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.

ELEGIE. V:

To Solanus.

O'Oid doth Solanus these verses send, B••t first he wishes health to you his friend.

And doth desire his wishes may succeede, That you in health deare friend my lines may reade: Your Candor, a faire vertue now decayd, Is the cause I for your sake thus have pray'd. For though wit•• you I small acquaintance had, You for my sudden ba••ishment were s••d. And when you read my verses that were sent From Pontus, you to favour them were bent, That Ces••rs wrath might not last thou didst wish, Whic•• if he knew he would not hinder this. These prayers did with thy gentle mind agree, Which are not lesse acceptable to me. But deare friend, if thou wouldst know my misery, The natu••e of this place will then move thee. Trust me, thou canst not finde all the world ore, A Country that with warre is troubled more. These verses which I in the warres did frame, Thou readst, and having read dost like the same: My wit although it slow with a poore vaine, Thou dost applaud, and likest of my straine; Though like a River it a course doth take, Yet thou of it, a mighty streame dost make. And these thy free applauses I doe find, Doe yeeld much sweete contentment to my mind, Since those who are in m••sery scarce write, To please themselves, or yeeld themselves delight. Yet while that I on meaner subjects writ, My subject then could not exceede my wit. But hearing Caesars triumph now of late, When I attempted a worke of that waight. The gravity of the matter quite outwent My strength, which could not such a worke attempt. Yet the will ayming high doth merit praise, Weake matters have no pow••r themselves to raise.

Then if this booke unto yours hands doth come, I charge you to give it protection. Which I know you would doe though not entreated, And with light thankes you shall be now requi••ed. No praise, deserve I but thy brest I know Is whiter than milke, or untrodden snow: Thou admir'st others when thy owne selfe art, Admirable for thy ••loquence and Art. The Prince that from Germany name doth take In studdy doth thee his companion make: His young yeares and his elder thou dost fit, Thy manners being equall to thy wit. And he doth take delight to heare thee speake, While thou in thy owne words his mind dost breake. When you leave off, there's generall silence then, But when they have a while thus silent beene, Royall Germanicus from his seate doth rise, Like the bright morning-starre in Easterne skies. When they are silent, he stands up in st••re, Whose mild and learned aspect then doth make Much expectation, and much hope affords, To heare his eloquent and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 words. Then ••e without delay doth silence breake, And you would sweare, he like the gods doth speake. His speech is such as a great Princes should be, His eloquence being full of Majesty. Whom though you please, and are raisd to this hight, Reade what a banisht Poet here doth write. For betweene wits, there will still concord be, And those that love one study doe agree. Clownes doe love clownes, and Souldiers men of warre, The Shipmaster doth love the Ma••iner: Thou lovest Poetry, and dost study it, And being witty favorest my wit.

Though you the Thyrsus, I the bayes doe beare. Poeticke fl••me doth in us both appeare. Your eloq••ence is stronger then my lines. And in my verse your eloquence so shines. And since my verse on your studdy doth con••ine, You doe defend my verses at this time. For which I pray, that thou mayest be esteemd, And lov'd o•• Caesar unto thy lives end; And of him that sh••ll next the Empire sway, For which let all the people with me pray.