"Ouid's Banquet of Sence. A Coronet for his Mistresse Philosophie, and his amores Zodiacke. With a translation of a Latine coppie, written by a Fryer, Anno Dom. 1400. Qui leget hæc? Nemo Hercule Nemo, vel duo vel nemo: Persius. At London, Printed by I. R for Richard Smith. Anno Dom. 1595. "Ovid's Banquet of Sence. With A Coronet for his Mistresse Philosophy; and Hi Amorous Zodiack. Quis leget hæc? Nemo Hercule Nemo, vel duo vel nemo: Persius London. Printed by B. A. and T. F. and are to be sold by R. Horseman, at his shop in the Strand neere unto Yorke House. 1639." Ovid's Banquet of Sense. [1595.] TO THE TRULY LEARNED AND MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER MATTHEW ROYDON. SUCH is the wilful poverty of judgments, sweet Matthew, wandering like passportless men, in contempt of the divine discipline of Poesy, that a man may well fear to frequent their walks. The profane multitude I hate, and only consecrate my strange poems to those searching spirits, whom learning hath made noble, and nobility sacred; endeavouring that material oration, which you call Schema; varying in some rare fiction, from popular custom, even for the pure sakes of ornament and utility; this of Euripides exceeding sweetly relishing with me; Lentem coquens ne quicquam dentis addito. But that Poesy should be as pervial as oratory, and plainness her special ornament, were the plain way to barbarism, and to make the ass run proud of his ears, to take away strength from lions, and give camels horns. That Energia, or clearness of representation, required in absolute poems, is not the perspicuous delivery of a low invention; but high and hearty invention expressed in most significant and unaffected phrase. It serves not a skilful painter's turn to draw the figure of a face only to make known who it represents; but he must limn, give lustre, shadow, and heightening; which though ignorants will esteem spiced, and too curious, yet such as have the judicial perspective will see it hath motion, spirit, and life. There is no confection made to last, but it is admitted more cost and skill than presently-to-be-used simples; and in my opinion, that which being with a little endeavour searched, adds a kind of majesty to Poesy, is better than that which every cobbler may sing to his patch. Rich Obscurity in affection of words and indigested conceits, is pedantical and childish; but where it shroudeth itself in the heart of his subject, uttered with fitness of figure and expressive epithets, with that darkness will I still labour to be shadowed. minerals are digged out of the bowels of the earth, not found in the superficies and dust of it; charms made of unlearned characters are not consecrate by the Muses, which are divine artists, but by Euippe's daughters, that challenged them with mere nature, whose breasts I doubt not had been well worthy commendation, if their comparison had not turned them into pyes. Thus (not affecting glory for mine own slight labours, but desirous others should be more worthily glorious, nor professing sacred Poesy in any degree), I thought good to submit to your apt judgment, acquainted long since with the true habit of Poesy; and now, since your labouring wits endeavour heaven-high thoughts of Nature, you have actual means to sound the philosophical conceits, that my new pen so seriously courteth. 4 I know that empty and dark spirits will complain of palpable night; but those that beforehand have a radiant and light-bearing intellect, will say they can pass through Corinna's garden without the help of a lantern. Your own most worthily and sincerely affected, GEORGE CHAPMAN. THE ARGUMENT. OVID, newly enamoured of Julia, daughter to Octavius Augustus Cæsar, after by him called Corinna, secretly conveyed himself into a garden of the Emperor's court, in an arbour whereof Corinna was bathing, playing upon her lute and singing; which Ovid overhearing was exceedingly pleased with the sweetness of her voice, and to himself uttered the comfort he conceived in his sense of Hearing. Auditus. Olfactus. Visus. Gustus. Then the odours she used in her bath breathing a rich savour, he expressed the joy he felt in his sense of Smelling. Thus growing more deeply enamoured in great contentment with himself, he ventures to see her in the pride of her nakedness; which doing by stealth, he discovered the comfort he conceived in Seeing, and the glory of her beauty. Not yet satisfied, he useth all his art to make known his being there with out her offence; or, being necessarily offended, to appease her, which done, he entreats a kiss, to serve for satisfaction of his Taste, which he obtains. Then proceeds he to entreaty for the fifth sense, and there is interrupted. NARRATIO. THE