 | Poems &c. By James Shirley |  |
73
Cupid ungodded.
Why how now Cupid, grown so wild?
So great a Tyrant, and a Child?
What wert thou but an empty shade,
Until our superstition made
Thee first a God? Blind, young, to be
A soft and harmeles Deitie.
Our Fancy gave thee that rich pair
Of Wings, to wanton in the ayre:
Thy gaudy Quiver, and thy Bow,
And golden shafts we did bestow,
But for no other exercise
Then to kill Bees, or Butterflies.
So great a Tyrant, and a Child?
What wert thou but an empty shade,
Until our superstition made
Thee first a God? Blind, young, to be
A soft and harmeles Deitie.
Our Fancy gave thee that rich pair
Of Wings, to wanton in the ayre:
Thy gaudy Quiver, and thy Bow,
And golden shafts we did bestow,
But for no other exercise
Then to kill Bees, or Butterflies.
But since thou hast employ'd thy darts
Onely to wound thy Makers hearts,
And that thy wings serve but to flie
From Lovers, when they bleeding die;
Thy Blindnesse us'd but to invite
Our pitty, till we lose our sight,
Thy weaknes, not through want of yeers,
But from the Surfet of our Tears;
Stoop to the Justice of thy fate,
We can unmake that did create.
Onely to wound thy Makers hearts,
And that thy wings serve but to flie
From Lovers, when they bleeding die;
Thy Blindnesse us'd but to invite
Our pitty, till we lose our sight,
Thy weaknes, not through want of yeers,
But from the Surfet of our Tears;
Stoop to the Justice of thy fate,
We can unmake that did create.
And first give back (ingrateful Thing)
To us that made thy glorious wing
Those painted feathers thou shalt find
Contemnd, and tost by every wind,
Till wandring in some night, they are
The mark of a prodigious star,
And blasted; these the world shall name
The spotted wings of evil fame:
Next, give thy arrows back, which we
Did mean for Love, not Cruelty.
That rich enamell'd bow is mine,
Come, that gay quiver too resigne,
And shining Belt; These will I burne,
And keep their ashes in some urne,
Till open'd on that solemn day,
When men to souls sad requiems pay:
Lovers shall curse, and sigh, and make
A new Letany for thy sake.
To us that made thy glorious wing
74
Contemnd, and tost by every wind,
Till wandring in some night, they are
The mark of a prodigious star,
And blasted; these the world shall name
The spotted wings of evil fame:
Next, give thy arrows back, which we
Did mean for Love, not Cruelty.
That rich enamell'd bow is mine,
Come, that gay quiver too resigne,
And shining Belt; These will I burne,
And keep their ashes in some urne,
Till open'd on that solemn day,
When men to souls sad requiems pay:
Lovers shall curse, and sigh, and make
A new Letany for thy sake.
But thou art still alive; and be;
To murder, were to pitie thee.
Know wretch, thou shalt not die, before
I see thee begging at some dore:
And taken for a Vagrant stript,
Then by a furious Beadle whipt,
No more with Roses, but with Thorn:
To all the world thus made a scorn,
Ile give thee Eyes before we part,
To see thy shame, and breake thy heart.
To murder, were to pitie thee.
Know wretch, thou shalt not die, before
I see thee begging at some dore:
And taken for a Vagrant stript,
Then by a furious Beadle whipt,
No more with Roses, but with Thorn:
To all the world thus made a scorn,
Ile give thee Eyes before we part,
To see thy shame, and breake thy heart.
| Poems &c. By James Shirley | |