Lucans First Booke Translated Line for Line, By Chr. Marlow. At London, Printed by P. Short, and are to be sold by Walter Burre at the Signe of the Flower de Luce in Paules Churchyard, 1600, 4to.

According to the title-page of the second edition of Hero and Leander (see p. 276), this translation ought to have accompanied it: but, I believe, the two pieces are never found in conjunction.

TO HIS KIND and true FRIEND, EDWARD BLUNT.⚫

BLUNT, I purpose to be blunt with you, and, out of my dulness, to encounter you with a Dedication in the memory of that pure elemental wit, Chr. Marlowe, whose ghost or genius is to be seen walk the Church-yard + in, at the least, three or four sheets. Methinks you should presently look wild now, and grow humorously frantic upon the taste of it. Well, lest you should, let me tell you, this spirit was sometime a familiar of your own, Lucan's First Book translated; which, in regard of your old right in it, I have raised in the circle of your patronage. But stay now, Edward: if I mistake not, you are to accommodate yourself with some few instructions, touching the property of a patron, that you are not yet possessed of; and to study them for your better grace, as our gallants do fashions. First, you must be proud, and think you have merit enough in you, though you are ne'er so empty; then, when I bring you the book, take physic, and keep state; assign me a time by your man to come again; and, afore the day, be sure to have changed your lodging; in the mean time sleep little, and sweat with the invention of some pitiful dry jest or two, which you may happen to utter, with some little, or not at all, marking of your friends, when you have found a place for them to come in at; or, if by chance something has dropped from you worth the taking up, weary all that come to you with the often repetition of it; censure ‡ scornfully enough, and somewhat like a traveller; commend nothing, lest you discredit your (that which you would seem to have) judgment. These things, if you can mould yourself to them, Ned, I make no question but they will not become you. One special virtue in our patrons of these days I have promised myself you shall fit excellently, which is, to give nothing; yes, thy love I will challenge as my peculiar object, both in this, and, I hope, many more succeeding offices. Farewell: I affect not the world should measure my thoughts to thee by a scale of this nature: leave to think good of me when I fall from thee.

Thine in all rites of perfect friendship,

THOMAS THORPE. &

* Edward Blunt] The bookseller.-So old ed. here (and see Dedication prefixed to Hero and Leander, p. 277); but, immediately after, it has "Blount, I purpose," &c., to the injury of a valuable pun.

the Church-yard] i. e. Paul's church-yard, which abounded in booksellers' shops.

↑ censure] i. e. judge.

$ Thomas Thorpe] The bookseller.

THE FIRST BOOK OF LUCAN.

WARS worse than civil on Thessalian plains,
And outrage strangling law, and people strong,
We sing, whose conquering swords their own
breasts lanc'd,*

Armies allied, the kingdom's league uprooted,
Th' affrighted world's force bent on public spoil,
Trumpets and drums, like † deadly, threatening
other,

Eagles alike display'd, darts answering darts.

Romans, what madness, what huge lust of war, Hath made barbarians drunk with Latin blood? Now Babylon, proud through our spoil, should stoop,

While slaughter'd Crassus' ghost walks unreveng'd,

Italy many years hath lien untill'd

And chok'd with thorns; that greedy earth wants
hinds;-

Fierce Pyrrhus, neither thou nor Hannibal
Art cause; no foreign foe could so afflict us:
These plagues arise from wreak of civil power.*
But if for Nero, then unborn, the Fates
Would find no other means, and gods not slightly
Purchase immortal thrones, nor Jove joy'd heaven
Until the cruel giants' war was done;

We plain not, heavens,+ but gladly bear these
evils

For Nero's sake: Pharsalia groan with slaughter,
And Carthage' souls be glutted with our bloods!
At Munda let the dreadful battles join;

Will ye wage war, for which you shall not Add, Cæsar, to these ills, Perusian famine,
triumph?

Ay me! O, what a world of land and sea

The Mutin toils, the fleet at Leuca § sunk,
And cruel field near burning Etna fought!

Might they have won whom civil broils have Yet Rome is much bound to these civil arms, Which made thee emperor. Thee (seeing thou,

slain !

As far as Titan springs, where night dims heaven,
Ay, to the torrid zone where mid-day burns,
And where stiff winter, whom no spring resolves,
Fetters the Euxine Sea with chains of ice;
Scythia and wild Armenia had been yok'd,
And they of Nilus' mouth, if there live any.
Rome, if thou take delight in impious war,
First conquer all the earth, then turn thy force
Against thyself: as yet thou wants't not foes.
That now the walls of houses half-rear'd totter,
That, rampires fallen down, huge heaps of stone
Lie in our towns, that houses are abandon'd,
And few live that behold their ancient seats;

&c.

lanc'd' Old ed. "launcht." See note II, p. 11. ↑ like) i. e. alike.

1 Scythia, &c.] But Lucan has "Sub juga jam Seres,"

being old,

Must shine a star) shall heaven (whom thou lovest)

Receive with shouts; where thou wilt reign as

king,

Or mount the Sun's flame-bearing chariot,
And with bright restless fire compass the earth,
Undaunted though her former guide be chang'd;
Nature and every power shall give thee place,
What god it please thee be, or where to sway.
But neither choose the north t'erect thy seat,

* These plagues arise from wreak of civil power] “alta sedent civilis vulnera dextræ."

We plain not, heavens] “Jam nihil, O Superi, querimur."

Carthage' souls] "Pœni ... manes."

$ Leuca] Should be "Leucas."