Thesauros Edebiyat Destan Metamorphoses

Metamorphoses

Metamorphoses Ovid 43 B.C.-17 or 18 A.D

Kitap 7

 
Their curelesse cunning hurt themselves. The nerer any man 552
 
Approcheth his diseased friend, and doth the best he can
 
To succor him most faithfully, the sooner did he catch
 
His bane. All hope of health was gone. No easment nor dispatch
 
Of this disease except in death and buriall did they finde.
 
Looke, whereunto that eche mans minde and fancie was enclinde,
 
That followed he. He never past what was for his behoofe.
 
For why? that nought could doe them good was felt too much by proofe.
 
In everie place without respect of shame or honestie
 
At Wels, at brookes, at ponds, at pits, by swarmes they thronging lie:
 
But sooner might they quench their life than staunch their thirst thereby.
 
And therewithall so heavie and unwieldie they become,
 
That wanting power to rise againe, they died there. Yet some
 
The selfesame waters guzled still without regard of feare,
 
So weary of their lothsome beds the wretched people were,
 
That out they lept: or if to stand their feeble force denide,
 
They wallowed downe and out of doores immediatly them hide:
 
It was a death to every man his owne house to abide.
 
And for they did not know the cause whereof the sicknesse came,
 
The place (bicause they did it know) was blamed for the same.
 
Ye should have seene some halfe fordead go plundring here and there
 
By highways sides while that their legges were able them to beare.
 
And some lie weeping on the ground or rolling piteously
 
Their wearie eyes which afterwards should never see the Skie:
 
Or stretching out their limmes to Heaven that overhangs on hie,
 
Some here, some there, and yonder some, in what so ever coste
 
Death finding them enforced them to yeelde their fainting Ghoste.
 
What heart had I, suppose you, then, or ought I then to have?
 
In faith I might have lothde my life, and wisht me in my grave
 
As other of my people were. I could not cast mine eie
 
In any place, but that dead folke there strowed I did spie
 
Even like as from a shaken twig when rotten Apples drop,
 
Or Mast from Beches, Holmes or Okes when Poales doe scare their top.
 
Yon stately Church with greeces long against our Court you see:
 
It is the shrine of Jupiter. What Wight was he or shee
 
That on those Altars burned not their frankincense in vaine?
 
How oft, yet even with Frankincense that partly did remaine
 
Still unconsumed in their hands, did die both man and wife,
 
As ech of them with mutuall care did pray for others life?
 
How often dyde the mother there in suing for hir sonne,

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