Erra Pater and the Sibyl

These were both figures popularly associated with age, wisdom—and error.

Erra Pater, an old robed and bearded man, stands before the frozen Thames river in London; a poem is at the bottom of the page.

Source: Erra Paters Prophesy or Frost Faire (1683/4), British Museum number 1880, 1113.1776, ⓒ Trustees of the British Museum.

The illustrated title page of a book of prognostication, featuring a bust of a person wearing a robe and wimple.

Source: A Prognostication for Ever, Made by Erra Pater (London, 1694), Columbia University Libraries Online Exhibitions, accessed June 15, 2018.

Ovid, Aeneas meets the Cumaean Sybil

The prophetess did cast
Her eye upon Aeneas’ back, and sighing said at last:
I am no goddess. Neither think thou canst with conscience right,
With holy incense honor give to any mortal wight.
But to th’intent through ignorance thou err not. I had been
Eternal and of worldly life; I should none end have seen,
If that I would my maidenhood on Phoebus have bestowed.
Howbeit while he stood in hope to have the same, and trowed*
*trusted, was confident
To overcome me with his gifts: ‘Thou maid of Cumes’ (quoth he)
‘Choose what thou wilt, and of thy wish the owner thou shalt bee.’
I taking full my hand of dust, and showing it him there,
Desired like a fool to live as many years as were
Small grains of cinder in that heap. I quite forgot to crave
Immediately the race of all those years in youth to have.
Yet did he grant me also that, upon condition I
Would let him have my maidenhood, which thing I did deny.
And so rejecting Phoebus’ gift, a single life I led.
But now the blissful time of youth is altogether fled,
And irksome age with trembling pace is stolen upon my head,
Which long I must endure. For now already as you see
Seven hundred years are come and gone and that the number be
Full matched of the grains of dust, three hundred harvests mo,
I must three hundred vintages see more before I go.
The day will come that length of time shall make my body small,
And little of my withered limbs shall leave or naught at all.
And none shall think that ever God was ta’en in love with me.
Even out of Phoebus’ knowledge then perchance I grown shall bee,
Or at the least that ever he me loved he shall deny,
So sore I shall be altered. And then shall no man’s eye
Discern me. Only by my voice I shall be known. For why?
The fates shall leave me still my voice for folk to know me by.

Source: The Fifteen Books of P. Ovidius Naso, Entitled Metamorphosis. Translated out of Latin into English Meter, by Arthur Golding (London, 1612), Book 14, sigs. Z3v-Z4, modernized.