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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[The First Booke.]
THE FIRST SECTION.
Truth sayes of old, and we must owe that truth
Vnto tradition, when the world in youth,
Wch was the goldēage, brought forth the pen,
Love and the Muses, which since gave to men
Inheritance of Fame, for these began
At once, and were all coëtanean.
A happy season, when the ayre was cleare;
No sicknesse, nor infection did appeare,
No sullen change of seasons did molest
The fruitfull soyle, but the whole yeare was blest
With a perpetuall Spring, no Winter storme
Did crispe the Hills, nor mildew blast the Corne:
Yet happier farre, in that it forth did bring
The subject of this verse, whereof I sing
Vnder the Zenith of Heavens milke-white way,
Is a faire country called Lusinia,
'Tis Natures chiefest Wardrop, where doe lye
Her ornaments of rich variety:
Where first her glorious Mantle she puts on,
When through the world she rides procession;
Here dwelt a King and Queene of mighty power,
Iudg'd for their vertues, worthy such a dower.
They had betwixt themselves three Daughters born,
Conspicuous for their comlinesse and forme.
The elder two did neither much excell,
But then the younger had no parallel;
Whose lovely cheekes with Heavenly luster shone,
And eyes were farre too bright to looke upon:
Nay, it is credible, though fancies wing
Should mount above the Orbes, and thence downe bring
Th' Elixar of all beauty, and dispence
Vnto one creature, the whole influence,
And harmony of the Speares, it might not dare
VVith her for face and feature, to compare
Zeuxis the painter, who to draw one peece,
Survay'd the choycest Virgins of all Greece,
Had rested here, his Art without this stir,
Might have beene bounded, and confin'd in her.
Looke how the spiced fields in Autumne smell,
And rich perfumes, that in Arabia dwell:
Such was her fragrant sweetnesse, the Sunnes Bird,
The Phænix fled farre off, and was afeard
To be seene neere, least she his pride should quell,
Or make him seeme a common spectacle.
Nor did the painted Peacocke once presume,
Within her presence to display his plume.
Nor Rose, nor Lilly durst their Silkes unfold,
But shut their leaves up like the Marygold.
They all had beene ill favour'd, she alone
Was judg'd the Mistresse of perfection.
Her fame spread farre abroad, and thither brought
Thousands, that gazing worshipt her, and thought
The Goddesse, whom the greene-fac'd Sea had bred,
And dew of foaming waves had nourished.
Venus her selfe, regardlesse of her honour,
Did live with mortals, whosoe'r lookt on her,
Even most prophane, did think she was divine,
And grudg'd not to doe worship to her shrine.
For this cause, Venus Temples were defac'd,
Her sacrifice, and Ceremonies rac'd;
Her widdowed Altars in cold ashes mourn'd,
Her Images uncrown'd, her Groves deform'd:
Her Rites were all polluted with contempt,
For none to Paphos, nor Cytheros went.
This Maide was sole ador'd, Venus displeas'd,
Might in this Virgin onely be appeas'd:
The people in the street to her would bow,
And as she past along, would Garlands strow.
Venus at this conceiv'd a jealous ire,
(For heavenly minds burne with an earthly fire)
And spake with indignation, what shall I,
Mother of Elements, and loftiest skie,
Beginner of the world, Parent of Nature,
Pertake mine honour with an earthly creature?
Shall silly girles destin'd to death, and Fate,
My high-borne name, and stile contaminate?
In vaine did then the Phrygian Shepheard give
The Ball to me, when three of us did strive
Who should excel in beauty, and all stood
Naked before the Boy, to tempt his blood,
When they with Royall gifts sought to beguile
His judgement, I alur'd him with a smile:
But this usurper of my dignities,
Shall have but little cause to boast the prize;
With that she call'd her rash, and winged child
Arm'd with Bow, Torch, and quiver: that is wild
With mischiefe; he that with his evil waies
Corrupts all publick discipline, and straies
Through chambers in the night, & with false beames,
Or with his stinging Arrowes, or with dreames,
Tempts unto lust, and does no good at all:
This childe I say did Venus to her call,
And stirres him up with words malitious,
That was by nature too licentious:
For bringing him where Psyche dwelt, for so
This Maid was call'd, she there unfolds her woe,
And emulous tale. Cupid quoth she, my stay,
My onely strength, & power, whose boundles sway,
Contemnes the thunder of my Father Iove,
I here intreate thee by thy Mothers love,
Those wounding sweets, and sweet wounds of thy Quiver,
And honey burnings of thy torch, deliver
My Soule from griefe, revenge me on this mayd
And all her boasted beauty see decay'd,
Or else strike her in love with one so poore,
So miserably lost, stript of all store
Of meanes, or vertue; so deform'd of limb,
That none in all the world may equall him.
To move her Sonne, no flattering words she spar'd,
But breath'd on him with kisses, long and hard,
This done; she hasts to the next ebbing shore,
And with her rosie feet insulting ore
The submisse waves, a Dolphin she bestrides,
And on the utmost Billows proudly rides.
A troupe of Tritons were straight sounding heard,
And rough Portumnus with his mossy beard,
Salacia heavy with her fishy traine,
And Nereus daughters came to entertaine
The Sea-borne Goddesse; some plaid on a shell,
Some with their Garments labour'd to expell
The scorching heat, and Sun-shine from her face,
And other some did hold a looking-glasse:
All these in triumph by the Dolphin swam,
And followed Venus to the Ocean;
Phyche the while, in this great height of blisse,
Yet reapes no fruit of all her happinesse,
For neither King, nor Prince, nor Potentate,
Nor any durst attempt her for a mate,
But as a polisht picture her admire,
And in that admiration cease desire:
Her Sisters both, whose moderate beauty none
Did much despise, nor much contemplate on,
VVere to their wishes happily contracted,
And by two Kings espous'd. Psyche distracted
Because she had no lover, pensive sate
In mind, and body, and began to hate,
And curse that beauty, and esteeme at nought,
Which, but was excellent, had no other fault.
