Cvpid and Psiche Or an Epick Poem of Cupid, and his Mistress. As it was lately presented to the Prince Elector. Written by, Shakerly Marmion |
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 | Cvpid and Psiche |  |
The wanton Cupid, t'other day,
Did from his mother Venus stray.
Great paines she tooke, but all in vaine
How to get her Sonne againe:
For since the boy is sometimes blind,
He his owne way cannot find.
If any one can fetch him in,
Or take him captive in a Gin,
And bring her word, she for this,
Will reward him with a kisse.
That you the felon may descry,
These are signes to know him by:
His skin is red with many a staine
Of Lovers, which by him were slaine;
Or else it is, the fatall doome,
Which foretells of stormes to come:
Though he seeme naked to the eye,
His mind is cloath'd with subtlety,
Sweet speach he uses, and soft smiles,
To intice where he beguiles:
His words are gentle, as the ayre,
But trust him not, though he speake faire;
And confirme it with an oath:
He is fierce, and cruell both,
He is bold, and carelesse too,
And will play as wantons doe:
But when you thinke the sport is past,
It turnes to earnest at the last.
His evill nature none can tame,
For neither reverence, nor shame,
Are in his lookes; his curled hayre
Hangs like Nets, for to ensnare.
His hands though weake, and slender; strike
Age, and Sexes, all alike,
And when he list, will make his nest,
In their Marrow, or their breast:
Those poyson'd Darts shot from his Bow,
Hurt Gods above, and men below.
His left hand beares a burning Torch,
Whose flame the very same will scorch;
And not hell it selfe is free,
From this Impes impiety.
The wounds he makes, no Salve can cure;
Then if you catch him, bind him sure.
Take no pitty, though he cry,
Or laugh, or smile, or seeme to dye,
And for his ransome would deliver
His Arrowes, and his painted Quiver.
Refuse them all, for they are such,
That will burne, where ere they touch.
Did from his mother Venus stray.
Great paines she tooke, but all in vaine
How to get her Sonne againe:
For since the boy is sometimes blind,
He his owne way cannot find.
Or take him captive in a Gin,
And bring her word, she for this,
Will reward him with a kisse.
That you the felon may descry,
These are signes to know him by:
His skin is red with many a staine
Of Lovers, which by him were slaine;
Or else it is, the fatall doome,
Which foretells of stormes to come:
Though he seeme naked to the eye,
His mind is cloath'd with subtlety,
Sweet speach he uses, and soft smiles,
To intice where he beguiles:
His words are gentle, as the ayre,
But trust him not, though he speake faire;
And confirme it with an oath:
He is fierce, and cruell both,
He is bold, and carelesse too,
And will play as wantons doe:
But when you thinke the sport is past,
It turnes to earnest at the last.
His evill nature none can tame,
For neither reverence, nor shame,
Are in his lookes; his curled hayre
Hangs like Nets, for to ensnare.
His hands though weake, and slender; strike
Age, and Sexes, all alike,
And when he list, will make his nest,
In their Marrow, or their breast:
Those poyson'd Darts shot from his Bow,
Hurt Gods above, and men below.
Whose flame the very same will scorch;
And not hell it selfe is free,
From this Impes impiety.
The wounds he makes, no Salve can cure;
Then if you catch him, bind him sure.
Take no pitty, though he cry,
Or laugh, or smile, or seeme to dye,
And for his ransome would deliver
His Arrowes, and his painted Quiver.
Refuse them all, for they are such,
That will burne, where ere they touch.
| Cvpid and Psiche | |