The Works of Christopher Marlowe Volume III Part 17

Ay me, an eunuch keeps my mistress chaste, That cannot Venus' mutual pleasure taste.

Who first deprived young boys of their best part, With self-same wounds he gave, he ought to smart.

To kind requests thou would'st more gentle prove, If ever wench had made lukewarm thy love: Thou wert not born to ride, or arms to bear, Thy hands agree not with the warlike spear.

Men handle those; all manly hopes resign, Thy mistress' ensigns must be likewise thine. 10 Please her--her hate makes others thee abhor; If she discards thee, what use serv'st thou for?

Good form there is, years apt to play together: Unmeet is beauty without use to wither.

She may deceive thee, though thou her protect; What two determine never wants effect.

Our prayers move thee to a.s.sist our drift, While thou hast time yet to bestow that gift.

FOOTNOTES:

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

ELEGIA IV.

Quod amet mulieres, cujuscunque formae sint.

I mean not to defend the scapes[249] of any, Or justify my vices being many; For I confess, if that might merit favour, Here I display my lewd and loose behaviour.

I loathe, yet after that I loathe I run: Oh, how the burthen irks, that we should[250] shun.

I cannot rule myself but where Love please; Am[251] driven like a ship upon rough seas.

No one face likes me best, all faces move, A hundred reasons make me ever love. 10 If any eye me with a modest look, I burn,[252] and by that blushful glance am took; And she that's coy I like, for being no clown, Methinks she would be nimble when she's down.

Though her sour looks a Sabine's brow resemble, I think she'll do, but deeply can dissemble.

If she be learned, then for her skill I crave her; If not, because she's simple I would have her.

Before Callimachus one prefers me far; Seeing she likes my books, why should we jar? 20 Another rails at me, and that I write, Yet would I lie with her, if that I might: Trips she, it likes me well; plods she, what than[253]?

She would be nimbler lying with a man.

And when one sweetly sings, then straight I long, To quaver on her lips even in her song; Or if one touch the lute with art and cunning, Who would not love those hands[254] for their swift running?

And her I like that with a majesty, Folds up her arms, and makes low courtesy. 30 To[255] leave myself, that am in love with all, Some one of these might make the chastest fall.

If she be tall, she's like an Amazon, And therefore fills the bed she lies upon: If short, she lies the rounder: to speak[256] troth, Both short and long please me, for I love both.

I[257] think what one undecked would be, being drest; Is she attired? then show her graces best.

A white wench thralls me, so doth golden yellow: And nut-brown girls in doing have no fellow. 40 If her white neck be shadowed with black hair, Why so was Leda's, yet was Leda fair.

Amber-tress'd[258] is she? then on the morn think I: My love alludes to every history: A young wench pleaseth, and an old is good, This for her looks, that for her womanhood: Nay what is she, that any Roman loves, But my ambitious ranging mind approves?

FOOTNOTES:

[249] "Mendosos ... mores."

[250] "Heu quam, quae studeas ponere, ferre grave est."

[251] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "And."

[252] This is Dyce's certain correction for the old eds. "blush." (The originals has "uror.")

[253] Then.

[254] Ed. A "those _nimble_ hands."

[255]

"Ut taceam de me, qui causa tangor ab omni, Illic Hippolytum pone, Priapus erit."

[256] So Isham copy and ed. A.--Eds. B, C "say."

[257] This and the next three lines are omitted in Isham copy and ed. A.

[258] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "yellow trest."

ELEGIA V.[259]

Ad amicam corruptam.

No 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." 10 He'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 wine Was 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. 20 Now 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. 30 Such 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 betrothed husbands spy; Such as a rose mixed with a lily breeds, Or when the moon travails with charmed steeds.

Or such as, lest long years should turn the dye, Arachne[261] stains a.s.syrian ivory. 40 To these, or some of these, like was her colour: By chance her beauty never shined fuller.

She viewed the earth; the earth to view, beseemed her.

She looked sad; sad, comely I esteemed her.

Even kembed 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. 50 She laughed, and kissed so sweetly as might make Wrath-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 lips Lay her whole tongue hid, mine in hers she dips.

This grieves me not; no joined kisses spent, Bewail I only, though I them lament. 60 Nowhere 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 "Ipse miser vidi."

[261] "Maeonis a.s.syrium femina tinxit opus." Dyce remarks that Marlowe "was induced to give this extraordinary version of the line by recollecting that in the sixth book of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ Arachne is termed 'Maeonis,' while her father is mentioned as a dyer."