University of Virginia Library

ELEGIA. 13. De amica, quæ periurauerat.

VVhat are there Gods? her selfe she hath forswore,
And yet remaines the face she had before.
How long her lockes were ere her oath she tooke:
So long they be, since she her faith forsooke.
Faire white with rose red was before commixt:
Now shine her lookes pure white and red betwixt.
Her foote was small: her footes forme is most fit:
Comely tall was she, comely tall shee's yet.
Sharpe eyes she had: radiant like starrs they be,
By which she periurd oft hath lyed by me.
Insooth th' eternall powers grant maides society,
Falsely to sware, their beauty hath some diety.
By her eyes I remember late she swore,
And by mine eyes, and mine were pained sore.
Say Gods: if she vnpunisht you deceiue,
For others faults why do I losse receiue.
But did you not so enuy Cepheus daughter,
For her ill-beautious mother iudg'd to slaughter.
T'is not enough, she shakes your record off,
And vnreueng'd mockt Gods with me doth scoffe.
But by my paine to purge her periuries,
Couzend, I am the couzeners sacrifice.
God is a name, no substance, fear'd in vaine,
And doth the world in fond beliefe deteine.
Or if there be a God, he loues fine wenches,
And all thinges too much in their sole power drenches.
Mars girts his deadly sword on for my harme,
Pallas launce strikes me with vnconquerd arme.
At me Apollo bends his pliant bow,
At me Ioues right-hand lightning hath to throw.
The wronged Gods dread faire ones to offend,
And feare those, that to feare them least intend.
VVho now will care the Altars to persume?
Tut, men should not their courage so consume.
Ioue throwes downe woods, and Castles with his fire,
But bids his darts from periur'd girles retire.
Poore Semele among so many burned.
Her owne request to her owne torment turn'd.
But when her louer came, had she drawne back,
The fathers thigh should vnborne Bacchus lack.
VVhy grieue I? and of heauen reproches pen?
The Gods haue eyes, and breasts as well as men.
VVere I a God, I should giue women leaue,
VVith lying lips my God-head to deceaue.
My selfe would sweare the wenches true did sheare,
And I would be none of the Gods seuere.
But yet their gift more moderately vse,
Or in mine eyes good wench no paine transfuse,