Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; tomorrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root;
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my highblown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude sea that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye :
I feel my heart new opened. O how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
χαίρειν τὸ λοιπὸν πολλὰ τὴν τίμην λέγω.
ἰὼ βροτεῖα πράγματ' · ἄρτι μὲν βρύων
ἁβράν τις ἐξανῆκεν ἐλπίδος φόβην,
ἐν τῇ 'πιούσῃ δὲ ἄνθεσιν πολυστεφὴς
καλὸν πύκνωμ ̓ ἔφυσε, φοινιχθὲν γάνος
ἔπειτ' ἄγων τριταῖος ὀλέθριον φθορὰν
ἔσκηψε χείμων.
τὸ καλλίκαρπον δὴ πεπαινεσθαι κλέος,
ἐμάρανεν ἄνθος· ὡς δ ̓ ἐγώ, διώλετο.
ἄσκοισι γὰρ πεποιθὸς ὡς παιδῶν γένος
οὕτως ἔγωγε γαῖαν οὐχ εὑρὼν ὅμως
πολλῶν γε μήκει σύμμετρος θερῶν, κλέους
κῦμ ̓ ἐξερεύνησ', ἔς τ' ἄγαν ὠγκωμένον
ὑπερράγη φρόνημα, και τριφθέντα δὴ
πόνοις, γέροντά μ' ἀγρίᾳ προῆχ ̓ ἁλί
ὡς δ ̓ ἄρ ̓ εὐηθης δοκεῖ
ἣν χρὴ με κρύπτειν ἐν βύθοις ἀνώνυμον. χλίδην ματαίαν καὶ κενὴν ἐυδοξίαν ἀπέπτυσ’. ὡς τἀληθὲς ἥδε καρδία
φρονεῖν μετέγνω. σὲ δὲ λέγω τρισάθλιον ὅστις τυράννων χάριτος ἐκκρεμάννυσαι.
FROM MASSINGER'S "VIRGIN MARTYR."
That gloriest in having power to ravish
A trifle from me I am weary of!
What is this life to me? not worth a thought:
Or if it be esteemed, 'tis that I lose it
To own a better. E'en thy malice serves
To me but as a ladder to mount up
To such a height of happiness where I shall
Look down with scorn on thee and on the world;
Where circled with true pleasures, placed above
The reach of death or time, 't will be my glory
To think at what an easy price I bought it.
πῶς δ ̓ οὐ σὺ μωρὸς, ὃς γε σεμνύνει, παρόν
φαῦλον μ' ἀφαιρεῖν κτῆμα τοῦτ', άλλως στύγος;
τὸ ζῆν τί δη τοδ' ; ὡς παρ' οὐδὲν ἐστ' ἐμοι,
εἰ μή'ς τοσόνδε χρηστόν, ὡς χρεὼν ἐμὲ
τούτου στερεῖσαν τιμιωτέραν λαβεῖν.
τὰ δ ̓ ὠμὰ ταῦθ ̓ ὑβρίσματ ̓ οὐδεν ἂλλο πλὴν
πέφυκε κλιμάκτηρ τις, ἔμβασις ποδός,
δι' ἥνπερ αἰώρημα κουφιῶ τάχος
τοσόνδ' ἐς ὕψος, ὥστε σοῦ καταφρονεῖν
παντῶν τε δὴ τῶν ἐνθαδ'· εὐδαίμων δ' ἐκεῖ
καρπουμένη τότ' οὐδὲν ἐξηκάσμενα,
οὐ τοῦ θανεῖν ἔτ', οὐκ ἐπήβολος χρόνου
χαίροιμ' ἂν οἵαν ἀνθ' ὅσων ἐχῶ χάριν.
F. de PARAVICINI.
I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not found the slightest prayer
That lips could speak had power to move thee,
But I can let thee now alone,
As worthy to be loved by none.
I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind,
That kisses everything it meets;
And since thou can'st with more than one,
Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none.
The morning rose, that untouched stands,
Armed with her briars, how sweet she smells!
But plucked and strained through ruder hands,
Her scent no longer in her dwells; But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her one by one.
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