Cupid now in a causelesse rage was gone,
To whet his Arrowes on a bloody stone,
As if he were t'encounter with some maine
Monster, like Python, by Apollo slaine,
Or Iove, or Titan lame; or once agen,
Draw the pale Moone downe to the Latmian Den,
Or with Loves fire great Pluto to annoy,
For these were workes of labour, and the Boy
Was ignorant, how matters would succeed,
Or what the fate of Beauty had Decreed.
Therefore he fyl'd his arrowes sharpe and smal,
To pierce what ever they should meet withal.
And vow'd, if cause were, he his shafts would shiver,
'Gainst Psyches breast, and empty all his Quiver.
Themis a Goddesse, whom great Iove had sent
Into the World, for good, or punishment,
As justice should require, when she did heare
Cupid so proudly boast, againe did sweare,
That she his haughty malice would abate,
And turne the edge, both of his shafts, and hate.
And having thus disarm'd him, ten to one,
VVould change his fury to affection.
A clap of Thunder all about them shooke,
To ratifie, what Themis undertooke.
Then both together went, and entring found,
Faire Psyche, with her looks fixt on the ground.
Honor and Modesty, with equall grace,
Simplicity and truth, smil'd in her face.
But rising up, there shot from eyther eye,
Such beames, as did Loves senses stupefie.
And as in this distraction he did stand,
He let his arrowes fall out of his hand.
VVhich Themis laughing tooke, and thence conuay'd,
VVhilst Cupid minded nothing but the Mayde.
Then did he crye amaz'd, what fence is here?
Beauty and Vertue have no other spheare.
Her brow's a Castle, and each lip a Fort,
Where thousand armed Deities resort
To guard the golden fruit from all surprize,
Chastly, and safe, as the Hesperides.
Pardon me, Venus, if I thee abridge
Of this unjust revenge; 'twere sacrilidge,
Beyond Prometheus theft, to quench such fire,
Or steale it from her eyes, but to inspire
Cupids owne breast, in all Loves spoyles, I yet
Never beheld so rich a Cabinet.
Iove, here for ever, here, my heart confine,
And let me all my Empery resigne.
Then looking downe, he found himselfe bereft
Of his loose armes, and smil'd at Themis theft;
Because he knew, she might as soone abide
Fire in her bosome, as Loves arrows hide.
But that they must againe with shame be sent,
And claime, for the possession, a deare rent:
Yet one dropt out by chance, and 'twas the best
Of all the bundle, and the curiousest.
The plumes were colour'd azure, white, and red,
The shaft painted alike downe to the head,
Which was of burnisht Gold: this Cupid tooke,
And in revenge, through his owne bosome strooke:
Then sighing call'd, You Lovers all, in chiefe)
Whom I have wrong'd, come tryumph at my griefe;
See, and be satisfied for all my sinne,
'Tis not one place that I am pained in,
My Arrows venome is dispersed round,
And beauties signe is potent in each wound.
Thus he with pitty did himselfe deplore,
For never pitty enter'd him before.
Ill as he was, he tooke his flight, and came
Vnto the palace of the Sun, whose flame
VVas farre inferiour to what Cupid felt;
And said, deare Phœbus, if I still have dealt
Like a true friend, and stood thee in some steed,
VVhen thou for love didst like a shepheard feed,
Admetus Cattle, now thine helpe impart,
Tis not for Phisicke, though I am sick at heart,
That I implore, but through thy skill devine
The fairest Psyche for my wife assigne:
Phœbus assents, and did not long delay,
To make it good by a Prophetick way;
Her Father fearing for the injury,
Offerd to Venus sacred Deity,
Consults the Delpick Oracle, who thus
Expounds his mind in tearmes ambiguous.
Vnto tradition, when the world in youth,
Wch was the goldēage, brought forth the pen,
Love and the Muses, which since gave to men
Inheritance of Fame, for these began
At once, and were all coëtanean.
A happy season, when the ayre was cleare;
No sicknesse, nor infection did appeare,
No sullen change of seasons did molest
The fruitfull soyle, but the whole yeare was blest
With a perpetuall Spring, no Winter storme
Did crispe the Hills, nor mildew blast the Corne:
Yet happier farre, in that it forth did bring
The subject of this verse, whereof I sing
Is a faire country called Lusinia,
'Tis Natures chiefest Wardrop, where doe lye
Her ornaments of rich variety:
Where first her glorious Mantle she puts on,
When through the world she rides procession;
Here dwelt a King and Queene of mighty power,
Iudg'd for their vertues, worthy such a dower.
They had betwixt themselves three Daughters born,
Conspicuous for their comlinesse and forme.
The elder two did neither much excell,
But then the younger had no parallel;
Whose lovely cheekes with Heavenly luster shone,
And eyes were farre too bright to looke upon:
Nay, it is credible, though fancies wing
Should mount above the Orbes, and thence downe bring
Th' Elixar of all beauty, and dispence
Vnto one creature, the whole influence,
And harmony of the Speares, it might not dare
VVith her for face and feature, to compare
Zeuxis the painter, who to draw one peece,
Survay'd the choycest Virgins of all Greece,
Had rested here, his Art without this stir,
Might have beene bounded, and confin'd in her.
