[368] Not in Isham copy or ed. A.--In the old copies this elegy is marked "Elegia v." The fifth elegy (beginning "Nox erat et somnus," &c.) was not contained in Marlowe's copy.
[370] So Dyce for "rushest" of the old eds.
[371] So Dyce for "arrowes" of the old eds.
[372] The original has "Inachus in Melie Bithynide pallidus isse." &c.--Dyce suggests that Marlowe's copy had "in _media_ Bithynide."
[376] The original has "Desit famosus qui notet ora pudor" (or "Desint ... quae," &c.)
[377] "Forsitan haec alios, me mea damna movent."
[380] Marlowe read "nunc candide" for "non candide."
Quod ab amica receptus, cum ea coire non potuit, conqueritur.
Either she was foul, or her attire was bad, Or she was not the wench I wished to have had. Idly I lay with her, as if I loved not, And like a burden grieved the bed that moved not. Though both of us performed our true intent, Yet could I not cast anchor where I meant. She on my neck her ivory arms did throw, Her[381] arms far whiter than the Scythian snow. And eagerly she kissed me with her tongue, And under mine her wanton thigh she flung, 10 Yea, and she soothed me up, and called me "Sir,"[382] And used all speech that might provoke and stir. Yet like as if cold hemlock I had drunk, It mockËd me, hung down the head and sunk. Like a dull cipher, or rude block I lay, Or shade, or body was I, who can say? What will my age do, age I cannot shun, Seeing[383] in my prime my force is spent and done? I blush, that being youthful, hot, and lusty, I prove neither youth nor man, but old and rusty. 20 Pure rose she, like a nun to sacrifice, Or one that with her tender brother lies. Yet boarded I the golden Chie[384] twice, And Libas, and the white-cheeked Pitho thrice. Corinna craved it in a summer's night, And nine sweet bouts had we[385] before daylight. What, waste my limbs through some Thessalian charms? May spells and drugs do silly souls such harms? With virgin wax hath some imbast[386] my joints? And pierced my liver with sharp needle-points?[387] 30 Charms change corn to grass and make it die: By charms are running springs and fountains dry. By charms mast drops from oaks, from vines grapes fall, And fruit from trees when there's no wind at all. Why might not then my sinews be enchanted? And I grow faint as with some spirit haunted? To this, add shame: shame to perform it quailed me, And was the second cause why vigour failed me. My idle thoughts delighted her no more, Than did the robe or garment which she wore. 40 Yet might her touch make youthful Pylius fire, And Tithon livelier than his years require. Even her I had, and she had me in vain, What might I crave more, if I ask again? I think the great gods grieved they had bestowed, This[388] benefit: which lewdly[389] I foreslowed.[390] I wished to be received in, in[391] I get me. To kiss, I kiss;[392] to lie with her, she let me. Why was I blest? why made king to refuse[393] it? Chuff-like had I not gold and could not use it? 50 So in a spring thrives he that told so much,[394] And looks upon the fruits he cannot touch. Hath any rose so from a fresh young maid, As she might straight have gone to church and prayed? Well, I believe, she kissed not as she should, Nor used the sleight and[395] cunning which she could. Huge oaks, hard adamants might she have moved, And with sweet words caus[ed] deaf rocks to have loved. Worthy she was to move both gods and men, But neither was I man nor livËd then. 60 Can deaf ears[396] take delight when PhÊmius sings? Or Thamyris in curious painted things? What sweet thought is there but I had the same? And one gave place still as another came. Yet notwithstanding, like one dead it lay, Drooping more than a rose pulled yesterday. Now, when he should not jet, he bolts upright, And craves his task, and seeks to be at fight. Lie down with shame, and see thou stir no more. Seeing thou[397] would'st deceive me as before. 70 Thou cozenest me: by thee surprised am I, And bide sore loss[398] with endless infamy. Nay more, the wench did not disdain a whit To take it in her hand, and play with it. But when she saw it would by no means stand, But still drooped down, regarding not her hand, "Why mock'st thou me," she cried, "or being ill, Who bade thee lie down here against thy will? Either thou art witched with blood of frogs[399] new dead, Or jaded cam'st thou from some other's bed." 80 With that, her loose gown on, from me she cast her; In skipping out her naked feet much graced her. And lest her maid should know of this disgrace, To cover it, spilt water in the place.