The works of Publius Virgilius Maro translated by John Ogilby.

THE SECOND BOOK OF Virgil's GEORGICKS.

THE ARGUMENT.

How trees by nature grow, some from the root, Some from the seed, some of themselves do sprout, As many wayes of Art experience grants. The Gardner graffs, inoculates, transplants, What fruitfull trees in severall Countries are; But none with happie Italie compare. How to discerne the goodness of each ground, Where choicest Olives and best Vines are found, What safty in the harmless Countrey lies: What dangers from rebellious Cities rise.

THus much of tillage, and the Planets sway, I'le thee now Bacchus, and wilde plants display, And the slow Olives race; father, draw neer, (All things are full of thy great bounty here) Thou pregnant fields deck'st with Autumnall vine, Till foming presses overflow with wine;

O Father come, and lay thy buskins by With me in Must then staine thy naked thigh.

Trees in their growth of different natures are, Some spring themselves, unforc'd by humane care, As in the fields where winding rivers flow, The gentle Broom, Poplar, and Sallow grow, And Willowes with fresh branches flourishing. Some from their seed being set, as Chestnuts spring, And Joves great Aesculus which all groves excel'd, And Okes which Grecians still oraculous held. In mighty Groves some spring from their own root, So Cheries, Elms, Parnassian Laurell, shoot: Which small in great shade of their mother rise. These waies first nature gave: by these all trees In Orchards, woods, and sacred Forrests grow: Others there are, which use and custome shew. Here, from the tender Parent, this man gets The sprouting twigs, and in a furrow sets. There in the earth, another covers stocks Of ancient trees, pales, posts, and cloven blocks; Some trees require their boughes be set archwise, And make their own soile, living nurseries. Some need no root, nor doth the Gardner doubt, That sprigs set in the ground shall timely sprout. And wondrous to be told, the Olive root From a drie stick, cut at the end will shoote. And oft without impairing, we may see The boughes of one, chang'd to another tree, And Pears from grafted Apples for to spread, And stonie Cornell, with ripe plums wax red. Therefore O Husbandmen, the best means trie T'improve wilde fruit, lest waste your Orchards lye. To plant the vine in Ismare we are glad, And that Taburnus verdant Olives clad.

Help, O Mecaenass and this work review, My glory and my chief fame, springs from you; Swell thou my saile, now venturing to the main, Nor all things would I in my verse containe; Had I hundred mouthes, a hundred tongues, A voyce of steele; help me to coast along; The taske is easie; nor I'le thee detaine With dull descriptions, nor fables vaine.

Those trees which of themselves are fostered, Unfruitfull be, but strong, and fair they spread: Because they draw their nature from the soyle; But these, if any sow, or shall with toyle Transplant, and then in cultur'd orchards set; Their wilder disposition they forget: VVith often pruning then not slowly will Answerthy labour, and obey thy skill; So those which spring sroom roots like profit yield, If you transplant them to the open field, These, boughs before aad parent-branches shade, VVhich stops their growth, and makes the bodie fade. Plants which from seed arise of slow growth are, And shades for our posterity prepare; Apples grow wilde, and loose their former taste, And Vines harsh clusters bear for birds to waste, All labour aske, and covering in rich soyle; And must be conquer'd, with much art and toyle. Th' Olive from trunks, vines prosper best from stocks, And Paphian Myrtle springs from solid okes; Tall Ash, and Hazel, best from Sciens takes, And Poplar which Herculean Garlands makes: So Joves Chaonian oke, and high Palms grow, And Fir which must the Sailors fortune know, Arbuts from Nuts, the sterile Plane tree bears Best Apples, Chestnuts, Beech; blossoms of Pears.

The wilde Ash silvers with a snowie flower, And under Elms rough Swine the mast devoure.

