Virgils Eclogues translated into English: by W.L. Gent

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Title
Virgils Eclogues translated into English: by W.L. Gent
Author
Virgil.
Publication
London :: Printed by William Iones, dwelling in Red-crosse-street,
1628.
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http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A14497.0001.001
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"Virgils Eclogues translated into English: by W.L. Gent." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A14497.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 28, 2025.

Pages

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TITYRVS. (Book 1)

The Bucolickes of PVBLIVS VIRGILIVS MARO. (Book 1)

Aegloga prima. (Book 1)

Me∣libe∣us.
THou, in coole Covert of this broad Beech-tree, (Tityrus) at case, doest meditating lie On small Oate Pipe, thy silvan Muse; But wee Leave our faire Fields, and our deare Country flie: Whilst thou lye'st shaded in security, Teaching the hollow woods, loud to proclaime, And eccho, with the sound of Amaryllis name.
Tityrus.
Ah (gentle Melibe) Providence divine, And God himselfe, hath blest me with this ase, Of his meere grace, without desert of mine: 'Tis hee; who (as thou see'st) in franker Leaze Let's my Heards rove, at pleasure, where they please;

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Hee giues mee leave, vpon my homely Quill, And rusticke Rheed, to pipe, what songs, & tunes I will.
For-thy; him as my God I will behold, And I his Altar often will imbrew With my young Kids, the fattest of my fold.
Me.
(Shepheard) the happinesse which thou doest shew I not envie; and yet (to tell thee trew) Thy goodly Fortune I admire more In this tempestuous stound, all full of foule vprore.
See here my Kids, whom I am forc'd to drive Sick as I am; and this young Tenderling (With much adoe, to save it e'ne alive) A little lacke of dead (poore weakly thing) All way, I in my armes, am faine to bring: For'mongst the Trees ere while, on bare flint steane This Goate, two Twins, (the hope of all my Heard) did eane.
The Oakes I saw, parched with heavens blast, This mischiefe often did prognosticate, (Had I had wit, or any small forecast:) On hollow Ilex, (as shee croaking sate) The luckie Crow, did oft this intimate. But, thilke same God, whom yet ye herry thus, Of court'sie doe me, t'understand (good Tityrus.)
Tityrus.
Sicker, yee mee to thing doo'n timely tempt, Which erst, I bet, than yee did never ken: Ah fon, (friend Melibe) I whilome dempt, That famous Citty, which I now and then In common chat, amongst our Countrimen, Haue heard ycleeped, by the name of Rome, Certes for all the world, sibb, to our homely home.

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Where we poore shepheards, woont attend our Lamms, And tender younglings weane. So did I dare Kids, liken, to their Goates, Whelpes to their Damms, And Mowle-hills, woont, to Mountaines, to compare, "But sooth, to it all other Citties are "As to huge Firre-trees, the young tender plants; "(So high her haughty head she 'boue them doth en∣hance.)
Melibe.
But what so great cause hadst thou Rome to see? Tityrus. My Liberty; which (late though) yet when all Selfe-helpe, and hope, both faild, respected mee: After my gray Beard did to the Barber fall, It came at last, and pittied mee (poore thrall:) When once mee Awaryllis did receiue, Poore Galatea left mee, and I did her leaue.
Whom till I left, I fairly must confesse I neither hope had, nor intendement Of libertie, ne care, ne mindfulnesse, Of Flocke, or Heard: though from them often went Many a sweete Sacrifice, and fat Cheese sent To that vngratefull Towne; which nathemore Not once, fulfill'd my fist, with any golden ore.
Melibe.
(Sad Amaryllis) I did wonder much, Why thou in this mans favour didst prepare, And all the Gods invoke; suffering none touch The fruite vpon his Trees: yea, with such care, That if once Tityrus, hence absent were Fountaines, and Shrubbs, the loftie Pines, and all Soone Tityrus, can misse, and eachwhere him recall.
Tityrus.
What should I there doe? spending my fruitles dayes Hopelesse, of any opportunity,