Looke how the spiced fields in Autumne smell,
And rich perfumes, that in Arabia dwell:
Such was her fragrant sweetnesse, the Sunnes Bird,
The Phænix fled farre off, and was afeard
To be seene neere, least she his pride should quell,
Or make him seeme a common spectacle.
Nor did the painted Peacocke once presume,
Within her presence to display his plume.
But shut their leaves up like the Marygold.
They all had beene ill favour'd, she alone
Was judg'd the Mistresse of perfection.
Her fame spread farre abroad, and thither brought
Thousands, that gazing worshipt her, and thought
The Goddesse, whom the greene-fac'd Sea had bred,
And dew of foaming waves had nourished.
Venus her selfe, regardlesse of her honour,
Did live with mortals, whosoe'r lookt on her,
Even most prophane, did think she was divine,
And grudg'd not to doe worship to her shrine.
For this cause, Venus Temples were defac'd,
Her sacrifice, and Ceremonies rac'd;
Her widdowed Altars in cold ashes mourn'd,
Her Images uncrown'd, her Groves deform'd:
Her Rites were all polluted with contempt,
For none to Paphos, nor Cytheros went.
This Maide was sole ador'd, Venus displeas'd,
Might in this Virgin onely be appeas'd:
The people in the street to her would bow,
And as she past along, would Garlands strow.
Venus at this conceiv'd a jealous ire,
(For heavenly minds burne with an earthly fire)
And spake with indignation, what shall I,
Mother of Elements, and loftiest skie,
Beginner of the world, Parent of Nature,
Pertake mine honour with an earthly creature?
Shall silly girles destin'd to death, and Fate,
My high-borne name, and stile contaminate?
In vaine did then the Phrygian Shepheard give
The Ball to me, when three of us did strive
Naked before the Boy, to tempt his blood,
When they with Royall gifts sought to beguile
His judgement, I alur'd him with a smile:
But this usurper of my dignities,
Shall have but little cause to boast the prize;
With that she call'd her rash, and winged child
Arm'd with Bow, Torch, and quiver: that is wild
With mischiefe; he that with his evil waies
Corrupts all publick discipline, and straies
Through chambers in the night, & with false beames,
Or with his stinging Arrowes, or with dreames,
Tempts unto lust, and does no good at all:
This childe I say did Venus to her call,
And stirres him up with words malitious,
That was by nature too licentious:
For bringing him where Psyche dwelt, for so
This Maid was call'd, she there unfolds her woe,
And emulous tale. Cupid quoth she, my stay,
My onely strength, & power, whose boundles sway,
Contemnes the thunder of my Father Iove,
I here intreate thee by thy Mothers love,
Those wounding sweets, and sweet wounds of thy Quiver,
And honey burnings of thy torch, deliver
My Soule from griefe, revenge me on this mayd
And all her boasted beauty see decay'd,
Or else strike her in love with one so poore,
So miserably lost, stript of all store
Of meanes, or vertue; so deform'd of limb,
That none in all the world may equall him.
To move her Sonne, no flattering words she spar'd,
But breath'd on him with kisses, long and hard,
And with her rosie feet insulting ore
The submisse waves, a Dolphin she bestrides,
And on the utmost Billows proudly rides.
A troupe of Tritons were straight sounding heard,
And rough Portumnus with his mossy beard,
Salacia heavy with her fishy traine,
And Nereus daughters came to entertaine
The Sea-borne Goddesse; some plaid on a shell,
Some with their Garments labour'd to expell
The scorching heat, and Sun-shine from her face,
And other some did hold a looking-glasse:
All these in triumph by the Dolphin swam,
And followed Venus to the Ocean;
Phyche the while, in this great height of blisse,
Yet reapes no fruit of all her happinesse,
For neither King, nor Prince, nor Potentate,
Nor any durst attempt her for a mate,
But as a polisht picture her admire,
And in that admiration cease desire:
Her Sisters both, whose moderate beauty none
Did much despise, nor much contemplate on,
VVere to their wishes happily contracted,
And by two Kings espous'd. Psyche distracted
Because she had no lover, pensive sate
In mind, and body, and began to hate,
And curse that beauty, and esteeme at nought,
Which, but was excellent, had no other fault.
Cupid now in a causelesse rage was gone,
To whet his Arrowes on a bloody stone,
As if he were t'encounter with some maine
Monster, like Python, by Apollo slaine,
Draw the pale Moone downe to the Latmian Den,
Or with Loves fire great Pluto to annoy,
For these were workes of labour, and the Boy
Was ignorant, how matters would succeed,
Or what the fate of Beauty had Decreed.
Therefore he fyl'd his arrowes sharpe and smal,
To pierce what ever they should meet withal.
And vow'd, if cause were, he his shafts would shiver,
'Gainst Psyches breast, and empty all his Quiver.
Themis a Goddesse, whom great Iove had sent
Into the World, for good, or punishment,
As justice should require, when she did heare
Cupid so proudly boast, againe did sweare,
That she his haughty malice would abate,
And turne the edge, both of his shafts, and hate.
And having thus disarm'd him, ten to one,
VVould change his fury to affection.
A clap of Thunder all about them shooke,
To ratifie, what Themis undertooke.
Then both together went, and entring found,
Faire Psyche, with her looks fixt on the ground.
Honor and Modesty, with equall grace,
Simplicity and truth, smil'd in her face.
But rising up, there shot from eyther eye,
Such beames, as did Loves senses stupefie.
And as in this distraction he did stand,
He let his arrowes fall out of his hand.
VVhich Themis laughing tooke, and thence conuay'd,
VVhilst Cupid minded nothing but the Mayde.
Then did he crye amaz'd, what fence is here?