T' inoculate, and graffe, are severall arts: For where the bud shoots from the tender parts, And breaks the geutle Filme, just, where they binde; They make an orifice in the knottie rinde; Imprisoning there, the sprig of th' other tree; And with moyst bark they teach them to agree. Or else the knotless trunk they cut again, And with a wedge deep wound the solid grain. After the slip so valued, there inclose, Nor longs the time, when sprouts with fruitfull boughes A mighty tree to heaven, at leaves unknown Admiring, and strange Apples not her own. Nor of one kinde strong Elins, and Sallowes be, The Lotus, nor th' Id••an Cypres tree; Nor in one manner the rich Olive comes, Orchites, and Radies, and sour Pausian plums, Alciuous apples, nor such branches bear Wardens, Crustumians, and the Syrian pear; Nor the same Vintages our clusters grant, Which Lesbos hath, from the Methymnean plant, Thasians there are, and silver Mareots, these Fat grounds affect, and those the lighter please; And Pscithian grapes best dride; Legeos strong, Which soon will trie your feet, and tie your tongue; Purple, and early grapes there are. VVhat verse You Rhetick Vineyards shall your praise rehearse? But yet contend not with Falernian vine, There are Aminian grapes, a most sound wine; Tmolus to this, and King Phanaeus give, And less Argitis homage; none will strive With this to fill the Press, with cheering juice, Nor last so many years, and fit for use:

Nor Rhodian gracing Feasts, and rites, shall scape, Nor the Bumaste, that so swelling grape; Their names, and kinds innumerable are, Nor for their catologue we need not care, Which who would know, as soone may count the sands, The westerne winds, raise on the Lybian strands, Or when East-windes at sea more violent rore, Reckon Aeonian waves, which rowle to shore. All grounds not all things bear; the Alder tree Growes in thick Fens, with Sallows brooks agree, Ash craggie Mountains, shores sweet Myrtle fils, And lastly Bacchus loves the sunnie hils: The Yew best prospers in the North, and cold. The conquer'd worlds remotest Swains behold, Where Arabs painted Gelonie are found; Each Land shewes severall plants; the Indian ground Bears Ebonie, Sabea, Frankincense. What shall I say to thee sweet wood? from whence Balsame destills, and beries ever green Of bright Acanthus? How shall I begin Of trees in Aethiopia, white with woll? Where from the leaves the Natives fleeces cull: Or of those groves in utmost India bred, Neer the worlds border, whose aspiring head, No arrow could by Archers skill surmount; And yet good Bowmen we those men account. Media brings wholsome apples of harsh juice, Gainst step-dames poyson nothing more in use: When banefull hearbs they mix with deadly charmes, This helps, and vitall spirits 'gainst venome arms. This mighty tree, Laurell resembles well, But that it casts abroad another smell; No windes offend the leaves, the flowers indure: With this, their tainted breaths the Medians cure,

And it to old mens Tysicks medcine yields. But Median groves, nor all those plentious fields, Nor India, Ganges Hermes full of gold, May strive with Italie, nor Bactrians bold, Nor great Panchaia, rich with Frankincense. This place no Buls whose nostrils fire dispense Have til'd, to set the teeth of Dragons there, Nor did it crops of Spears, and Helmets bear. But lushious fruit, and rich wine fill the Press, And Olive plants, and joyfull herds possess. Here warlick Steeds trot proudly through the fields, This snowie flocks, and Buls prime offerings yields; VVhich bath'd Clitumnus in thy sacred floods, Romes tryumphs draw, to Temples of the Gods. A lasting Spring, and summer all the year; Our flocks twice teeme, our plants twice apples bear, This no fierce Tygers, nor sterne Lyons breeds, Nor Symplers here deceiv'd with poysonous weeds. Nor scalie Dragon quarters in this soyle, Wreathing himself to a prodigeous pile. To these so many famous Cities adde, works of great care, with art, cost, labor, made; So many seats cut from the quarries side, Ʋnder whose ancient wals sweet rivers glide. VVhat shall I say of both those Seas which lave Our Coasts? or of those many Lakes we have? Or speak of thee great Laris, and thy waves Benacus, which so like the Ocean raves? Or Ports, or Lucrine Sluces shall I sing? VVhose raging floods with mighty murmur ring. Where Julian streams thunder in troubled seas, And Tyrrhen waters fill th' Avernian bayes. Here we have silver rivers, brazen Mines, And with much gold this happy Country shines;

Here a bold race, the valiant Marsians are, Stout Sabels. and Ligurii us'd to war; The long spear'd Volscii, Decii, Marii, hence, And the Camilli draw their old descents. This the bold Scipios and thee Caesar bore; Who Conqueror now in utmost Asias shore, Driv'st from the Roman Towers, th' unwarlick Bands Of India. Haile great Saturnian Lands, Parent of fruit, and men of noble parts: To undertake thy ancient fame, and Arts, Boldly I'le open now, the sacred Spring, And through Rome's seats, Ascraean verses sing,

