Marlowe, Ovid's Elegy 1

This is a draft version of Christopher Marlowe's translation of Ovid's first Elegy transcribed and encoded by Caroline Hawkes (Framingham State University '25). The primary source text is a facsimile edition downloaded from Early English Books Online: Ouid's elegies three bookes. By C.M. Epigrames by I.D. , 1603, STC (2nd ed.) 18931. ProQuest, https://www.proquest.com/books/ouids-elegies-three-bookes-c-m-epigrames-i-d/docview/2240871421/se-2. The secondary source text is a facsimile edition downloaded from Early English Books Online: Ovid. All Ouids elegies 3. bookes. By C.M. Epigrams by I.D. , 1630, STC (2nd ed.) 18932. ProQuest, https://www.proquest.com/books/all-ouids-elegies-3-bookes-c-m-epigrams-i-d/docview/2264177121/se-2. This edition uses a schema created by Martin Holmes and The Map of Early Modern London team (Dir. Janelle Jenstad).

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    11/17/2022
    Marlowe's Ovid, Elegy 1
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                                P. Ouidij Naſonis amorum, <!-- Translation: P. The love of Ouidius Nason --><lb/>
                                Liber primus.<!-- Translation: First book --><lb/>
                                <lb/>
                                ELEGIA. I <!-- Translation: ELEGY --> <lb/>
                                Quemadmodum à Cupidine pro bellis amores <!-- Translation: Just as Cupid loves wars --> <lb/>
                                ſcribere coactus ſit. <!-- Translation: he was forced to write --><lb/>
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                        VVE which were <hi style="font-style:italic"><persName type="lit">Ouids</persName></hi> fiue books now are three <lb/>
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                        Fore theſe before the reſt preferreth he. <lb/>
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                        If reading fiue thou plain'ſt of tediouſneſſe. <lb/>
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                        Two tane a way, thy labour will be leſſe. <lb/>
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                        With <hi style="font-style:italic">Muſe</hi> prepar'd I meant to ſing of Armes, <lb/>
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                        Chooſing a ſubiect fit for fierce alarmes. <lb/>
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                        Both verſes were a like till loue (men ſay) <lb/>
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                        Began to ſmile and tooke one foote away. <lb/>
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                        Raſh boy, who gaue thee power to change a line? <lb/>
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                        We are the <hi style="font-style:italic">Muſes Prophets</hi>, none of thine. <lb/>
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                        What if they mother take <hi style="font-style:italic"><persName type="lit">Dianas</persName></hi> bow, <lb/>
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                        Shall <hi style="font-style:italic"><persName type="lit">Dian</persName></hi> fanne, when loue begins to glow. <lb/>
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                        In wooddy groues is't meete that <hi style="font-style:italic"><persName type="lit">Ceres</persName></hi> raigne? <lb/>
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                        And quiuer-bearing <hi style="font-style:italic"><persName type="lit">Dian</persName></hi> till the plaine. <lb/>
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                        Who'le ſet the faire treſt ſunne in barrell ray,<lb/>
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                        While <hi style="font-style:italic">Mars</hi> doth take the <hi style="font-style:italic">Aonian Harp</hi> to play.<lb/>
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                        Great are thy kingdomes, ouer ſtrong and large,<lb/>
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                        Ambitious impe, why ſeek'ſt thou further charge?<lb/>
                    </l>
                    <l>
                        Are all things thine? the Muſes <hi style="font-style:italic">Temple</hi> thine?<lb/>
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                        Then ſcarſe can <hi style="font-style:italic"><persName type="lit">Phoebus</persName></hi> ſay, this Harp is mine.<lb/>
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                        When in this workes firſt verſe I trode aloft,<lb/>
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                        Loue ſlackt my Muſe, and made my numbers ſoſt.<lb/>
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                        I haue no miſtreſſe, nor no <!-- Second Version Translation--> favorite<lb/>
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                        Being fitteſt matter, for <!-- Second Version Translation--> a wanton wit. <lb/>
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                    <fw type="catchword" style="text-align;right;">Thus</fw>
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                    <fw type="header" style="text-align:center;"><hi style="font-size=150%">OVIDS ELEGIES</hi></fw>
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                        Thus I complain'd, but loue vnlockt his quiuer, <lb/>
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                        Tooke out the ſhaft, ordain'de my heart to ſhiuer: <lb/>
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                        And bent his ſinewie bow vpon his knee, <lb/>
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                        Saying Poet, heere's a worke beſeeming thee. <lb/>
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                        Oh woe is me, he neuer ſhootes but hits, <lb/>
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                        I burne loue in my idle boſome ſits. <lb/>
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                        Let my firſt verſe be ſixe, my laſt fiue feete, <lb/>
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                        Fare-well ſterne warre, for blunter Poets meete. <lb/>
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                        <hi style="font-style:italic">Elegian Muſe</hi>, that warbleſt amorous laies, <lb/>
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                        Girt my ſhine brow with Sea-banke Mirtle praiſe. <lb/>
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Marlowe_Ovid

