339 [from Ovids Elegies Book 1]
Now ore the sea from her old Love comes she
That drawes the day from heavens cold axletree.
Aurora whither slidest thou? downe againe
And birdes from Memnon yearely shal be slaine.
5 Now in her tender armes I sweetly bide
If ever, now well lies she by my side.
The aire is cold, and sleepe is sweetest now
And birdes send forth shrill notes from every bough:
Whither runst thou, that men, and women love not?
10 Hold in thy rosy horses that they move not.
Ere thou rise, starres teach sea-men where to saile
But when thou commest they of their courses faile.
Poore travailers though tierd, rise at thy sight,
And souldiours make them ready to the fight.
15 The painefull hinde by thee to field is sent,
Slowe Oxen early in the yoake are pent.
Thou cousenst boyes of sleepe, and doest betray them
To Pedants that with cruell lashes pay them.
Thou mak’st the surety to the Lawyer runne,
20 That with one word hath nigh himselfe undone.
The Lawyer and the client hate thy view,
Both whom thou raisest up to toyle anew.
By thy meanes women of their rest are bard,
Thou setst their labouring hands to spin and card.
25 All could I beare, but that the wench should rise,
Who can endure save him with whom none lyes?
How oft wisht I, night would not give thee place,
Nor morning starres shunne thy uprising face.
How oft that either winde would breake thy coach,
30 Or steeds might fall forc’d with thick clouds approach.
Whether goest thou hatefull Nimph? Memnon the elfe
Receiv’d his cole-black colour from thy selfe.
Say that thy love with Cæphalus were not knowne,
Then thinkest thou thy loose life is not showne.
35 Would Tithon might but talke of thee a while,
Not one in heaven should be more base and vile.
Thou leavest his bed, because hee’s faint through age,
And early mountest thy hatefull carriage.
But heldst thou in thine armes some Cephalus,
40 Then wouldst thou cry, stay night and runne not thus.
Doest punish me, because yeares make him waine?
I did not bid thee wed an aged swaine.
The Moone sleepes with Endymion every day,
Thou art as faire as she, then kisse and play.
45 Jove that thou shouldst not hast but waite his leasure,
Made two nights one to finish up his pleasure.
I chide no more, she blusht and therefore heard me
Yet lingered not the day, but morning scard me.