Now severall kinds of ground we must declare, Their colour, strength, and what they willing bear; And first your harder soyle, and barren hils, Where stone and thin clay, mix'd in shrubbie fields, Fresh Groves of living Olives, these rejoyce; And by wilde Olives of that Land make choice: And where soure Beries through the Country spread. But a rich ground, with pleasant moysture fed, Where store of grass, and verdant champains be, Such as in wanton vales we use to see; VVhere Rivers from the lofty Rock descend, VVith fruitfull mud, and to the Southward bend, Nourishing Ferne, which so much hurts the Plow: Here, for thee Bacchus strongest wine shall grow To swell the Press; this the rich Grape shall bear, Such as in Gold for offerings we prepare; When the swolne Tuskans on their Cornets play, And we on Altars smoking entrals lay. But if thou herds, and Steers delight to keep; Or Goats that burne the corne, or fleecy sheep;

Seek pleasant Groves, and rich Tarentum's Coast, And plaines which wofull Mantua hath lost. VVhere silver Swans neer flourie Rivers plant, VVhere Crystall Springs, nor grass the Cattel want. How much thy herds eat in the longest day, So much cold dews in the short night repay. Black grounds which under heavie Plowes are rich, A brittle soyle (for tillage makes it such) Is best for corne; upon no ground appears More Carrs returning home with wearie Steers; Or where the angrie Swaine cuts down a wood, And fruitless Groves which many years had stood, And by the roots, Birds ancient seats o rethrew, Who to the skies their nests forsaken, flew. But a rough Champaine soone improves with toyle; For hungrie grounds, and a rough stonie soyle, Scarce bees with Cassia, and sweet dew supplie. In whose dark hollow Rocks, foul Serpents lie: No Land they say with better choice is stor'd Of food for Snakes nor better nests afford. That Earth exhales thin Clouds, and flying mists; And moysture drinks, repaying when it lists; Which alwayes her own verdant Liverie wears, Nor hurts with coomings, and foule rust the shares, Where Elms with joyfull vine are interwove, Where Olives grow; that soyle you may approve, Both for your Cattell, and the heavie Plow. For they such plaines nee'r wealthie Capua sow: And those which border nigh Vesuvius heights; And Clanius who, oft poor Acerra frights.

I'le teach thee now moulds differing to discerne; That what's too thick, or looser thou mayst learn. Since one, corne best affects, the other Vines; To Ceres ••••••ick, to Bacchus thin inclines.

First with great diligence let a place be found; There let a pit be made, deep in the ground; This done, cast in the thrown-out mould again, And with thy feet tread the whole surface plaine. If there want Earth, tis loose; that most inclines Cattell to feed, and cherish prospering Vines. But if t' its bounds, 'twill not be brought again, And the pit fil'd, some earth shall yet remain, That soyle is thick: plough with thy sturdy yoak, There the hard glebe, let that tough soyle be broke. Land that is salt, and which we bitter finde, Is bad for fruit, to tillage not inclin'd; All plants shall here degenerate, and the vine Looseth the name, and this shall be the signe. From smokie roofes, an Osier basket take, And such a strainer as for wine they make: There Earth with streams drawn from a Crystall Spout Commix; and all the water will run out, And in great drops shall through the strainer flow, But soon the taste will clear distinction shew; And straight thou may'st with bitterness espie, The tasters mouth displeas'd, be drawn awrie. And lastly we thus rich soyle understand, It will not moulder kneading in your hand; But to your fingers it will cling like pitch. Moyst ground hath weeds, and that which is too rich. Ah! Let not mine too fertile prove, nor bear Upon a heavie stalke a ponderous ear. Mould that is sad, that, silently by weight It self betrayes; and so we finde what's light. Black, and all colours, straight our eyes discerne. But cursed cold, is wonderous hard to learn. Yet sometimes pitchy Firr, and fatall Yew, Or winding Ivie will sad tokens shew.

