Part 18

In mortem psittaci.

The parrot, from East India to me sent, Is dead; all fowls her exequies frequent! Go godly birds, striking your breasts, bewail, And with rough claws your tender cheeks assail. For woful hairs let piece-torn plumes abound, For long shrild trumpets let your notes resound. Why Philomel dost Tereus' lewdness mourn? All wasting years have that complaint now worn. Thy tunes let this rare bird's sad funeral borrow; Itys a great, but ancient cause of sorrow. 10 All you whose pinions in the clear air soar, But most, thou friendly turtle-dove, deplore. Full concord all your lives was you betwixt, And to the end your constant faith stood fixt. What Pylades did to Orestes prove, Such to the parrot was the turtle-dove. But what availed this faith? her rarest hue? Or voice that how to change the wild notes knew? What helps it thou wert given to please my wench? Birds' hapless glory, death thy life doth quench. 20 Thou with thy quills might'st make green emeralds dark, And pass our scarlet of red saffron's mark. No such voice-feigning bird was on the ground, Thou spok'st thy words so well with stammering sound. Envy hath rapt thee, no fierce wars thou mov'dst; Vain-babbling speech, and pleasant peace thou lov'dst. Behold how quails among their battles live, Which do perchance old age unto them give. A little filled thee, and for love of talk, Thy mouth to taste of many meats did balk. 30 Nuts were thy food, and poppy caused thee sleep, Pure water's moisture thirst away did keep. The ravenous vulture lives, the puttock hovers Around the air, the cadess rain discovers. And crow survives arms-bearing Pallas' hate, Whose life nine ages scarce bring out of date. Dead is that speaking image of man's voice, The parrot given me, the far world's best choice. The greedy spirits take the best things first, Supplying their void places with the worst. 40 Thersites did Protesilaus survive; And Hector died, his brothers yet alive. My wench's vows for thee what should I show, Which stormy south winds into sea did blow? The seventh day came, none following might'st thou see, And the Fate's distaff empty stood to thee: Yet words in thy benumbËd palate rung; "Farewell, Corinna," cried thy dying tongue. Elysium hath a wood of holm-trees black, Whose earth doth not perpetual green grass lack. 50 There good birds rest (if we believe things hidden), Whence unclean fowls are said to be forbidden. There harmless swans feed all abroad the river; There lives the phoenix, one alone bird ever; There Juno's bird displays his gorgeous feather, And loving doves kiss eagerly together. The parrot into wood received with these, Turns all the godly birds to what she please. A grave her bones hides: on her corps' great grave, The little stones these little verses have. 60 This tomb approves I pleased my mistress well My mouth in speaking did all birds excell.

FOOTNOTES:

Not in Isham copy or ed. A.

Dyce remarks that Marlowe's copy had "ales mihi missus" for "imitatrix ales."

So Dyce for "goodly" of the old eds. ("piÊ volucres").

Shrill.

So Dyce for "not" of the old eds.

So Dyce for "It is as great."

"Miluus."

"Graculus."

Old eds. "crowes."

Old eds. "words."

Marlowe was very weak in Latin prosedy. The original has "manibus rapiuntur avaris."

Old eds. "goodly" ("pias volueres").

ELEGIA VII.

AmicÊ se purgat, quod ancillam non amet.

Dost me of new crimes always guilty frame? To overcome, so oft to fight I shame. If on the marble theatre I look, One among many is, to grieve thee, took. If some fair wench me secretly behold, Thou arguest she doth secret marks unfold. If I praise any, thy poor hairs thou tearest; If blame, dissembling of my fault thou fearest. If I look well, thou think'st thou dost not move, If ill, thou say'st I die for others' love. 10 Would I were culpable of some offence, They that deserve pain, bear't with patience. Now rash accusing, and thy vain belief, Forbid thine anger to procure my grief. Lo, how the miserable great-eared ass, Dulled with much beating, slowly forth doth pass! Behold Cypassis, wont to dress thy head, Is charged to violate her mistress' bed! The gods from this sin rid me of suspicion, To like a base wench of despised condition. 20 With Venus' game who will a servant grace? Or any back, made rough with stripes, embrace? Add she was diligent thy locks to braid, And, for her skill, to thee a grateful maid. Should I solicit her that is so just,-- To take repulse, and cause her show my lust? I swear by Venus, and the winged boy's bow, Myself unguilty of this crime I know.

FOOTNOTES:

Not in Isham copy or ed. A.

ELEGIA VIII.

Ad Cypassim ancillam CorinnÊ.

Cypassis, that a thousand ways trim'st hair, Worthy to kemb none but a goddess fair, Our pleasant scapes show thee no clown to be, Apt to thy mistress, but more apt to me. Who that our bodies were comprest bewrayed? Whence knows Corinna that with thee I played? Yet blushed I not, nor used I any saying, That might be urged to witness our false playing. What if a man with bondwomen offend, To prove him foolish did I e'er contend? 10 Achilles burnt with face of captive BrisËis, Great Agamemnon loved his servant ChrysËis. Greater than these myself I not esteem: What gracËd kings, in me no shame I deem. But when on thee her angry eyes did rush, In both thy cheeks she did perceive thee blush. But being present, might that work the best, By Venus deity how did I protest! Thou goddess dost command a warm south blast, My self oaths in Carpathian seas to cast. 20 For which good turn my sweet reward repay, Let me lie with thee, brown Cypass, to-day. Ungrate, why feign'st new fears, and dost refuse? Well may'st thou one thing for thy mistress use. If thou deniest, fool, I'll our deeds express, And as a traitor mine own faults confess; Telling thy mistress where I was with thee, How oft, and by what means, we did agree.

FOOTNOTES:

Not in Isham copy or ed. A.

"Serva Phoebas" (i.e. Cassandra).

Old eds. "my."

So ed. B.--Ed. C "the."