Beauty and Vertue have no other spheare.
Where thousand armed Deities resort
To guard the golden fruit from all surprize,
Chastly, and safe, as the Hesperides.
Pardon me, Venus, if I thee abridge
Of this unjust revenge; 'twere sacrilidge,
Beyond Prometheus theft, to quench such fire,
Or steale it from her eyes, but to inspire
Cupids owne breast, in all Loves spoyles, I yet
Never beheld so rich a Cabinet.
Iove, here for ever, here, my heart confine,
And let me all my Empery resigne.
Then looking downe, he found himselfe bereft
Of his loose armes, and smil'd at Themis theft;
Because he knew, she might as soone abide
Fire in her bosome, as Loves arrows hide.
But that they must againe with shame be sent,
And claime, for the possession, a deare rent:
Yet one dropt out by chance, and 'twas the best
Of all the bundle, and the curiousest.
The plumes were colour'd azure, white, and red,
The shaft painted alike downe to the head,
Which was of burnisht Gold: this Cupid tooke,
And in revenge, through his owne bosome strooke:
Then sighing call'd, You Lovers all, in chiefe)
Whom I have wrong'd, come tryumph at my griefe;
See, and be satisfied for all my sinne,
'Tis not one place that I am pained in,
My Arrows venome is dispersed round,
And beauties signe is potent in each wound.
Thus he with pitty did himselfe deplore,
For never pitty enter'd him before.
Vnto the palace of the Sun, whose flame
VVas farre inferiour to what Cupid felt;
And said, deare Phœbus, if I still have dealt
Like a true friend, and stood thee in some steed,
VVhen thou for love didst like a shepheard feed,
Admetus Cattle, now thine helpe impart,
Tis not for Phisicke, though I am sick at heart,
That I implore, but through thy skill devine
The fairest Psyche for my wife assigne:
Phœbus assents, and did not long delay,
To make it good by a Prophetick way;
Her Father fearing for the injury,
Offerd to Venus sacred Deity,
Consults the Delpick Oracle, who thus
Expounds his mind in tearmes ambiguous.
The Oracle.
Your Daughter bring to a steepe mountaine spire,Invested with a funerall attire;
Expect no good, but bind her to a stake,
No mortall wight, her for a wife shall take:
But a huge venomn'd Serpent, that does fly
With speckled wings, above the starry sky.
And downe againe, does the whole Earth molest
With fire, and sword, and all kind of unrest,
So great in malice, and so strong in might,
That Heaven, and hell doe tremble at his flight.
The King affrighted what this speech should weene
Goes slow, and sadly home unto his Queene,
Both ponder in their mind the strange prediction,
VVhether it were a riddle, or a fiction:
What glosse it might endure, and what pretence,
Whither a verball, or a mistick sence;
Which cast about in vaine, they both bewaile
Their Daughters chance, but griefe can not prevaile,
But that she must fulfill the Delpicke doome,
Or worser plagues are threatned in the roome:
And now the pitchy torches lighted are,
And for her fatall Marriage they prepare,
Songs are to howlings turn'd, bright fire to fume,
And pleasant musicke to the Lydian tune:
For Hymens Saffron weed, that should adorne
Young blushing Brides, Psyche is forc'd to mourne,
And for her mourning a blacke mantle weares,
With which she gently wipes away her teares.
Thus all the City waite her in sad wise,
Not to her wedding, but her obsequies;
But whilst her parents weake excuses make,
And vaine delaies, thus Psyche them bespake?
Why doe you thus with deepe fetch't sighs perplex
Your most unhappy age? why doe you vexe
Your spirit, which is mine, and thus disgrace
With fruitlesse teares, your venerable face?
Why doe you teare your haire, and bear your brest?
Are these the hopefull issues, and the blest
Rewards for beauty? then ought you lament,
When all the City with a joyn'd consent
Did stile me the new Venus, and ascrib'd
Those honours which to mortals are deny'd.
'Twas your ambition first pluckt on my shame,
I see, and feele my ruine in her name:
'Tis now to late, we suffer under those
Deepe wounds of envy, which the Gods impose;
Where is the rocke? why doe you linger so?
Leade hence, my thinks I long to undergoe
This happy Marriage, and I long to see
My noble Husband, whatsoere he bee:
Into his armes, ô let me soone be hurl'd,
That's borne for the destruction of the world.
This said, each stander by, with hang'd downe head
And mournfull pompe the Virgin followed,
And to the place prefixt her armes they tye,
Then howling forth a dolefull Elegy,
Depart from her in teares, wishing from farre
Some winged Perseus might deliver her.
Psyche affrighted thus, and they all gone,
A gentle gale of wind came posting on,
Who with his whispers having charm'd her feares,
The maid asleep on his soft bosome beares.
This wind is called Zephirus, whose mild
And fruitfull breath gets the young spring with child,
Filling her wombe with such delicious heat,
As breeds the blooming Rose, and Violet:
Him Cupid for his delicacy chose,
And did this amorous taske on him impose,
To fetch his Mistresse; but least he should burne
With beauties fire, he bad him soone returne:
But all in vaine, for promises are fraile,
And vertue flyes, when love once blowes the sayle,
For as she slept, he lingred on his way,
And oft embrac'd, and kist her as his praye,
And gaz'd to see how farre she did surpasse
Erichthens Daughter, wife to Boreas,
Faire Orythia; and as she began
To waxe hot through his motion, he would fan
And coole her with his wings, which did disperse
A perfum'd sent, through all the vniverse;
For 'fore that time, no fragrant smell did live
In any thing, till Psyche did it give:
Hearbes, Gummes, and spices had perhaps a name,
But their first odours from her breathing came:
And in this manner Zephirus flew on
With wanton gyres, through every region
Of the vast ayre, then brought her to a vale,
Where thousand severall flowers her sweets exhale:
The whilst her parents rob'd of her deare sight,
Devote themselves to everlasting night.