This known with care, thy earth plough long before, And raise the ridges of thy Furrows more: And let thy turn'd up Gleab sterne Boreas face, Before thou set the vines rejoycing race. Brittle is best, which winde and frost indure; And rustick Swaines with turning oft manure. But those men who no care, or labour flie, Choose places fit both for a Nursery, And where they may transplanted after grow: Lest they their mother suddain chang'd not know. Also Heavens quarters on they bark the score, That they may coast it, as it was before: Which Southern heat sustains, which viewd the Pole, Such strength hath custome in each tender soule.

First know, if hils or dales best please the grape, Wouldst thou the plenty of rich vineyards reap. Sow the vale thick, then will thy press abound; But if it hillie be, and rising ground, Set thin thy ranks, nor less in every tract, Range ordered vines the walks drawn out exact.

As when a mighty battel's to be fought; Up to the front the ordered files are brought, Troups hide the fields; and ready for alarms, All the vast Champain shines, with glittering arms; Before in horrid fight the battell joynes, And doutbfull Mars, to neither part inclines.

So let thy ranks in even number grow. Not that vain fancie should be fed with shew; But else th' earth grants not equall nourishment; Nor can their branches have their full extent.

Perhaps how deep to furrow thou would'st know. In shallow trenches I my vines dare sow. But the huge Aesculus, that mighty tree Must in earths bosome deeply fixed be:

How much to Heaven her spreading branches shoot, So much towards hell extend her fixed root. Therefore not her, showrs with huge tempests mix'd, Nor cruell winter harms, but remains fix'd, And many years and ages she indures, Of short-liv'd man; whom her own strength secures. Tall branches guard her, and huge bowes displaid Protect her round with her own mighty shade. Nor make thy vineyard where the Sun declines; Nor plant rough hazels mongst the tender vines, Nor pull the lofty branches, nor impaire The sprouting bows; for great must be thy care: Nor rustie pruners harme, the hopefull seed, Nor let wilde Olives in thy vineyard breed. Mongst careless Swains oft happens fire: which first Under the sappie rinde is closely nurst: Then by degrees to the high branches flies And spreading sends loud fragor to the skies: A victor straight from bough to bough aspires; And the Crown seis'd, involveth all with fires. To Heaven black clouds and pitchy mists are sent, And dismall vapours scale the firmament. But more if from the North atempest rise; And in the groves winde makes the flame increase. This happens, then their stocks decatd, no more Sprout fresh again, nor flourish as before: Nor from the earth like nourishment receives: But curst wilde Olives grow, with bitter leaves.

Let none how ever skilfull, thee advise To turne hard grounds, when Northern winds arise. Winter binds earth with frost, nor grants the seed To take firme root, nor tender plants to feed.

Then set thy vines, when the white bird appears In blushing spring, which the long Serpent fears:

Or in first Autums cold, before the sun Hath cool'd his steeds in winter, summer don. Spring cloaths the woods with leaves, and groves attires, Earth swels with spring, and genitall seed requires. In fruitfull showrs th' Almighty from above Descends ith' lap, of his delighted love: And great, he with the mighty body joyn'd, Both propagates, and fosters every kinde. Harmonious birds then sing in every grove, And cattell taste the sweet delights of love. Earth blest, now teems: soft winds dissolve the Meads, With cheering warmth through all sweet moysture spreads. To the new sun, the tender herbage dare Open their leaves, nor vines rough Auster fear: Nor thundering Boreas ushering dreadfull showrs; But all things bud with blossome, leaf and flowers.

Sure I believe, when first the world was made, So shone the day; and such bright conduct had. That was the Spring; the Spring made all things fair, And blustering Eurus did cold tempests spare. Then cattell breed: in unplow'd fields began First to appear, that iron race of man: VVilde beasts possest the wood, and Heaven the stars.

Nor tender creatures could indure such cares; If not those breathings were twixt heat, and cold, And Heavens indulgence did the earth uphold.

VVhat ever plant thou in the earth dost set, First dung it well, and deeply cover it. Let shels, and limestones guard it with a paile: That streams may glide betwixt, and may exhale A gentle vapour, that may cheer the plant.

Some stones, and potshcards use to lay upon't:

Which a defence gainst rising tempests yield, And when hot Syrius chops the parched field.

