ELEGIA 1
Quodpro gigantomochia amores scribere sit coactusI Ovid Poet of my wantonnesse,
Borne at Peligny, to write more addresse.
So Cupid wills, farre hence be the severe,
You are unapt my looser lines to heare.
Let Maydes whom hot desire to husbands leade,
And rude boyes toucht with unknowne love me reade,
That some youth hurt as I am with loves bowe
His owne flames best acquainted signes may knowe,
And long admiring say by what meanes learnd
Hath this same Poet my sad chaunce discernd?
I durst the great celestiall battells tell,
Hundred-hand Gyges, and had done it well,
With earthes revenge and how Olimpus toppe
High Ossa bore, mount Pelion up to proppe.
Jove and Joves thunderbolts I had in hand
Which for his heaven fell on the Gyants band.
My wench her dore shut, Joves affares I left,
Even Jove himselfe out off my wit was reft.
Pardon me Jove, thy weapons ayde me nought,
Her shut gates greater lightning then thyne brought.
Toyes, and light Elegies my darts I tooke,
Quickly soft words hard dores wide open strooke.
Verses deduce the horned bloudy moone
And call the sunnes white horses backe at noone.
Snakes leape by verse from caves of broken mountaines
And turned streames run back-ward to their fountaines.
Verses ope dores, and lockes put in the poast
Although of oake, to yeeld to verses boast.
What helpes it me of fierce Achill to sing?
What good to me wil either Ajax bring?
Or he who war'd and wand'red twenty yeare?
Or wofull Hector whom wilde jades did teare?
But when I praise a pretty wenches face
Shee in requitall doth me oft imbrace.
A great reward: Heroes of famous names
Farewel, your favour nought my minde inflames.
Wenches apply your faire lookes to my verse
Which golden love doth unto me rehearse.