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9
De Melidoria.
è Joh. Barclaij, Poem. lib, 2.
Why languish I ye Gods alone?Why onely I? when not one groan
Afflicteth her for whom I dye:
You mighty powers of Love, oh why
Doth Meledore despise your darts,
And their effects too, bleeding hearts?
If thus (oh Gods) ye suffer her
Unpunished, none will prefer
Your Altars; such examples may
Become the ruine of your sway.
With Venus and her mighty Son
Expostulating thus, I won
This answer: Alasse (Cupid cryes)
I hood-winkt am; my closed eyes
Bound with a Fillet, that my Bow
Can none but roving Shafts let go;
Hence 'tis that Troops of violent
Youth, their misplaced loves resent;
That some love rashly; some again
Congealed are with cold disdain:
Wouldst thou thy Mistresse, I inspire,
And in her breast convey that fire
Which nature suffers not to find
Birth from thy tears? Do but unbind
My eyes, and I will take such aime,
As she shall not escape my flame:
Expostulating thus, I won
This answer: Alasse (Cupid cryes)
I hood-winkt am; my closed eyes
Bound with a Fillet, that my Bow
Can none but roving Shafts let go;
Hence 'tis that Troops of violent
Youth, their misplaced loves resent;
That some love rashly; some again
Congealed are with cold disdain:
Wouldst thou thy Mistresse, I inspire,
And in her breast convey that fire
Which nature suffers not to find
Birth from thy tears? Do but unbind
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As she shall not escape my flame:
Thus spake the Boy, my ready hand
Prepared was to loose the band
From his faire eye-lids, that his sight
Might to his Dart give steady flight;
When my good Genius prudent eare,
Whisperd to my rash soule, Beware:
Ah shamelesse Boy, deceitfull Love,
I see thy plot, should I remove
Those chaines of darknesse from thy eyes,
Thou Melidore so much wouldst prize,
That strait my rivall thou wouldst be,
And warme her for thy selfe, not me.
Prepared was to loose the band
From his faire eye-lids, that his sight
Might to his Dart give steady flight;
When my good Genius prudent eare,
Whisperd to my rash soule, Beware:
Ah shamelesse Boy, deceitfull Love,
I see thy plot, should I remove
Those chaines of darknesse from thy eyes,
Thou Melidore so much wouldst prize,
That strait my rivall thou wouldst be,
And warme her for thy selfe, not me.
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