Thy plants being set, next often draw the mold About the roots; to break the clods be bold: And with a thwarting Plow turn cross thy ground: And let thy labouring steers thy vines surround. Then take smooth reeds, and wands, and sticks prepare, With ashen poles, and stakes that pointed are. Supported thus, the winds they will contemn, And boldly climbe the high Elms tallest stemme. But whil'st in tender Infancy they are, Sprouting new leaves, the gentle offspring spare: Nor when the verdant branches do arise, And with loose reins are posting to the skies: Use not thy sharper knife, but gently pull Th' ambitious bowes, and haughty branches cull. But when grown strong th'imbrace the blms high top, Then shave their locks, and dangling tresses crop: Before they fear'd the knife; more rigorous now Use thy commands, upon the stubborn bough. And from all cattell strongly them immare, Whil'st the soft bows disturbance not indure. T' whom Cowes, and Goats, and Sheep more harme have done, Then freezing winter, and the scorching Sun: Cold not so much, nor white congealing frosts, Nor vexing beams, which beat on sandie coasts, As cattell harme, when with a venom'd tooth They wound the branches, in their tender youth.

Only for this crime we on Altars pay, Bacchus a Goat, and act the ancient play. Then from great villages Athenians hast And where the high-wayes meet the prise is plac'd. They to soft meads, heighten'd with wine, advance: And joyfully mongst oyled bottels dance.

Th' Asonian race, and those from Troy did spring, Dissolv'd with laughter rustick verses sing: In Visards of rough bark conceal their face, And with glad numbers thee great Bacchus grace: Hanging soft pictures on thy lofty pine. Then vineyards swell, pregnant with cheering wine, The shadie Groves, and the deep vales oreflow, Where e're the God shews his illustrious brow. To Bacchus then, let us due praises sing In ancient verse; wafers, and Javelins bring. A sacred Goat to th' Altars draw by th'horne; On Hazell spits then the fat entrails turn.

But other toyles in dressing vines are found, And nere enough: three or foure times thy ground Turn yearly, and with forks reverst, the clods Constantly break: and cleanse from leaves the woods. Labour returns in circle to the Swaine, And years revolve in their own steps again.

But when thy vineyard her last leaves removes, And cold North-winds dispoyle the glorious Groves; Then the industrious Husbandman takes care T'extend his labour-to th' insuing year; To lop the vine which hitherto escapes, And with old Saturns hook, he pruning shapes. First dig thy ground, and shreads and refuse burne, And under roofs the poles, and stakes return. Gather your vintage last; vines twice have shade, And twice the corne thick briers, and weeds invade. Both toyles are painfull: a large Farme commend: A little, till. Thorns that to woods extend, And reeds, which clog the banks, to cut prepare: And on wilde Sallow take especiall care.

The vines are bound, pruners no more they want, And round the empty walls the Gardners chant. Yet still must labour be, and toyle in dust, And grapes being ripe, a tempest they mistrust.

On th'other side; Olives you may neglect, They need no care, nor crooked Sythes expect, Nor the tenacious Rake: once set, they rise Shooting luxurious branches to the skies. Those grounds supply, turn'd with the crooked Plow Moysture enough, and large increase allow. Th' Embleme of Peace, thus the rich Olive growes. So Apples when they feel extending boughes, And growing strength, suddaine the stars invade, By their own vertue, scorning humane aid.

Nor less with fruit are laden every bush. And wilder Forrests with red beries blush, There shrubs are cut, and Firr in tall woods breed Nocturnall fires, and Torches thence proceed. And shall men doubt to plant and carefull be? Why urge I these? Broome and the Sallow tree. Or feed the sheep, or else the shepherd shade Yield honey, or for corne are hedges made.

