'Tis ill they pleased so much, for in my lips Lay her whole tongue hid, mine in hers she dips. This grieves me not; no joinËd kisses spent, Bewail I only, though I them lament. 60 Nowhere can they be taught but in the bed; I know no master of so great hire sped.[263] FOOTNOTES: [259] Not in Isham copy or ed. A. [260] So Dyce for "Poor _wench_" of the old eds.--The original has "Ipse miser vidi." [261] "Maeonis Assyrium femina tinxit opus." Dyce remarks that Marlowe "was induced to give this extraordinary version of the line by recollecting that in the sixth book of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ Arachne is termed 'Maeonis,' while her father is mentioned as a dyer." [262] A bad mistranslation of "Et volo non ex hac illa fuisse nota." [263] Far from the original "Nescio quis pretium grande magister habet." ELEGIA VI.[264] In mortem psittaci. The parrot, from East India to me sent,[265] Is dead; all fowls her exequies frequent! Go godly[266] birds, striking your breasts, bewail, And with rough claws your tender cheeks assail. For woful hairs let piece-torn plumes abound, For long shrild[267] trumpets let your notes resound. Why Philomel dost Tereus' lewdness mourn? All wasting years have that complaint now[268] worn. Thy tunes let this rare bird's sad funeral borrow; Itys[269] a great, but ancient cause of sorrow. 10 All you whose pinions in the clear air soar, But most, thou friendly turtle-dove, deplore. Full concord all your lives was you betwixt, And to the end your constant faith stood fixt. What Pylades did to Orestes prove, Such to the parrot was the turtle-dove. But what availed this faith? her rarest hue? Or voice that how to change the wild notes knew? What helps it thou wert given to please my wench? Birds' hapless glory, death thy life doth quench. 20 Thou with thy quills might'st make green emeralds dark, And pass our scarlet of red saffron's mark. No such voice-feigning bird was on the ground, Thou spok'st thy words so well with stammering sound. Envy hath rapt thee, no fierce wars thou mov'dst; Vain-babbling speech, and pleasant peace thou lov'dst. Behold how quails among their battles live, Which do perchance old age unto them give. A little filled thee, and for love of talk, Thy mouth to taste of many meats did balk. 30 Nuts were thy food, and poppy caused thee sleep, Pure water's moisture thirst away did keep. The ravenous vulture lives, the puttock[270] hovers Around the air, the cadess[271] rain discovers. And crow[272] survives arms-bearing Pallas' hate, Whose life nine ages scarce bring out of date. Dead is that speaking image of man's voice, The parrot given me, the far world's[273] best choice. The greedy spirits[274] take the best things first,