Goes slow, and sadly home unto his Queene,
Both ponder in their mind the strange prediction,
VVhether it were a riddle, or a fiction:
Whither a verball, or a mistick sence;
Which cast about in vaine, they both bewaile
Their Daughters chance, but griefe can not prevaile,
But that she must fulfill the Delpicke doome,
Or worser plagues are threatned in the roome:
And now the pitchy torches lighted are,
And for her fatall Marriage they prepare,
Songs are to howlings turn'd, bright fire to fume,
And pleasant musicke to the Lydian tune:
For Hymens Saffron weed, that should adorne
Young blushing Brides, Psyche is forc'd to mourne,
And for her mourning a blacke mantle weares,
With which she gently wipes away her teares.
Thus all the City waite her in sad wise,
Not to her wedding, but her obsequies;
But whilst her parents weake excuses make,
And vaine delaies, thus Psyche them bespake?
Why doe you thus with deepe fetch't sighs perplex
Your most unhappy age? why doe you vexe
Your spirit, which is mine, and thus disgrace
With fruitlesse teares, your venerable face?
Why doe you teare your haire, and bear your brest?
Are these the hopefull issues, and the blest
Rewards for beauty? then ought you lament,
When all the City with a joyn'd consent
Did stile me the new Venus, and ascrib'd
Those honours which to mortals are deny'd.
'Twas your ambition first pluckt on my shame,
I see, and feele my ruine in her name:
'Tis now to late, we suffer under those
Deepe wounds of envy, which the Gods impose;
Leade hence, my thinks I long to undergoe
This happy Marriage, and I long to see
My noble Husband, whatsoere he bee:
Into his armes, ô let me soone be hurl'd,
That's borne for the destruction of the world.
This said, each stander by, with hang'd downe head
And mournfull pompe the Virgin followed,
And to the place prefixt her armes they tye,
Then howling forth a dolefull Elegy,
Depart from her in teares, wishing from farre
Some winged Perseus might deliver her.
Psyche affrighted thus, and they all gone,
A gentle gale of wind came posting on,
Who with his whispers having charm'd her feares,
The maid asleep on his soft bosome beares.
This wind is called Zephirus, whose mild
And fruitfull breath gets the young spring with child,
Filling her wombe with such delicious heat,
As breeds the blooming Rose, and Violet:
Him Cupid for his delicacy chose,
And did this amorous taske on him impose,
To fetch his Mistresse; but least he should burne
With beauties fire, he bad him soone returne:
But all in vaine, for promises are fraile,
And vertue flyes, when love once blowes the sayle,
For as she slept, he lingred on his way,
And oft embrac'd, and kist her as his praye,
And gaz'd to see how farre she did surpasse
Erichthens Daughter, wife to Boreas,
Faire Orythia; and as she began
To waxe hot through his motion, he would fan
A perfum'd sent, through all the vniverse;
For 'fore that time, no fragrant smell did live
In any thing, till Psyche did it give:
Hearbes, Gummes, and spices had perhaps a name,
But their first odours from her breathing came:
And in this manner Zephirus flew on
With wanton gyres, through every region
Of the vast ayre, then brought her to a vale,
Where thousand severall flowers her sweets exhale:
The whilst her parents rob'd of her deare sight,
Devote themselves to everlasting night.
The Second Section.
Thus Psyche on a grassy bed did lye,Adorn'd with Floraes richest tapestry,
Where all her sences with soft slumber bound,
At last awakt, and rising from a swound
She spies a wood, with faire trees beautif'd,
And a pure christall Fountaine by the side;
A Kingly Palace stood not farr apart,
Built not with humane hands, but devine Art;
For by the structure men might guesse it be
The habitation of fome Deity:
The Roofe within was curiously, o're spread
With Ivory, and Gold enamelled;
The Gold was burnisht, glistering like a flame,
And Golden pillers did support the same;
The walles were all with Silver wainscott lin'd,
With severall Beasts, and Pictures there inshrin'd,
The Floure, and Pavement with like glory shone,
Cut in rare figures, made of pretious Stone,
You might behold the house through its owne day.
Sure 'twas some wondrous power by arts extent
That fancied forth so great an argument:
And no lesse happy they, that did command,
And with their feet trod on so rich a land,
Psyche amaz'd, fixt her delighted eye,
On the magnificence, and treasury,
And wondred most, that such a masse of wealth
Was by no doore, nor guard, preserv'd from stealth:
For looking when some servant should appeare,
She onely heard voices attending there,
That said, faire Mistresse why are you afraide?
All these are yours, and we to doe you ayd.
Come up into the roomes, where shall be showne
Chambers all ready furnisht, all your owne:
From thence descend, and take the spiced aire,
Or from your bath unto your bed repaire,
Whilst each of vs, that Eccho represents,
Devoyd of all corporeall instruments,
Shall waite your Minister: no Princely fare
Shall wanting be, no dilligence, no care,
To doe you service. Psyche had the sence
To tast, and thanke the Gods beneficence:
VVhen straight, a mighty golden dish was brought,
Repleat with all the dainties can be thought;
And next a bowle was on the table set,
Fraught with the richest Nectar, that ere yet
Faire Hebe fill'd to Iuno, Heavens Queene,
Or Ganimed to Iove; yet none was seene,
Nor creature found to pledge, or to begin,
But some impulsive spirit brought it in.
