any think it shame,
He being judge, I am convinced of blame.
Let me be slandered, while my fire she hides,
That Paphos, and[325] flood-beat Cythera guides.
Would I had been my mistress' gentle prey,
Since some fair one I should of force obey.
Beauty gives heart; Corinna's looks excell;
Ay me, why is it known to her so well?
But by her glass disdainful pride she learns,
Nor she herself, but first trimmed up, discerns. 10
Not though thy face in all things make thee reign,
(O face, most cunning mine eyes to detain!)
Thou ought'st therefore to scorn me for thy mate,
Small things with greater may be copulate.
Love-snared Calypso is supposed to pray
A mortal nymph's[326] refusing lord to stay.
Who doubts, with Peleus Thetis did consort,
Egeria with just Numa had good sport.
Venus with Vulcan, though, smith's tools laid by,
With his stump foot he halts ill-favouredly. 20
This kind of verse is not alike; yet fit,
With shorter numbers the heroic sit.
And thou, my light, accept me howsoever;
Lay in the mid bed, there be my lawgiver.
My stay no crime, my flight no joy shall breed,
Nor of our love, to be ashamed we need.
For great revenues I good verses have,
And many by me to get glory crave.
I know a wench reports herself Corinne;
What would not she give that fair name to win? 30
But sundry floods in one bank never go,
Eurotas cold, and poplar-bearing Po;
Nor in my books shall one but thou be writ,
Thou dost alone give matter to my wit.

FOOTNOTES:

[324] Not in Isham copy or ed. A.

[325] Old eds. "and the."

[326] Marlowe reads "nymphae" for "nymphe."

ELEGIA XVIII.[327]

Ad Macrum, quod de amoribus scribat.

To tragic verse while thou Achilles train'st,
And new sworn soldiers' maiden arms retain'st,
We, Macer, sit in Venus' slothful shade,
And tender love hath great things hateful made.
Often at length, my wench depart I bid,
She in my lap sits still as erst she did.
I said, "It irks me:" half to weeping framed,
"Ay me!" she cries, "to love why art ashamed?"
Then wreathes about my neck her winding arms,
And thousand kisses gives, that work my harms: 10
I yield, and back my wit from battles bring,
Domestic acts, and mine own wars to sing.
Yet