What pleasure is t to view Cytorus, rich With waving Box, and groves of Marick pitch. How am I pleas'd to see those fields that are, Glorious undrest, nor us'd to humane care! Those barren trees high Caucasus do crown, Which storms oft tears, and often tumble down, Are of great use: There Pines for Masts are feld, And Cypres, and tall Cedars towres to build: Here coverings for their Cars, and spoaks for wheels, Husbandmen get, and ships finde crooked keeles. Sallowes have boughes, the tall Elms leavie are, Myrtle for Spears, and Cornell fit for war,

And Yewes are bent into Ityrian bowes: Smooth Tile and Box the skilfull Turner knowes How to compleat, and with his tooles to trimme, And down the Poe in rough streams Alders swimme. In rugged bark the bees conceal their stocks, And hoard in hollow wombs of ancient okes. Can Bacchus blessing like to these dispense? 'Twas Bacchus first proud quarrels did commence. He in cold death did those hot Centaurs tame, Hylaeus, Rhetus, Polus, overcame: As threatning Lapiths he a Goblet threw. Oh happie Swaines if their own good they knew, To whom just Earth remote from cruel wars From her full breasts soft nourishment prepares: Although from high roofes through proud Arches come No floods of Clients early from each roome; Nor Marble pillars seek which bright shels grace, Gold-woven vestments, nor Chorinthian brasse; Nor white wool stain'd in the Assyrian juice, Nor simple oyle corrupt with Cassias use: But rest secure, a fraudless life in peace, Variously rich in their large Farmes at ease; Tempe's coole shades, dark Caves, and purling streams, Lowings of Cattell, under trees soft dreams, Nor lack they woods, and dens, where wilde beasts haunt, Youth in toyle patient. and inur'd to want. Their Gods and parents sacred; Justice tooke, Through those her last steps when she Earth forsook. Let the sweet Muses most of me approve, VVhose Priest I am, struck with almighty Love. They shall to me Heavens starrie tracts make known; And strange Eclipses of the Sun and Moon. Thence Earthquakes are, why the swolne Ocean beats Over his banks, and then again retreats:

Why Winter Suns hast so to touch the maine, And what delayes the tardie night restraine.

But if these gifts of Nature I not finde, And a cold blood beleaguereth my minde. Then I'le delight in vales, nere pleasant floods, And unrenown'd, haunt rivers, hils, and woods; Thy banks sweet Sperchius, and Taygeta, where The Grecian virgins stately feasts prepare. How shall I be to Haemus vale convaid, And crown my temples with a mighty shade? Happie is he that hidden causes knowes, And bold all shapes of danger dares oppose: Trampling beneath his feet the cruell Fates, Whom Death, nor swallowing Acheron amates. And he is blest who knowes our Countrey Gods; Pan, old Sylvanus, and the Nymphs aboads: He fears not Scepters, nor aspiring States, Nor treacherous brethren stirring up debates: Nor Dacians Covenant, at Isters streams: Nor Romes affaires, and nigh destroyed Realms, Or poor men pities, or the rich envies. What nourishment the bounteous field supplies, What trees allow, he takes: nor ever saw Mad Parliaments, Acts of Commons, nor sword-Law; Some vex the Sea, and some to war resorts, Attend on Kings, and waite in Princes Courts. This would his Countrey, and his God betray To drink in Jems, and on proud scarlet lye. This hides his wealth, and broods on hidden gold, This loves to plead, and that to be extold Through all the seats of Commons, and the sires. To bathe in's brothers blood this man desires. Some banish'd, must their native seats exchange, And Countries, under other Climates range.

The Husbandman turns up his fruitfull plaines; Whence he, his children, and poore house sustains, His heards, and labouring steers: no rest is found, Either his trees with blushing fruit abound, His folds with Lambs, or else his stacks with corne: Or plenty loads his field, or cracks his barne. In winter he Sycanian Olives mils, And the fat swine, with mast and akorns fils. All sorts of fruit in plentious Autumne falls, And milder vines grow ripe on sunnie walls. Whil'st 'bout his neck his prettie Children cling, His chaste house modest: home his heifers bring Extended teats: in meads his fat Kids rest, And with their horns in wanton sport contest. He keeps the festive dayes on grass layd down, And friends about the fire the Goblets crown. Bacchus implor'd, then for his Hinds sticks fast A prize; at which, they nimble Javelins cast; Stripping their hardned limbs for rustick strife.

Of old this was the ancient Sabins life, Rhemus, and Romulus, and Tuscans fierce: And Rome great mistresse of the Universe, Who seven proud hils then did with wals surround, Before Dictaean Jupiter was crown'd, Or Sounding Trumpers heard, or any made Ring on hard anviles the imposed blade.

But we have past now through a spacious plaine, And now's high time our smoking steeds t'unrein.