A consort of celestiall harmony:
And Musick, mixt with sounds articulate,
That Phœbus selfe might strive to emulate.
All pleasures finisht, Psyche went to rest,
But could finde none, because her troubled breast
Labour'd with strange events, and now the noone
Of night began t'approach, and the pale Moone
Hid her weake beames, and sleepe had seiz'd all eyes,
But Lovers, vext with feares and jealousies.
What female heart, or conscience so strong
Through the discharge of sinne? but yet among
So many fancies of her active braine,
She must a hundred terrours entertaine?
And more, and greater her amazements were,
Because she knew not, what she was to feare.
In came her dreadfull husband, so conceiv'd,
Till his sweet voyce told her, she was deceiv'd.
For drawing neare, he sate upon the bed,
Then laid his gentle hand upon her head,
And next embrac'd, and kist, and did imbrew
Her balmy lips with a delicious dew:
So, so, sayes he, let each give up his treasure,
Quite bankrupt through a rich exchange of pleasure.
So lets sweet Loves preludiums begin,
My armes shall be thy Spheare to wander in,
Circled about with spells, to charme thy feares.
Instead of Morpheus to provoke thy teares,
With horrid dreames, Venus shall thee entrance
With thousand shapes of wanton dalliance:
Each of thy senses thou shalt perfect find,
All but thy sight, for Love ought to be blind.
Enjoy'd his spouse, and got her Maydenhead:
And least that sly his feature should disclose,
He went away before the morning rose:
Her vocall servants watching at the dore,
With their mild whispers enterd in before
Psyche awak't, and joy'd the bride to see,
And cheer'd her for her slaine virginity.
These things being acted in continued time,
And as all humane natures doe incline
To take delight by custome, Psyche so
With these aëreall comforts eas'd her woe:
But yet her Parents with unwearied griefe
Waxt old in teares, and hated all reliefe.
Her Sisters too forsooke their house, and home,
And came to adde unto their fathers moane.
That night her husband Psyche thus bespake,
Alas sweet heart, what comfort can I take,
That spend the day in sighes, when you are gone,
Rob'd of all humane conversation:
My undistinguisht friends are banisht quite,
That almost weepe their eyes out for my sight,
Not one of all to beare me company:
O let me see my sisters, or I dye.
Her husband her imbrac'd, and kist away
Those hurtfull teares, and thus began to say:
Psyche my sweet, and dearest wife, I see,
Fortune beginnes to threat thy misery.
What envious Fate suggests this banefull boone,
To force my griefe, and thy destruction?
Thy sisters both, through their vaine fancies led,
And troubled with the thought that thou art dead,
Their fruitlesse teares, or speake to them a word,
Or by their wicked counsell seeke to pry
With sacrilegious curiosity,
And view my shape, how quickly wouldst thou throw
Thy selfe downe headlong to the depth of woe?
Thy wretched state for ever to deplore,
Nor must thou hope to touch me any more.
Psyche regardlesse, what his love, or feares
Did prompt unto her good, still perseveres
In her rash vote: for all (though to their cost)
Desire forbidden things; but women most.
My honey husband, my sweet love, quoth she,
How doe I prize thee, whatsoere thou be?
Above my soule, more then my owne deare life:
Nor would I change to be young Cupids wife.
And rather vow'd a thousand deaths to dye,
Then live divorc'd from his society.
Her husband overcome through his owne fire,
VVhich her impressive kisses did inspire:
Gives way to his new spouse, and a strict charge
To Zephirus, that he should spread at large
His plumy sayles, and bring her sisters twaine,
Both safe in presence of his wife, in paine,
To be in prison, and strict durance bound,
VVith the earths weighty fetters under ground,
And a huge mountaine to be laid upon
His ayerie backe, which if it once were done,
No power could e're redeeme his liberty,
Nor Æolus himselfe might set him free.
Lovers commands are still imperious:
VVhich made the fierce and haughty Zephyrus
To see his service slighted so, but yet
Not daring to proclaime his discontent,
Made a soft noise, and murmur'd as he went.
By chance her sisters at that instant time,
With long laborious steps the Hill did clime,
Where Psyche first was left, and with their plaine,
Waken the rocks, still they result againe.
Calling their sister by her proper name,
With hideous cryes, untill the west winde came,
And as command was, in a winged chaire,
With harmelesse portage bore them through the aire.
All three together by this meanes combin'd,
Embrace each other with a mutuall mind.
Vntill their spirits, and the day was spent
In long, and ceremonious complement.
Sometimes faire Psyche, proud her friends were by,
To witnesse her majestick bravery:
Vshering her sisters with affected gate,
VVould shew them all her glory, and her state,
And round about her golden house display
The massie wealth that unregarded lay.
Sometimes she would demonstrate to their eares
Her easie power on those familiars,
That like a numerous family did stand,
To execute the charge of her command.
Nor was there wanting any thing, that might
Procure their admiration, or delight:
That whereas erst they pittied her distresse,
Now swell with envy of her happinesse.
There is a Goddesse flyes through the earths globe
Girt with a cloud, and in a squalid robe,
Whose direfull presence does the Sun affright.
Her name is Ate, venome is her food,
The very Furies and Tartarian brood
Doe hate her for her uglinesse, she blacks
Her horrid visage with so many Snakes:
And as her tresses 'bout her necke she hurles,
The Serpents hisse within their knotty curles.
Sorrow, and shame, death, and a thousand woes,
And discord waites her, wheresoe're she goes,
Who riding on a whirle wind through the sky,
She saw faire Psyche in her jollity,
And grudg'd to see it; for she does professe
Her selfe a foe, to every good successe:
Then cast to ruine her; but found no way,
Lesse she could make her sisters her betray.
