WAY with those self-loving lads,
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads!
Away poor souls that sigh and weep
In love of those that lie asleep!
For Cupid is a merry god,
And forceth none to kiss the rod.
My songs they be of Cynthia's praise,
I wear her rings on holidays,
In every tree I write her name,
And every day I read the same.
Where Honour Cupid's rival is,
There miracles are seen of his.
If Cynthia crave her ring of me,
I blot her name out of the tree;
If doubt do darken things held dear,
Then well-fare nothing once a year.
For many run, but one must win :
Fools only hedge the cuckoo in.
OME again, come again!
Sunshine cometh after rain.
As a lamp fed newly burneth,
Pleasure, who doth fly, returneth,
Scattering every cloud of pain.
As the year, which dies in showers,
Riseth in a world of flowers,
Called by many a vernal strain,
Come thou, for whom tears were falling,
And a thousand tongues are calling ;
Come again, oh come again!
Like the sunshine after rain.
̓Αναγκαῖον πᾶν ἀνιαρὸν ἔφυ.
STA Cupidineis numqvam exhilarata sagittis
Facessat hinc procul sibi turba placens iuve-
Sintqve procul qvi flent et qvi suspiria ducunt,
Formaeqve securae nimis qvos miser angit amor.
Laetus amat risus hilares ludosqve Cupido,
Nec cogit invitos suis subdere terga flagris.
Me vatem vocat Ella suum; mea carmina poscit :
Et feriatus anulis illius ornor amans.
Illius inscribo nulla non arbore nomen,
Nulloqve non idem die rite mihi legitur.
Qva sibi rivalem credit certare Pudorem,
Vinci Cupido nescius prodigiosa facit.
Sin ut reddatur suus anulus imperet Ella,
Iam nomen Ellae deleam cortice ab iliceo.
Si qvondam cari fiducia fallat amoris,
Anno salutandum semel praestet habere Nihil. Curritur a multis: unus fert praemia victor;
Ineptus est qvisqvis vagum claudere vult cuculum.
EDI, redi nunc; redditur sol imbribus peractis.
Ut lampas ignibus novis redintegrata flagrat,
Sic dissipatis nubibus fugax redit voluptas.
Ut, inter imbres qvi cadit, novus resurgit annus
Veris vocante florei canore, sic redi tu,
Tot flete nuper lacrimis, tot iam vocate lingvis.
Redi, redi nunc, ut redit sol imbribus fugatis.
EVER sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak ;
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labourers of Babel.
Now I am a dog, or cow ;
I can bark, or I can low;
I can bleat, or I can sing
Like the warblers of the spring.
Let the love-sick bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy swain rejoice,
And I join my helping voice;
Both are welcome, grief or joy,
I with either sport and toy.
Though a lady, I am stout,
Drums and trumpets bring me out :
Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudest thunder,
When I'm vext, can't keep me under;
Yet so tender is my ear,
That the lowest voice I fear.
Much I dread the courtier's fate,
When his merit's out of date;
For I hate a silent breath,
And a whisper is my death.
Γνῶθι νῦν τὰν Οιδιπόδα σοφίαν.
ULLO non vigilem tempore me tibi
Commendat facilis garrulitas; neqve
Lingva qvod careo me minus aestimant
Facundam pueri et senes.
Si plures sonitus auribus obstrepunt,
Mentis compositae protinus immemor
In voces fatuas solvor, et ebria
Divo Thyias uti suo
Per siluas nunc ululo canis ;
Nunc inter pecudes bucula mugio;
Balantumqve sonos et volucrum aemula
Vernos ingemino modos.
Crudelem Corydon si qveritur Chloen,
Maesti suscipio tristitiam proci;
Nec me, si iuveni lux sua faverit,
Laetanti sociam abnegem ;
Casus sollicitos scilicet et bonos
Aeqve in ludibrium vertere pertinax,
Nec luctus hominum participare nec
Cesso carpere gaudia.
In belli rabiem cornua qvae mares
Incendunt animos me qvoqve feminam
Trudunt e latebris, ne sine me suus
Pugnae deficiat fragor.
Non, si terrificos dextra tonans Iovis
Intendit strepitus, exsuperor minis;
At vexat teneris auribus advolans
Motu me Zephyrus levi.
Qvam finem emeruit regius assecla
Longis officiis, hanc metuo mihi :
Angit me tacitus spiritus exiens,
Et, qvi clam loqvitur, necat.
INDERNEATH this myrtle shade,
On flowery beds supinely laid,
With odorous oils my head o'erflowing,
And around it roses growing,
What should I do but drink away
The heat and troubles of the day?
In this more than kingly state
Love himself shall on me wait.
Fill to me, Love, nay, fill it up;
And mingled cast into the cup
Wit and mirth and noble fires,
Vigorous health and gay desires.
To-morrow and To-morrow and To-morrow!
HEN I consider life, 'tis all a cheat; Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit, Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay: To-morrow's falser than the former day, Lies worse; and while it says, we shall be blessed With some new joys, cuts off what we possessed. Strange cozenage! none would live past years again, Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain, And from the dregs of life think to receive What the first sprightly running could not give. I'm tired with waiting for this chymic gold, Which fools us young, and beggars us when old.
Theile mir mit, was du weißt; ich werd' es dankbar emp= fangen:
Aber du gibst mir dich selbst: damit verschone mich, Freund.
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