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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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Cupids iourney to Hell.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



Cupids iourney to Hell.

Loue leauing heau'n gan post to Stygian lake,
And being landed on the farther shore,
For Plutoes palace did his iourney make,
To view his vncles Court and royal store.
Thus hauing crept from mothers sight by stealth,
He welcom'd is with pompe by bloodlesse ghoasts:
And hels grim tyran greeting him with health,
His royalties to powre-full nephew boasts.
Hauing viewd each strange hue of monstrous shape,
They feasted with great iollitie in hell:
And sawc'd their meate with store of pressed grape,
Till wine did wit and sense from them expell.
Sleepe causde by fumes to their ore-charged braines,
Did seaze on both: first Pluto tooke a nap:
Next, Cupid (thus his quaffing moode constraines)
Laie downe to rest him, dreading no mishap.
In hast the fondling from his shoulders threw,
His deare bought quiuer and his fatall bowe:
Faire Proserpine came in and at the view,
Forthwith exclaimde, these, these haue wrought my woe.
These, these causde me depriude of wonted ioy,
T'inhabit Hell these firde the leachers lust:
But sith they are misguided by a boy,
I will commit them to an others trust.
This said, came Plutus headlong tumbling in,
Plutus the god of Coyne blinde as the other:


Whom with faire words the guilefull queene did win,
T'vsurpe those gifts and seeme loues second brother:
At first he fearde, at last he was delighted,
With vsing them and smiled oft to thinke:
How mens affections by those shafts excited,
Obeide his doome which loue with gold did linke.
Cupid awaking miss'd the dreaded signes
Of godheads might: strange passions did him tosse:
He wreathes his armes in folds and them vntwines,
Thus childishly he mones his haplesse losse.
He wept, he fled, in hell he durst not hide him,
Grieude with the murmure of so many soules,
Neere heau'n he dares not come least Venus chide him.
What should he do whom Fortune thus controules?
Foule fall the wagge that lost so rare a iewell
Long may he lurke that could no better gard
His fathers toile, his mothers pride, the fewell,
Which for hearts wracke, eyes glaunses haue preparde.
Sith then the god of gaine vsurps loues roome,
I will with gifts make sute for gracious doome.