The same by B.J.Envie, why twitst thou me, my Time's spent ill?
And call'st my verse fruites of an idle quill?
Or that (unlike the line from whence I sprong)
Wars dustie honors I pursue not young?
Or that I studie not the tedious lawes;
And prostitute my voyce in every cause?
Thy scope is mortall; mine eternall Fame,
Which through the world shall ever chaunt my name.
Homer will live, whil'st Tenedos stands, and Ide,
Or to the sea, fleete Simois doth slide:
And so shall Hesiod too, while vines doe beare,
Or crooked sickles crop the ripened eare.
Callimachus, though in Invention lowe,
Shall still be sung, since he in Arte doth flowe.
No losse shall come to Sophocles proud vaine,
With Sunne and Moone Aratus shall remaine.
Whil'st Slaves be false, Fathers hard, and Bauds be whorish,
Whilst Harlots flatter, shall Menander florish.
Ennius, though rude, and Accius high-reard straine,
A fresh applause in every age shall gaine.
Of Varro's name, what eare shall not be tolde?
Of JasonsArgo? and the Fleece of golde?
Then, shall Lucretius loftie numbers die,
When Earth, and Seas in fire and flames shall frie.
Titirus, Tillage, Aeney shall be read,
Whil'st Rome of all the conquer'd world is head.
Till Cupids fires be out, and his bowe broken,
Thy verses (neate Tibullus) shall be spoken.
Our Gallus shall be knowne from East to west:
So shall Licoris, whom he now loves best.
The suffering Plough-share or the flint may weare:
But heavenly Poesie no death can feare.
Kings shall give place to it, and Kingly showes,
The bankes ore which gold-bearing Tagus flowes.
Kneele hindes to trash: me let bright Phoebus swell,
With cups full flowing from the Muses well.
The frost-drad myrtle shall impale my head,
And of sad lovers Ile be often read.
,,Enuy the living, not the dead, doth bite.
,,For after death all men receive their right.
Then when this body falls in flineral fire,
My name shall live, and my best part aspire.