Then dropt foure Snakes out of her hayry nest,
And as they slept, cast two on eithers brest;
Who peircing through their bosomes in a trice,
Poyson'd their soules, but made no Orifice:
And all this while the powerfull bane did lurke
Within their hearts, and now began to worke:
For one of them, too farre inquisitive,
With crafty malice did begin to dive
Into her councell, studious for to learne,
Whom so divine possession might concerne;
But all in vaine, no lineall respect,
No Syren charmes, might move her to reject
His precepts; nothing they could doe, or say,
Might tempt her, his sweet councell to betray.
Yet least too much suspence of what he is,
Should trouble their loose thoughts, shee told them this,
Was newly deckt with natures coverin,
And he that vs'd with hunting still to rome
About the woods, and seldome was at home:
But fearing their discourse might her entrap,
She powres forth gold and jewels in their lap,
And turning all their travell to their gaine,
Commands the windes to beare them back againe.
This done, her sisters after their returne,
With envies fuell, both begin to burne,
Vnable to containe their discontent,
And to their swell'd up malice give a vent.
Sayes one unto the other, what's the cause
That we both priviledg'd by natures lawes,
And of the selfe-same parents both begot,
Should yet sustaine such an indifferent lot?
You know that we are like to hand-maids wed
To strangers, and like strangers banished.
When she, the off-spring of a latter birth,
Sprung from a wombe, that like the tyred earth
Grew old with bearing, nor yet very wise,
Enjoyes that wealth, whose use, whose worth, whose prize
She knowes not; what rich furniture there shone,
What Gemmes, what gold, what silkes we trode upon?
And if her husband be so brave a man
As she affirmes and boasts, what woman can
In the whole world compare with her? at length
Perhaps by customes progresse, and the strength
Of Love, he may her like himselfe translate
And make her with the gods participate:
She has already for to come, and goe
Voyces her hand-maids, and the windes, 'tis so;
And breath'd out nothing but Divinity:
But I poore wretch, the more to aggravate
My cares, and the iniquity of Fate,
Have got a Husband, elder then my Sire,
And then a boy farre weaker in desire;
Who, though he have nor will, nor power, to use
What he enjoyes, does miser like refuse,
To his owne wife this benefit to grant,
That others should supply, his, and my want:
Her Sister answers, Doe not I embrace
A man farre worse, and is't not my owne case?
I have a husband too not worth a point,
And one, that has the Gout in every joynt:
His Nose is dropping, and his eyes are gumm'd,
His body crooked, and his fingers numm'd:
His head, which should of wisedome be the place,
Is growne more bald than any Looking-glasse;
That I am faine the part to undergoe,
Not of a wife, but a Physitian too;
Still plying him, how ere my sense it loaths,
VVith Oyles and Balmes, and cataplasmes & cloaths:
Yet you see, with what patience I endure
This servile office, and this fruitlesse cure,
The whilst the minkes our Sister, you beheld
With how great pride, and arrogance she swell'd,
And though much wealth lay scatter'd all along,
Yet out of it, how small a portion
She gave to us, and how unwillingly,
Then blew, or hist us from her company.
Let me not breath, nor me a woman call,
Vnlesse I straight her ruine, or enthrall
In this one poynt, i'll render her accurst.
We will not any into wonder draw,
Nor comfort, by relating what we saw;
For they can not be sayd true joy to owne,
Whose neither wealth nor happinesse is knowne.
It is enough that we have seene, and grieve
That we have seene it, let none else believe
The truth from our report. So let's repaire
To our own home, and our owne homely fare,
And then returne to vindicate her pride,
With fraud and malice strongly fortifi'd:
Which to confirme, ungratefull as they were,
(For wicked counsell ever is most deare
To wicked people,) home againe they drew
And their fain'd griefe most impiously renew.
The third Section.
By this faire Psyches wombe began to breed,And was made pregnant by immortall seed;
Yet this condition was on her impos'd,
That it should mortall prove, if she disclos'd
Her husbands counsels: who can now relate
The joy that she conceiv'd, to propagate
A Divine birth? she reckons every day,
And week, and month, and does her wombe survay,
And wonders since so little was instill'd
So small a vessell should so much be fill'd:
Her husband smelling of her sisters drift,
Began to call faire Psyche unto shrift,
And warne her thus, the utmost day, sayes he,
And latest chance, is now befalne to thee;
Has taken armes up to withstand thy good.
Againe thy sisters with regardlesse care
Of love, or pietie, come to ensnare,
And tempt thy faith, which I forbad before,
That thou my shape and visage shouldst explore:
In liew of which take up a like defence,
Protecting with religious continence,
Our house from ruine, and thy selfe prevent,
And our small pledge from dangers imminent.
Psyche with sighes and teares together blent,
Breakes off his speech, since you a document
Have of my silence, and my love, quoth she,
Why should you feare to trust my constancie?
Which to confirme, bid Zephirus fulfill
Once more his duty, and obey my will.
That since your long'd for sight I am deny'd,
I may behold my sisters by my side.
Turne not away my love, I thee beseeke,
By thy curld haire, and by thy silken cheeke:
Deigne from thy bounty this small boone to spare,
Since the forc'd ignorance of what you are,
Must not offend me, nor the darkest night,
Where I embrace you in a greater light.
Charm'd with her sugred words, he gives consent,
That the swift winde, with haste incontinent,
Although unwilling, should display his wing,
And the she traytors to faire Psyche bring.
Thus all together met, her sisters twaine,
Embrace their prey, and a false love doe faine.
