Ovid,

Amōrēs 3.9

Memnona sī māter, māter plōrāvit Achillem,

et tangunt magnās tristia fāta deās,

flēbilis indignōs, Elegīā, solve capillōs:

ā, nimis ex vērō nunc tibi nōmen erit!

ille tuī vātēs operis, tua fāma, Tibullus

ardet in exstructō, corpus ināne, rogō.

ecce, puer Veneris fert ēversamque pharetram

et fractōs arcūs et sine lūce facem;

aspice, dēmissīs ut eat miserābilis ālīs

pectoraque infestā tundat aperta manū.

excipiunt lacrimās sparsī per colla capillī,

ōraque singultū concutiente sonant.

fratris in Aenēae sīc illum fūnere dīcunt

egressum tectis, pulcher Iūle, tuīs.

nec minus est confūsa Venus moriente Tibullō,

quam iuvenī rūpit cum ferus inguen aper.

at sacrī vātēs et dīvum cūra vocāmur;

sunt etiam quī nōs nūmen habēre putent.

scīlicet omne sacrum Mors importūna profānat;

omnibus obscūras inicit illa manūs.

quid pater Ismariō, quid māter prōfuit Orpheō?

carmine quid victās obstipuisse ferās?

et Linon in silvīs īdem pater “aelinon!” altīs

dīcitur invītā concinuisse lyrā.

adice Maeonidēn, ā quō ceu fonte perennī

vātum Pīeriīs ōra rigantur aquīs;

hunc quoque summa diēs nīgrō summersit Avernō.

effugiunt avidōs carmina sōla rogōs.

dūrat, opus vātum, Troiānī fāma labōris

tardaque nocturnō tēla retexta dolō.

sīc Nemesis longum, sīc Dēlia nōmen habēbit,

altera cūra recens, altera prīmus amor.

quid vōs sācra iuvant? quid nunc Aegyptia prōsunt

sistra? quid in vacuō sēcubuisse torō?

cum rapiunt mala fāta bonōs (ignoscite fassō!)

sollicitor nullōs esse putāre deōs.

vīve pius: moriēre; pius cole sacra: colentem

mors gravis ā templīs in cava busta trahet.

carminibus confīde bonīs: iacet, ecce, Tibullus:

vix manet ē tantō, parva quod urna capit!

tēne, sacer vātēs, flammae rapuēre rogālēs

pectoribus pascī nec timuēre tuīs?

aurea sanctōrum potuissent templa deōrum

ūrere, quae tantum sustinuēre nefās.

āvertit vultūs, Erycis quae possidet arcēs;

sunt quoque, quī lacrimās continuisse negant.

sed tamen hōc melius, quam sī Phaeācia tellūs

ignotum vīlī supposuisset humō.

hīc certē madidōs fugientis pressit ocellōs

māter et in cinerēs ultima dōna tulit;

hīc soror in partem miserā cum matre dolōris

vēnit inornātās dīlaniāta comās,

cumque tuīs sua iunxērunt Nemesisque priorque

oscula nec sōlōs destituēre rogōs.

Dēlia discēdens “fēlīcius” inquit “amāta

sum tibi; vixistī, dum tuus ignis eram”.

cui Nemesis “quid” ait “tibi sunt mea damna dolōrī?

mē tenuit moriens dēficiente manū”.

sī tamen ē nōbīs aliquid nisi nōmen et umbra

restat, in Ēlysiā valle Tibullus erit.

obvius huic veniēs hederā iuvenālia cinctus

tempora cum Calvō, docte Catulle, tuō;

tū quoque, sī falsum est temerātī crīmen amīcī,

sanguinis atque animae prōdige Galle tuae.

hīs comes umbra tua est, sī qua est modo corporis umbra;

auxistī numerōs, culte Tibulle, piōs.

ossa quiēta, precor, tūtā requiescite in urnā,

et sit humus cinerī nōn onerōsa tuō!

If Thetis, and the morne their sonnes did waile,

And envious fates great goddesses assaile,

Sad Elegia thy wofull haires unbinde:

Ah now a name too true thou hast, I finde.

Tibullus, thy workes Poet, and thy fame,

Burnes his dead body in the funerall flame.

Loe Cupid brings his quiver spoyled quite,

His broken bowe, his fire-brand without light.

How piteously with drouping wings he stands,

And knocks his bare brest with selfe-angry hands.

The locks spred on his necke receive his teares,

And shaking sobbes his mouth for speeches beares.

So at Aeneas buriall men report,

Faire-fac'd Iulus, he went forth thy court.

And Venus grieves, Tibullus life being spent,

As when the wilde boare Adons groine had rent.

The gods care we are cald, and men of piety,

And some there be that thinke we have a deity.

Outrageous death profanes all holy things

And on all creatures obscure darcknesse brings.

To Thracian Orpheus what did parents good?

Or songs amazing wilde beasts of the wood?

Where Linus by his father Phoebus layed

To sing with his unequald harpe is sayed.

See Homer from whose fountaine ever fild,

Pierian deawe to Poets is distild.

Him the last day in black Averne hath drownd,

Verses alone are with continuance crown'd.

The worke of Poets lasts Troyes labours fame,

And that slowe webbe nights fals-hood did unframe.

So Nemesis, so Delia famous are,

The one his first love, th'other his new care.

What profit to us hath our pure life bred?

What to have lame alone in empty bed?

When bad fates take good men, I am forbod,

By secreat thoughts to thinke there is a god.

Live godly, thou shalt die, though honour heaven,

Yet shall thy life be forcibly bereaven.

Trust in good verse, Tibullus feeles deaths paines,

Scarse rests of all what a small urne conteines.

Thee sacred Poet could sad flames destroy?

Nor feared they thy body to annoy?

The holy gods gilt temples they might fire,

That durst to so great wickednesse aspire.

Eryx bright Empresse turn’d her lookes aside,

And some, that she refrain'd teares, have deni'd.

Yet better ist, then if Corcyras Ile

Had thee unknowne interr'd in ground most vile.

Thy dying eyes here did thy mother close,

Nor did thy ashes her last offrings lose.

Part of her sorrowe heere thy sister bearing,

Comes forth her unkeembd locks a sunder tearing.

Nemesis and thy first wench joyne their kisses,

With thine, nor this last fire their presence misses.

Delia departing, happier lov'd, she saith,

Was I: thou liv'dst, while thou esteemdst my faith.

Nemesis answeares, what's my losse to thee?

His fainting hand in death engrasped mee.

If ought remaines of us but name, and spirit,

Tibullus doth Elysiums joy inherit.

Their youthfull browes with Ivie girt to meete him,

With Calvus learnd Catullus comes and greete him.

And thou, if falsely charged to wrong thy friend,

Gallus that car'dst not bloud, and life to spend.

With these thy soule walkes, soules if death release,

The godly, sweete Tibullus doth increase.

Thy bones I pray may in the urne safe rest,

And may th' earths weight thy ashes nought molest.

Trans. Christopher Marlowe

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