Download E-books The Complete Poems and Translations (Penguin Classics) PDF

By Christopher Marlowe, Stephen Orgel

The crucial lyric works of the good Elizabethan playwright--newly revised and updated

even though most sensible recognized for his plays--and for dating chance as a gay, a secret agent, and an outspoken atheist--Christopher Marlowe was once additionally an entire and celebrated poet. This long-awaited up to date and revised variation of his poems and translations includes his entire lyric works--from his translations of Ovidian elegies to his most famed poem, "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love," to the notable epic mythological poem "Hero and Leander."

For greater than seventy years, Penguin has been the best writer of vintage literature within the English-speaking international. With greater than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents an international bookshelf of the easiest works all through heritage and throughout genres and disciplines. Readers belief the series to supply authoritative texts better by way of introductions and notes by means of exceptional students and modern authors, in addition to up-to-date translations by way of award-winning translators.

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Memnon the elf obtained his coal-black colour from thyself. Say that thy love with Cephalus weren't identified, Then thinkest thou thy unfastened existence isn't really proven? could Tithon may possibly yet speak of thee awhile, now not one in heaven could be extra base and vile. Thou leav’st his mattress simply because he’s faint via age, And early mount’st thy hateful carriage; yet held’st thou in thine fingers a few Cephalus, Then wouldst thou cry, “Stay evening, and run no longer therefore. ” Dost punish me simply because years make him wane? i didn't bid thee wed an elderly swain. The moon sleeps with Endymion on a daily basis; Thou paintings as reasonable as she, then kiss and play. Jove, that thou shouldst no longer haste yet wait his relaxation, Made nights one to complete up his excitement. I chid not more; she blushed, and as a result heard me, but lingered now not the day, yet morning scared me. ELEGIA XIV Puellam consolatur cui prae nimia cura comae deciderant “Leave coloring thy tresses,” I did cry; Now hast thou left no hairs in any respect to dye. yet what were extra reasonable had they been saved? past thy gowns thy dangling locks had swept. Fear’dst thou to decorate them being nice and skinny, prefer to the silk the curious Seres spin, Or threads which spider’s narrow foot attracts out, Fast’ning her gentle internet a few previous beam approximately? now not black, nor golden have been they to our view, but even though neither, combined of either’s hue, corresponding to in hilly Ida’s wat’ry plains, The cedar tall spoiled of his bark keeps. they usually have been apt to twist an hundred methods, And did to thee no reason for dolor elevate. Nor hath the needle, or the comb’s enamel reft them, The maid that kembed them ever effectively left them. Oft was once she dressed earlier than mine eyes, but by no means, Snatching the brush to overcome the wench, out force her. Oft within the morn, her hairs now not but digested, Half-sleeping on a red mattress she rested; but seemly, like a Thracian bacchanal, That drained doth rashly at the eco-friendly grass fall. once they have been narrow, and prefer downy moss, Thy afflicted hairs, unfortunately, continued nice loss. How patiently sizzling irons they did take, In crooked trammels crispy curls to make. I cried, “’Tis sin, ’tis sin, those hairs to burn, They good develop into thee, then to spare them flip. remote be strength, no hearth to them may perhaps succeed in, Thy very hairs will the new bodkin train. ” misplaced are the goodly locks, which from their crown Phoebus and Bacchus needed have been putting down. Such have been they as Diana painted stands All bare protecting in her wave-moist arms. Why dost thy ill-kembed tresses’ loss lament? Why in thy glass dost glance being discontent? Be to not see with wonted eyes susceptible; to thrill thyself, thyself placed out of brain. No charmèd herbs of any harlot scathed thee, No faithless witch in Thessale waters bathed thee. No disorder harmed thee (far be that away! ), No green with envy tongue wrought thy thick locks decay. by way of thine personal hand and fault thy harm doth develop, Thou mad’st thy head with compound poison move. Now Germany shall captive hair-tires ship thee, And vanquished humans curious dressings lend thee, Which a few admiring, O thou oft wilt blush, And say, “He likes me for my borrowed bush, Praising for me a few unknown Guelder dame, yet I take into accout whilst it was once my popularity.

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