With joy and care to compass, as this kind
Of song and play, that for the spritely feast
Of flourishing assemblies are the best
And aptest works that ever worth gave act.
My powers with admiration stand distract,
To hear with what a hand to make in love
Thou rul’st thy lute. And (though thy yong’st hours move
At full art in old councils) here I vow
(Even by this cornel dart I use to throw)
To thee, and to thy mother, I’ll make thee
Amongst the Gods of glorious degree,
Guide of men’s ways and theirs; and will impart
To thee the mighty imperatory art,
Bestow rich gifts on thee, and in the end
Never deceive thee.” Hermes (as a friend
That wrought on all advantage, and made gain
His capital object) thus did entertain
Phœbus Apollo: “Do thy dignities,
Far-working God and circularly wise,
Demand my virtues? Without envy I
Will teach thee to ascend my faculty.
And this day thou shalt reach it; finding me,
In acts and counsels, all ways kind to thee,
As one that all things knows, and first tak’st seat
Amongst th’ Immortals, being good and great,
And therefore to Jove’s love mak’st free access,
Even out of his accomplisht holiness.
Great gifts he likewise gives thee; who, fame says,
Hast won thy greatness by his will, his ways,
By him know’st all the powers prophetical,
O thou far-worker, and the fates of all!
Yea, and I know thee rich, yet apt to learn,
And even thy wish dost but discern and earn.
And since thy soul so burns to know the way
So play and sing as I do, sing, and play;
Play, and perfection in thy play employ;
And be thy care, to learn things good, thy joy.
Take thou my lute (my love) and give thou me
The glory of so great a faculty.
This sweet-tuned consort, held but in thy hand,
Sing, and perfection in thy song command.
For thou already hast the way to speak
Fairly and elegantly, and to break
All eloquence into thy utter’d mind.
One gift from heaven found may another find.
Use then securely this thy gift, and go
To feasts and dances that enamour so,
And to that covetous sport of getting glory,
That day nor night will suffer to be sory.
Whoever does but say in verse, sings still;
Which he that can of any other skill
Is capable, so he be taught by art
And wisdom, and can speak at every part
Things pleasing to an understanding mind;
And such a one that seeks this lute shall find.
Him still it teaches eas’ly, though he plays
Soft voluntaries only, and assays
As wanton as the sports of children are,
And (even when he aspires to singular
In all the mast’ries he shall play or sing)
Finds the whole work but an unhappy thing,
He, I say, sure shall of this lute be king.
But he, whoever rudely sets upon
Of this lute’s skill th’ inquest or question
Never so ardently and angrily,
Without the aptness and ability
Of art, and nature fitting, never shall
Aspire to this, but utter trivial
And idle accents, though sung ne’er so loud,
And never so commended of the crowd.
But thee I know, O eminent Son of Jove,
The fiery learner of whatever Love
Hath sharpen’d thy affections to achieve,
And thee I give this lute. Let us now live
Feeding upon the hill and horse-fed earth
Our never-handled oxen; whose dear birth
Their females, fellow’d with their males, let flow
In store enough hereafter; nor must you
(However cunning-hearted your wits are)
Boil in your gall a grudge too circular.”
Thus gave he him his lute, which he embrac’d,
And gave again a goad, whose bright head cast
Beams like the light forth; leaving to his care
His oxen’s keeping. Which, with joyful fare,
He took on him. The lute Apollo took
Into his left hand, and aloft he shook
Delightsome sounds up, to which God did sing.
Then were the oxen to their endless spring
Turn’d; and Jove’s two illustrous Offsprings flew
Up to Olympus where it ever snew,
Delighted with their lute’s sound all the way.
Whom Jove much joy’d to see, and endless stay
Gave to their knot of friendship. From which date
Hermes gave Phœbus an eternal state
In his affection, whose sure pledge and sign
His lute was, and the doctrine so divine
Jointly conferr’d on him; which well might be
True symbol of his love’s simplicity.
On th’ other part, Apollo in his friend
Form’d th’ art of wisdom, to the binding end
Of his vow’d friendship; and (for further meed)
Gave him the far-heard fistulary reed.
For all these forms of friendship, Phœbus yet
Fear’d that both form and substance were not met
In Mercury’s intentions; and, in plain,
Said (since he saw him born to craft and gain,
And that Jove’s will had him the honour done
To change at his will the possession
Of others’ goods) he fear’d his breach of vows
In stealing both his lute and cunning bows,
And therefore wish’d that what the Gods affect
Himself would witness, and to his request
His head bow, swearing by th’ impetuous flood
Of Styx that of his whole possessions not a good
He would diminish, but therein maintain
The full content in which his mind did reign.
