The Crowne of All Homers Workes/Bacchus, or the Pyrats

by Homer

For other English-language translations of this work, see Bacchus (Homer).

BACCHVS,

OR

The Pyrats.

f Dionysus (Noble Semeles Son)
I now intend to render Mention:
As on a prominēt shore, his person shone,
Like to a Youth, whose flowre was newly blone.
Bright azure Tresses, plaid about his head;
And on his bright brode shoulders, was dispred
A purple Mantle. Strait he was descride
By certaine Manly Pyrats, that applide
Their vtmost speede to prise him; being abord
A well-built Barck; about whose brode sides ror'd
The wine-black Tyrrhene Billows: Death as black
Brought them vpon him, in their future wrack.
For soone as they had purchast but his view;
Mutuall signes past them; and ashore they flew:
Tooke him; and brought him, instantly aborde;
Soothing their Hopes, to haue obtain'd a Horde
Of riches with him; and a Ioue-kept King
To such a Flowre, must needes be naturall spring.
And therefore-strait, strong Fetters they must fetch,
To make him sure. But no such strength would stretch,
To his constrain'd Powrs. Farr flew all their Bands
From any least force, done his feet, or hands.
But he sate casting smiles, from his black eyes
At all their worst. At which Discoueries
Made by the Master: he did thus dehort
All his Associats; Wretches? Of what sort,
Hold ye the Person, ye assaie to binde?
Nay, which of all, the Powre fully-diuin'de
Esteeme ye him? whose worth yeelds so much weight,
That, not our well-built Barck, will beare his freight.
Or Ioue himselfe he is; Or he that beares
The siluer Bowe; Or Neptune. Nor appeares
In him the least resemblance of a Man;
But of a straine; at least Olympian.
Come! Make we quick dismission of his state;
And on the black-soild earth, exonerate
Our sinking vessell, of his Deified Lode:
Nor dare the touch, of an intangible God.
Lest windes outragious, and of wrackfull scath;
And smoking Tempests, blowe his fiery wrath.
This well-spoke Master, the Tall captaine gaue
Hatefull, and horrible language: call'd him slaue;
And bad him mark the prosperous gale that blew;
And bow their vessell, with her maine saile, flew.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Bade all take armes; and said, their workes requir'de;
The cares of Men; and not of an inspir'de,
Pure zealous Master. His firme hopes being fir'de
With this Opinion; that they should ariue
In Ægypt strait; or Cyprus; or where liue
Men whose braue breaths, aboue the Northwinde blowe;
Yea, and perhaps beyond their Region too.
And that he made no doubt, but in the end,
To make his Prisoner, tell him euery friend
Of all his off-spring: Brothers: Wealth, and All;
Since that Prise, certaine, must some God let fall.
This said; the Mast, and maine-saile; vp he drew,
And in the maine sailes midd'st, a franck Gale blew;
When all his ship tooke arms, to braue their Prise.
But strait, strange works apperde to all their eyes:
First; sweete wine, through their swift-black Barck did flow;
Of which, the Odors, did, a little, blowe:
Their fiery spirits, making th'Ayre so fine,
That, they in flood were there, as well as wine.
A meere Immortall-making sauour rose;
Which on the Ayre, the Deitie did Impose.
The Sea-Men see'ng All; Admiration seas'd.
Yet instantly, their wonders were encreas'd:
For on the Top saile, there rann, here, and there,
A Vine that Grapes did, in abundance beare;
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$And in an instant, was the ships maine Mast
With an obscure-greene-Iuies armes embrac't,
That florisht strait, and were with Buries grac't;
Of which, did Gyrlonds, circle euery brow
Of all the Pirats; and no One knew how.
Which when they sawe, they made the Master stere
Out to the shore: whom Bacchus made forbeare,
With showing more wonders; On the Hatches, He
Apper'd a terrible Lyon, horriblie
Roring; and in the Mid-deck, a Male Beare,
Made with a huge Mane: making all, for feare
Crowd to the sterne, about the Master there:
Whose Minde, he still kept, dantlesse, and sincere.
But on the Captaine rusht and rampt, with force
So rude, and sodaine; that his maine recours
Was to the Maine-Sea strait: and after him,
Leapt all his Mates; as trusting to their swimm;
To fly foule Death. But so; found what they fled,
Being all to Dolphinns, metamorphosed.
The Master, he tooke Ruth of; sau'd, and made.
The blessedst Man, that euer tried his Trade.
These few words giuing him: Be confident
Thou God-inspir'd Pylot! In the Bent
Of my affection, readie to requite
Thy late-to-me-intended benefite.
I am the Roring God, of spritely Wine:
Whom Semele, (that did, euen Ioue incline,
To amorous Mixture, and was Cadmus care)
Made issue to the Mighty Thunderar.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$And thus, all Excellence of Grace to thee,
Sonne of sweete-count'nance-cary'ng Semele.
I must not thee forget, in least Degree,
But pray thy spirit, to render so, my song,
Sweete, and all waies, in order'd furie, strong.

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