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From my blind bondage, my poore selfe to raise Ne meanes haue had to know the clemency Of such, so bounteous Gods; heere, first mine Eye That young Prince Paragon, (good Melibe) (To whom twelue dayes, each year, mine Altars smoke) did see.
Hee, (first vask'd) did my Petition grant, And thus himselfe, did answer my request: Feede (Ladd) thine Oxen, (as woont, paravant) And to the yoake, breake the Bulls stubborne crest. Melibe. Happy old man, and fortunately blest Vnder so mighty Patronage; for-thy, Thy fields, henceforth to thee, in safety shall abye.
And spacious, they shall be, and large enough Albe each pasture, fenced be around, Mounded with stone, and rushie slimy stuffe: Ne shall vnwoonted feede in Neighbours ground, Tempt thy bigg-bellied Crones, out of their bound: Ne shall the murrin, or ought like disease (Amongst thy Neighbours Cattle) on thy Cattle seize.
"Happy old Man, and more than fairely blest, "Who 'mongst these well knowne streames, and sacred springs, "Maist suck the sweete, coole ayre, into thy breast: "Heere, from the hedge, of thy next Neighbourlings, The buzzing Bees, confused murmurings (About the sallow bloomes) shall oft inuade Thy lulled sense, and to sweete slumber thee perswade.
Heere, maist thou heare, vnder these hollow Rockes Vnto the ayre, the Lopper, lowdly chant, And sing wilde descant, to his Axes knockes. Here, the hoarse stockdove (thy delight) will haunt; Ne, shall the mourning Turtle, cease to pant

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In the Elmes thicke tops, (aspiring to the skies;) And grone her dolefull notes, and earnfull Elegies.
Tityrus.
The light-heel'd Hindes, in th'ayre shall feede therefore, And in the Ocean, all the fishes dye For want of water, on the naked Shore: The wandring Parthian, first shall drinken dry Huge Araris; and guzzling Germany, Sucke downe their thirsty throates, swift Tygris-tyde; Ere, his deare lovely face, shall from my bosome slide.
Melibe.
But we, like Pilgrims must forsake this Rea'me, Wandring amongst the scorched Africans: Some to Oaxes, (Creta's rapid streame) And some amongst the frozen Scythians: And some, farre hence, amongst th' unknowne Bryteans, (A people of another world, and quite From all the world beside, divided in their site.)
God knowes, if ever I, my Country deare, And my poore Cot of turse, againe shall see; Or (after many a long and tedious yeare) Admire my Fields of Corne, as now they bee. "Shall the rude godlesse Souldier haue (aye me) "These well-plow'd Tilthes? or shall some barbarous slave, "Of these rich goodly crops, the bounteous harvests have.
Lo, heere by our owne discord and debate, How huge a Sea, of endlesse miserie (Distressed Citizens) doth vs awaite: Lo, now, for whom, we all so carefully Have sowne our grounds. Plant now (poore Melibe) Thy Peares, and doon, in order dresse thy Vine, And to some thanklesse stranger, leave them trim & fine

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Goe now (my once, deare happy heard:) and yee My tender Kids, farewell: never more, I You (hanging on the mossy Rockes) shall see Farre off, whilst I in some greene Cave doe lye; Ne songs, will I more sing, as formerly, Ne, henceforth (Kiddies) whilst I feede, shall you Brouze on the flourie shrubs, and sowre sallowes chew.
Tityrus.
Here yet with me, a sorry simple Bed Accept, and welcome, on this homely Floore, Such as thou see'st with fresh greene Boughes o'respred: Some mellow apples, yet we haue in store, With Chessnutts smoothe: ilk, we have curds galore: And now (farre off) the village-Chimnies tall, Smoake high; and larger shadowes, from the Mountains fall.
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