Ovid de Ponto Containing foure books of elegies. Written by him in Tomos, a citie of Pontus, in the foure last yeares of his life, and so dyed there in the seaventh yeare of his banishment from Rome. Translated by W.S.

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Title
Ovid de Ponto Containing foure books of elegies. Written by him in Tomos, a citie of Pontus, in the foure last yeares of his life, and so dyed there in the seaventh yeare of his banishment from Rome. Translated by W.S.
Author
Ovid, 43 B.C.-17 or 18 A.D.
Publication
Printed at London :: By T. Cotes, for Michael Sparke Iunior, dwelling at the blue Bible in Greene Arbor,
1640.
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http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A08628.0001.001
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"Ovid de Ponto Containing foure books of elegies. Written by him in Tomos, a citie of Pontus, in the foure last yeares of his life, and so dyed there in the seaventh yeare of his banishment from Rome. Translated by W.S." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A08628.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 8, 2025.

Pages

ELEGIE. XI.
To Rufus.
OVid by whom the Art of Love was pend These lines in hast doth to thee Ruus snd That thouh we the whole world asunder be: Yet thou maist know I doe remember tee. For I shall sooner sure my name forget, Then thy love shall out of my minde be beat,

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And I shall sooner render up my spirit, Then I shall be unthankefull to your merit: Your merit wa your teares, which did bedew Your face, when mine with sorrow still dry grew. Your merit was, that comfort to my mind Which you did give, and both of us did find. My wife deserves praise for her owne conditions, Yet she growes better by your admonitions. I am glad you will my wives counsellour be, As Hector to Iuls, Castor to Hermione. She strives to be like you in what is good, And by he life seemes to be of your blood. And what she would doe without provocation, She does more fully by your faire perswasion. The svvift horse that within the race doth runne, Will run more swiftly if he be spurd on. Besides in absence thu performst my will, And for my sake refusest no paines still. Because we cannot, may the gods thanke thee, Who doe reward those good deeds which they see. And may thy vertues with long life be crown'd, ufus the glory of the Fundane ground,
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