And then did Maia’s son his forehead bow,
Making, by all that he desired, his vow
Never to prey more upon anything
In just possession of the far-shot King,
Nor ever to come near a house of his.
Latonian Phœbus bow’d his brow to this,
With his like promise, saying: “Not anyone
Of all the Gods, nor any man, that son
Is to Saturnius, is more dear to me,
More trusted, nor more honour’d is than thee.
Which yet with greater gifts of Deity
In future I’ll confirm, and give thy state
A rod that riches shall accumulate,
Nor leave the bearer thrall to death, or fate,
Or any sickness. All of gold it is,
Three-leaved, and full of all felicities.
And, this shall be thy guardian, this shall give
The Gods to thee in all the truth they live,
And, finally, shall this the tut’ress be
Of all the words and works informing me
From Jove’s high counsels, mak
ing known to thee
All my instructions. But to prophesy,
Of best of Jove’s beloved, and that high skill
Which to obtain lies burning in thy will,
Nor thee, nor any God, will Fate let learn.
Only Jove’s mind hath insight to discern
What that importeth; yet am I allow’d
(My known faith trusted, and my forehead bow’d,
Our great oath taken, to resolve to none
Of all th’ Immortals the restriction
Of that deep knowledge) of it all the mind.
Since then it sits in such fast bounds confin’d,
O brother, when the golden rod is held
In thy strong hand, seek not to have reveal’d
Any sure fate that Jove will have conceal’d.
For no man shall, by know’ng, prevent his fate;
And therefore will I hold in my free state
The pow’r to hurt and help what man I will,
Of all the greatest, or least touch’d with ill,
That walk within the circle of mine eye,
In all the tribes and sexes it shall try.
Yet, truly, any man shall have his will
To reap the fruits of my prophetic skill,
Whoever seeks it by the voice or wing
Of birds, born truly such events to sing.
Nor will I falsely, nor with fallacies,
Infringe the truth on which his faith relies,
But he that truths in chattering plumes would find,
Quite opposite to them that prompt my mind,
And learn by natural forgers of vain lies
The more-than-ever-certain Deities,
That man shall sea-ways tread that leave no tracts,
And false or no guide find for all his facts.
And yet will I his gifts accept as well
As his to whom the simple truth I tell.
One other thing to thee I’ll yet make known,
Maia’s exceedingly renowned son,
And Jove’s, and of the Gods’ whole session
The most ingenious genius: There dwell
Within a crooked cranny, in a dell
Beneath Parnassus, certain Sisters born,
Call’d Parcæ, whom extreme swift wings adorn,
Their number three, that have upon their heads
White barley-flour still sprinkled, and are maids;
And these are schoolmistresses of things to come,
Without the gift of prophecy. Of whom
(Being but a boy, and keeping oxen near)
I learn’d their skill, though my great Father were
Careless of it, or them. These flying from home
To others’ roofs, and fed with honeycomb,
Command all skill, and (being enraged then)
Will freely tell the truths of things to men.
But if they give them not that Gods’ sweet meat,
They then are apt to utter their deceit,
And lead men from their way. And these will I
Give thee hereafter, when their scrutiny
And truth thou hast both made and learn’d; and then
Please thyself with them, and the race of men
(Wilt thou know any) with thy skill endear,
Who will, be sure, afford it greedy ear,
And hear it often if it prove sincere.
Take these, O Maia’s son, and in thy care
Be horse and oxen, all such men as are
Patient of labour, lions, white-tooth’d boars,
Mastiffs, and flocks that feed the flow’ry shores,
And every four-foot beast; all which shall stand
In awe of thy high imperatory hand.
Be thou to Dis, too, sole Ambassador,
Who, though all gifts and bounties he abhor,
On thee he will bestow a wealthy one.”
Thus king Apollo honour’d Maia’s son
With all the rites of friendship; all whose love
Had imposition from the will of Jove.
And thus with Gods and mortals Hermes lived,
Who truly help’d but few, but all deceived
With an undifferencing respect, and made
Vain words and false persuasions his trade.
His deeds were all associates of the night,
In which his close wrongs cared for no man’s right.
So all salutes to Hermes that are due,
Of whom, and all Gods, shall my Muse sing true.