Earth from heavenly light conceived | When youth and ease, collectors of love's heat, Which mixed all her moist parts with her dry, When with right beams the Sun her bosom beat, And with fit food her plants did nutrify. They which to Earth as to their mother cling, In forked roots now sprinkled plenteously With her warm breath, did hasten to the Gather their proper forces and extrude Then did Cyrrhus* fill his eyes with fire, Whose ardour curl'd the foreheads of the trees, And made his green-love burn in his desire; *Cyrrhus is a surname of the sun, from a town called Cyrrha, where he was honoured. fees, Enticed Corinna to a silver spring, Enchasing a round bower which with it sees, As with a diamant doth an amell'd ring, Into which eye most pitifully stood, Niobe shedding tears that were her blood. Stone Niobe, whose statue to this fountain, In great Augustus Cæsar's grace was brought, From Sypilus, the steep Mygdonian moun tain; That statue 'tis, still weeps for former thought, Into this spring Corinna's bathing place, So cunningly to optic reason wrought That afar off it show'd a woman's face, *By prosopopoeia, he makes the fountain the eye of the round arbour, as a diamant seems to be the eye of a ring; and therefore says, the arbour sees with the fountain. Heavy and weeping; but more nearly view'd Nor weeping, heavy, nor a woman show'd. In summer only wrought her ecstasy, Their fourteen breasts with fourteen arrows gored; And set by her, that for her seed so starved, To a stone sepulchre herself deplored ; In ivory were they cut, and on each breast, In golden elements their names imprest. Her sons were Sypilus, Agenor, Phoedimus, Ismenus, Argus, and Damasicthen, The seventh call'd, like his grandsire, Tantalus. Her daughters were the fair Astiochen, All these apposed to violent Niobe, Had looks so deadly sad, so lively done, As if Death lived in their confusion. Then cast she off her robe and stood upright, As lightning breaks out of a labouring cloud; Or as the morning heaven casts off the -night, Or as that heaven cast off itself, and show'd Heaven's upper light, to which the brightest day Is but a black and melancholy shroud; Or as when Venus strived for sovereign sway Of charmful beauty in young Troy's desire, So stood Corinna, vanishing her 'tire. A soft enflower'd bank embraced the fount; of Chloris' ensigns, an abstracted field Where grew melanthy, great in bees' account, Amareus, that precious balm doth yield, Enamell'd pansies, used at nuptials still, Diana's arrow, Cupid's crimson shield, Ope-morn, night-shade, and Venus' navil, Solemn violets, hanging head as shamed, And verdant calaminth, for odour famed. Sacred nepenthe, purgative of care, Sya and hyacinth, that furies wear, And cup-like twillpants, strow'd in These cling about this nature's naked gem, To taste her sweets, as bees do swarm on them. And now she used the fount where Niobe, Tomb'd in herself, pour'd her lost soul in tears Upon the bosom of this Roman Phoebe ; Who, bathed and odour'd, her bright limbs she rears, And drying her on that disparent round, Her lute she takes to enamour heavenly ears, And try, if with her voice's vital sound, She could warm life through those cold statues spread, And cheer the dame that wept when she was dead. And thus she sung, all naked as she sat, | Laying the happy lute upon her thigh, Not thinking any near to wonder at The bliss of her sweet breast's divinity. THE SONG OF Corinna. 'Tis better to contemn than love, And Jove's bird seized by Cypris dove "Never was any sense so set on fire With an immortal ardour, as mine ears; Her fingers to the strings doth speech inspire And number'd laughter, that the descant bears To her sweet voice, whose species through my sense, My spirits to their highest function rears; To which impress'd with ceaseless confluence, It useth them, as proper to her power, Marries my soul, and makes itself her dower. "Methinks her tunes fly guilt, like Attic bees, To my ears' hives with honey tried to air; My brain is but the comb, the wax, the lees, My soul the drone that lives by their affair. O so it sweets, refines and ravisheth. And with what sport they sting in their repair: Rise then in swarms and sting me thus to death, Or turn me into swound, possess me whole Soul to my life, and essence to my soul. "Say, gentle Air, O does it not thee good, Thus to be smit with her correcting voice? Why dance ye not, ye daughters of the wood? Wither for ever, if not now rejoice. Rise stones, and build a city with her notes, And notes infuse with your most Cynthian noise, To all the trees, sweet flowers, and crystal floats, That crown and make this cheerful garden quick, Virtue, that every touch may make such music. |