Printed by Publication Information

Information about the source STC 21864

TEI P5

P. Ouidij Naſonis amorum, Liber primus. ELEGIA. I Quemadmodum à Cupidine pro bellis amores ſcribere coactus ſit.
VVE which were Ouids fiue books now are three Fore theſe before the reſt preferreth he. If reading fiue thou plain'ſt of tediouſneſſe. Two tane a way, thy labour will be leſſe. With Muſe prepar'd I meant to ſing of Armes,  5 Chooſing a ſubiect fit for fierce alarmes. Both verſes were a like till loue (men ſay) Began to ſmile and tooke one foote away. Raſh boy, who gaue thee power to change a line? We are the Muſes Prophets, none of thine.  10 What if they mother take Dianas bow, Shall Dian fanne, when loue begins to glow. In wooddy groues is't meete that Ceres raigne? And quiuer-bearing Dian till the plaine. Who'le ſet the faire treſt ſunne in barrell ray,  15 While Mars doth take the Aonian Harp to play. Great are thy kingdomes, ouer ſtrong and large, Ambitious impe, why ſeek'ſt thou further charge? Are all things thine? the Muſes Temple thine? Then ſcarſe can Phoebus ſay, this Harp is mine.  20 When in this workes firſt verſe I trode aloft, Loue ſlackt my Muſe, and made my numbers ſoſt. I haue no miſtreſſe, nor no favorite Being fitteſt matter, for a wanton wit. A1r Thus OVIDS ELEGIES Thus I complain'd, but loue vnlockt his quiuer,  25 Tooke out the ſhaft, ordain'de my heart to ſhiuer: And bent his ſinewie bow vpon his knee, Saying Poet, heere's a worke beſeeming thee. Oh woe is me, he neuer ſhootes but hits, I burne loue in my idle boſome ſits.  30 Let my firſt verſe be ſixe, my laſt fiue feete, Fare-well ſterne warre, for blunter Poets meete. Elegian Muſe, that warbleſt amorous laies, Girt my ſhine brow with Sea-banke Mirtle praiſe.

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Marlowe_Ovid

Printed by Publication Information

Information about the source STC 21864

TEI P5

P. Ouidij Naſonis amorum, Liber primus. ELEGIA. I Quemadmodum à Cupidine pro bellis amores ſcribere coactus ſit.
VVE which were Ouids fiue books now are three Fore theſe before the reſt preferreth he. If reading fiue thou plain'ſt of tediouſneſſe. Two tane a way, thy labour will be leſſe. With Muſe prepar'd I meant to ſing of Armes, Chooſing a ſubiect fit for fierce alarmes. Both verſes were a like till loue (men ſay) Began to ſmile and tooke one foote away. Raſh boy, who gaue thee power to change a line? We are the Muſes Prophets, none of thine. What if they mother take Dianas bow, Shall Dian fanne, when loue begins to glow. In wooddy groues is't meete that Ceres raigne? And quiuer-bearing Dian till the plaine. Who'le ſet the faire treſt ſunne in barrell ray, While Mars doth take the Aonian Harp to play. Great are thy kingdomes, ouer ſtrong and large, Ambitious impe, why ſeek'ſt thou further charge? Are all things thine? the Muſes Temple thine? Then ſcarſe can Phoebus ſay, this Harp is mine. When in this workes firſt verſe I trode aloft, Loue ſlackt my Muſe, and made my numbers ſoſt. I haue no miſtreſſe, nor no favorite Being fitteſt matter, for a wanton wit. A1r Thus OVIDS ELEGIES Thus I complain'd, but loue vnlockt his quiuer, Tooke out the ſhaft, ordain'de my heart to ſhiuer: And bent his ſinewie bow vpon his knee, Saying Poet, heere's a worke beſeeming thee. Oh woe is me, he neuer ſhootes but hits, I burne loue in my idle boſome ſits. Let my firſt verſe be ſixe, my laſt fiue feete, Fare-well ſterne warre, for blunter Poets meete. Elegian Muſe, that warbleſt amorous laies, Girt my ſhine brow with Sea-banke Mirtle praiſe.