THE END OF THE HYMN TO HERMES.
A HYMN TO VENUS
The force, O Muse, and functions now unfold
Of Cyprian Venus, grac’d with mines of gold;
Who even in Deities lights love’s sweet desire,
And all Death’s kinds of men makes kiss her fire,
All air’s wing’d nation, all the belluine,
That or the earth feeds, or the seas confine.
To all which appertain the love and care
Of well-crown’d Venus’ works. Yet three there are
Whose minds She neither can deceive nor move;
Pallas, the Seed of Ægis-bearing Jove,
Who still lives indevirginate, her eyes
Being blue, and sparkling like the freezing skies,
Whom all the gold of Venus never can
Tempt to affect her facts with God or man.
She, loving strife, and Mars’s working banes,
Pitch’d fields and fights, and famous artizans,
Taught earthy men first all the arts that are,
Chariots, and all the frames vehicular,
Chiefly with brass arm’d, and adorn’d for war.
Where Venus only soft-skinn’d wenches fills
With wanton house-works, and suggests those skills
Still to their studies. Whom Diana neither,
That bears the golden distaff, and together
Calls horns, and hollows, and the cries of hounds,
And owns the epithet of loving sounds
For their sakes, springing from such spritely sports,
Can catch with her kind lures; but hill resorts
To wild-beasts, slaughters, accents far-off heard
Of harps and dances, and of woods unshear’d
The sacred shades she loves, yet likes as well
Cities where good men and their offspring dwell.
The third, whom her kind passions nothing please,
Is virgin Vesta; whom Saturnides
Made reverend with his counsels, when his Sire,
That adverse counsels agitates, life’s fire
Had kindled in her, being his last-begot.
Whom Neptune woo’d to knit with him the knot
Of honour’d nuptials, and Apollo too;
Which with much vehemence she refused to do,
And stern repulses put upon them both,
Adding to all her vows the Gods’ great oath,
And touching Jove’s chin, which must consummate
All vows so bound, that she would hold her state,
And be th’ invincible Maid of Deities
Through all her days’ dates. For Saturnides
Gave her a fair gift in her nuptials’ stead,
To sit in midst of his house, and be fed
With all the free and richest feast of heaven,
In all the temples of the Gods being given
The prize of honour. Not a mortal man,
(That either, of the Pow’rs Olympian
His half-birth ha
ving, may be said to be
A mortal of the Gods, or else that he,
Deities’ wills doing, is of Deity)
But gives her honour of the amplest kind.
Of all these three can Venus not a mind
Deceive, or set on forces to reflect.
Of all Pow’rs else yet, not a sex, nor sect,
Flies Venus; either of the blessed Gods,
Or men confin’d in mortal periods.
But even the mind of Jove she doth seduce,
That chides with thunder so her lawless use
In human creatures, and by lot is given
Of all most honour, both in earth and heaven.
And yet even his all-wise and mighty mind
She, when she lists, can forge affects to blind,
And mix with mortal dames his Deity,
Conceal’d at all parts from the jealous eye
Of Juno, who was both his sister born,
And made his wife; whom beauty did adorn
Past all the bevy of Immortal Dames,
And whose so chiefly-glorified flames
Cross-counsell’d Saturn got, and Rhæa bore,
And Jove’s pure counsels (being conqueror)
His wife made of his sister. Ay, and more,
Cast such an amorous fire into her mind
As made her (like him) with the mortal kind
Meet in unmeet bed; using utmost haste,
Lest she should know that he lived so unchaste,
Before herself felt that fault in her heart,
And gave her tongue too just edge of desert
To tax his lightness. With this end, beside,
Lest laughter-studying Venus should deride
The Gods more than the Goddesses, and say
That she the Gods commix’d in amorous play
With mortal dames, begetting mortal seed
T’ immortal sires, and not make Goddesses breed
The like with mortal fathers. But, t’ acquite
Both Gods and Goddesses of her despite,
Jove took (even in herself) on him her pow’r,
And made her with a mortal paramour
Use as deform’d a mixture as the rest;
Kindling a kind affection in her breast
To God-like-limb’d Anchises, as he kept,
On Ida’s top-on-top-to-heaven’s-pole-heapt, 1
Amongst the many fountains there, his herd.
For, after his brave person had appear’d
To her bright eye, her heart flew all on fire,
And to amaze she burn’d in his desire,
Flew straight to Cyprus, to her odorous fane
And altars, that the people Paphian
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 171
