-Eds. B, C "The."

[389] "Turpiter."

[390] Neglected.

[391] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy "received in, _and_ in I _got_ me."

[392] So old eds.--Dyce reads "kiss'd."

[393] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "and refusde it."

[394] "Sic aret mediis taciti vulgator in undis."

[395] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "nor."

[396] Isham copy "yeares;" ed. A "yeres;" eds. B, C "eare."

[397] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "Seeing now thou."

[398] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "great hurt."

[399] The original has "Aut te trajectis Aeaea venefica _lanis_," &c.
(As Dyce remarks, Marlowe read "ranis.")

ELEGIA VIII.[400]

Quod ad amica non recipiatur, dolet.

What man will now take liberal arts in hand,
Or think soft verse in any stead to stand?
Wit was sometimes more precious than gold;
Now poverty great barbarism we hold.
When our books did my mistress fair content,
I might not go whither my papers went.
She praised me, yet the gate shut fast upon her,
I here and there go, witty with dishonour.
See a rich chuff, whose wounds great wealth inferred,
For bloodshed knighted, before me preferred. 10
Fool, can'st thou him in thy white arms embrace?
Fool, can'st thou lie in his enfolding space?
Know'st not this head[401] a helm was wont to bear?
This side that serves thee, a sharp sword did wear.
His left hand, whereon gold doth ill alight,
A target bore: blood-sprinkled was his right.
Can'st touch that hand wherewith some one lies dead?
Ah, whither is thy breast's soft nature fled?
Behold the signs of ancient fight, his scars!
Whate'er he hath, his body gained in wars. 20
Perhaps he'll tell how oft he slew a man,
Confessing this, why dost thou touch him than?[402]
I, the pure priest of Phoebus and the Muses,
At thy deaf doors in verse sing my abuses.
Not what we slothful know,[403] let wise men learn,
But follow trembling camps and battles stern.
And for a good verse draw the first dart forth:[404]
Homer without this shall be nothing worth.
Jove, being admonished gold had sovereign power,
To win the maid came in a golden shower. 30
Till then, rough was her father, she severe,
The posts of brass, the walls of iron were.
But when in gifts the wise adulterer came,
She held her lap ope