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Arisbas, Euphues amidst his slumbers

Or Cupid's Iourney to Hell. Decyphering a myrror of Constancie, a Touch-stone of tried affection, begun in chaste desires, ended in choise delights: And emblasoning Beauties glorie, adorned by Natures bountie. VVith the Trivmph of Trve Loue, in the Soyle of false Fortune. By I. D. i.e. John Dickenson]
 
 

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Arisbas his Elegie.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



Arisbas his Elegie.

Faint wel I may for I feele enfeebling faintnes about me,
faintnes vpon my lims heart to beset to besot.
Loue is a God but a cruell God but a boy but a wanton
blinde but boldly triumphs, proud to be tearmd a tyran.
What shal I do? shal I sue to the gods that lodge in Olympus?
there loue seated aloft vaunts to be Lord ouer all.
Heau'n yeelds small comfort: him, they do tremble obeying,
and themselues enthralde cannot alas me release.
What shal I doe? shal I sue to the pow'r whome Cyprus adoreth,
loues loue-worthy mother though not a friend to Cupid?
Her doth he wound and smiles when her hap Cytherea bewaileth,
how then will he for her yeeld to releeue another?
What shal I then? shal I sue to the boyish God that hath hurt mee,
hurt and harmd me so, that little is my reliefe?
Then wil he vexe mee more til heart more heauily languish,
torne as Prometheus fruteful vnhappy liuer.
What shal I then? ile sue to the saint whose lookes me bereaued
of liues blisse through loue, loue the decayer of hope,
O that beautie so rare (but I blush to blame such a bountie)
should staine fairest hue with such a blot such a blur.
Yet wil I try, to the saint wil I pray and sue to be succord,
in whose choise it rest mee to relieue to release.