Ouid's elegies three bookes. By C.M. Epigrames by I.D.

ELEGIA. 12.

Tabelias quas miscrat exeoratur quod amica noctem negabat.

BEwa••le my chaunce the sad booke is returned, This day denyall hath my sport adiourned. Presages are not vaine, when she departed, Nape by stumbling on the thre-shold started. Going out againe passe forth the dore most wisely, And som-what higher beare thy foote precisely. Hence luck-lesse tables, funerall wood be flying, And thou the waxe stufe full with notes denying. Which I thinke gather'd from cold hemlocks flower, Wherein bad hony Corsick Bees did power. Yet as if mixt with red lead thou wert ruddy, That colour rightly did appeare so bloudy. As euill wood throwne in the high-wayes lie▪

Be bro••ke with wheeles of chariots passing by. And him that hew'd you out for needfull vses, I'le prooue had hands impure with all abuses. Poore wretches on the tree themselues did strangle There sat the hang-man for mens necks to angle. To hoarse scrich-owles fowle shado••ves it allowes Vultures and furies nestled in the boughs. To these my loue I foolishly committed And then with sweete words to my Mistrisse fitted•• More fitly had thy wrangling bonds contained From barbarous lips of some Atturny strained. Among day-bookes and bills they had layne better, In which the Marchat wayles his banquerout debter, Your name approoues you made for such like things The number two no good diuining bringes. Angry, I pray that rotten age you wrackes And sluttish white-mould ouergrow the waxe.