Ad amicam corruptam.
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o love is so dear,--quivered Cupid, fly!--That my chief wish should be so oft to die.Minding thy fault, with death I wish to revel;Alas! a wench is a perpetual evil.No intercepted lines thy deeds display,No gifts given secretly thy crime bewray.O would my proofs as vain might be withstood!Ay me, poor soul, why is my cause so good?He's happy, that his love dares boldly credit;To whom his wench can say, "I never did it." 10He's cruel, and too much his grief doth favour,That seeks the conquest by her loose behaviour.Poor wretch,[260] I saw when thou didst think I slumbered;Not drunk, your faults on the spilt wine I numbered.I saw your nodding eyebrows much to speak,Even from your cheeks, part of a voice did break.Not silent were thine eyes, the board with wineWas scribbled, and thy fingers writ a line.I knew your speech (what do not lovers see?)And words that seemed for certain marks to be. 20Now many guests were gone, the feast being done,The youthful sort to divers pastimes run.I saw you then unlawful kisses join;(Such with my tongue it likes me to purloin);None such the sister gives her brother grave,But such kind wenches let their lovers have.Phoebus gave not Diana such, 'tis thought,But Venus often to her Mars such brought."What dost?" I cried; "transport'st thou my delight?My lordly hands I'll throw upon my right. 30Such bliss is only common to us two,In this sweet good why hath a third to do?"This, and what grief enforced me say, I said:A scarlet blush her guilty face arrayed;Even such as by Aurora hath the sky,Or maids that their betrothËd husbands spy;Such as a rose mixed with a lily breeds,Or when the moon travails with charmËd steeds.Or such as, lest long years should turn the dye,Arachne[261] stains Assyrian ivory. 40To these, or some of these, like was her colour:By chance her beauty never shinËd fuller.She viewed the earth; the earth to view, beseemed her.She lookËd sad; sad, comely I esteemed her.Even kembËd as they were, her locks to rend,And scratch her fair soft cheeks I did intend.Seeing her face, mine upreared arms descended,With her own armour was my wench defended.I, that erewhile was fierce, now humbly sue,Lest with worse kisses she should me endue. 50She laughed, and kissed so sweetly as might makeWrath-kindled Jove away his thunder shake.I grieve lest others should such good perceive,And wish hereby them all unknown[262] to leave.Also much better were they than I tell,And ever seemed as some new sweet befell.'Tis ill they pleased so much, for in my lipsLay her whole tongue hid, mine in hers she dips.This grieves me not; no joinËd kisses spent,Bewail I only, though I them lament. 60Nowhere can they be taught but in the bed;I know no master of so great hire sped.[263] FOOTNOTES: [259] Not in Isham copy or ed. A. [260] So Dyce for "Poor _wench_" of the old eds.--The original has "Ipsemiser vidi." [261] "Maeonis Assyrium femina tinxit opus." Dyce remarks that Marlowe"was induced to give this extraordinary version of the line byrecollecting that in the sixth book of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ Arachne istermed 'Maeonis,' while her father is mentioned as a dyer." [262] A bad mistranslation of "Et volo non ex hac illa fuisse nota." [263] Far from the original "Nescio quis pretium grande magister habet." ELEGIA VI.[264]
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