Psyche sayes one, you are a mother growne,
My thinkes your wombe like a full Rose is blowne.
Vnto our friends and family from you?
Certs this your child, if it be halfe so faire
As is the mother, must be Cupids heire.
Thus they with flatteries, and with many a smile,
Pretending false affection, her beguile.
And she out of her innocence, poore mayd,
Gave easie credit unto all they sayd:
And too too kinde, to a faire chamber led,
Where with celestiall dainties she them fed.
She speakes unto the Lute, and straight it heares;
She calles for raptures, and they swell their eares.
All sorts of musicke sound, with many a lay,
Yet none was present seene to sing or play.
But as no mirth is pleasant to a dull
And heavie soule, no lesse, they that are full
Of cankred malice, all delight disdaine,
But what doth nourish their delighted paine.
So that no gifts nor price might mollifie,
Nor no reward, nor kindnesse qualifie
Ther hardned hearts, still they are on fire,
To sound her through, and make a strict inquire,
What was her husband, what his forme, and age,
And whence he did deduce his parentage:
You read, how from simplicity at first,
She fram'd a formall story, and what erst
Shee told, she had forgot, and gan to faine
Another tale, and of another straine:
How that he was a man both rich, and wise,
Of middle yeeres, and of a middle size:
A Merchant by profession, that did deale
For many thousands in the common-weale.
Of her discourse, sayes one, nay sister deare,
Pray doe not strive thus to impose upon
Your loving friends, sure this description
Must to his person needs be contrary,
When in it selfe your speech does disagree.
You lately boasted, he was young and faire;
What does the soyle, or nature of the aire
Bring age so soone? and that he us'd to range
About the woods, loe there's another change.
Doe you conceit so ignorantly of us,
We know not Tethis from Hippolitus?
Green fields from seas, a billow from a hill,
Fishes from beasts? then we had little skill.
You much dissemble, or you have forgot
His forme, and function, or you know them not.
Then with the pressure of her eyes, she freed
One teare from prison, and did thus proceed:
Psyche we grieve, and pitty you, that thus
Are growne so carelesse, and incurious
Of what you ought to feare: you thinke your selfe
Much happy in your husband, and your selfe,
But are deceiv'd, for we that watch,
And at each opportunity doe catch,
To satisfie our doubts, for truth have found,
Both by his crawling footsteps on the ground,
And by report of neighbouring husbandmen,
That have espy'd him flying from his den.
When he to them most hideously has yeeld,
From his huge throat, with blood and poyson swel'd,
That this your husband is of Serpent breed,
Either of Cadmus, or of Hydra's seed.
That you to such hard destiny assign'd,
And think not all your art, or policy,
Can cancell his propheticall decree.
Let not his Monsters usage for awhile,
Your soule of just suspicion beguile,
As that yon still shall live at such high rate,
And that these happy dayes shal ne're have date.
Far be it, that my words should ill portend,
Yet trust me, all these joyes must have an end:
The time will come, when this your Paramour,
In whom you so delight, shall you devoure.
And when your womb casts her abortive brood,
Then Saturne like, he will make that his food.
For this prediction also bore a share,
In what the god fore-told, but lest despaire
Should load you with too great oppression,
It was conceal'd, and therefore stands vpon,
Whether through our advice, you will be sav'd,
Or in his beastly entrayles be engrav'd.
Now if this uncouth life, and solitude
Please you, then follow it, and be still stew'd
In the ranke lust of a lascivious worme:
Yet we our pious duties shall performe.
Psyche that tender was, grew wan, and pale,
And swoone for dread of this so sade a tale.
Then fell she from the spheare of her right mind,
And forgot all those precepts she combin'd,
And vow'd to keepe, and her selfe headlong threw
Into a thousand griefes, that must ensue.
At last reviv'd, having her selfe upheav'd,
With fainting voyce, thus half her words out breathd:
How you persist in constant piety:
Nor did they, who suggest such words as these,
In my opinion altogether lease:
For to this houre, I never did survay
My husbands shape, but forc'd am to obay
What he commands, and doe embrace i'th night,
A thing uncertaine, and that shunnes the light:
Therefore to your assertious I assent,
That with good reason seeme so congruent;
For in my thoughts I can not judge at least
But he must be a monster, or some beast;
Hee uses so much cautionary care,
And threatens so much ill, if I should dare
To view his face; so I referre me to
Your best advice, t'instruct me what to doe:
Her sisters now ariv'd at the full scope
Of their base plots, and seeing the gate ope
That kept her heart, scorne any artfull bayt,
But use their downe right weapons of deceit:
Saying, deare Psyche, nature should prevaile
So much with us, if mischiefe did assaile
Your person, in our sight: we were too blame
Should we permit, and not divert the same;
Yet wise men have their waies, and eyes still cleare,
And leave no mists of danger, or of feare:
You doe but brave your death, when you repell
The whispers of your Genius, which would tell
The perill you are in; nor are you sure
Of longer life, till you are quite secure:
Which to effect, provide a sword that's keene,
And with it, a bright Lampe, and both unseene
Shall call them, to assist you with their power:
Trust me, such spies, and counsellors are mute,
And never nice, or slow to execute
Any designe; so when your husbands eyes
Are seal'd with sleepe, from your soft couch arise,
And seaze this Dragon, when he least takes heed,
Like Pallas arm'd, and to his death proceed;
And where his necke, and head, are joyn'd in one,
Make me a speedy seperation:
Alcides sonne of Iove, as rumour goes,
Strangled two Serpents in his swadling cloathes:
And can your strength faile to bring that to passe,
Which halfe the labour of an infant was?
Such wicked words they poure into her eare,
More poysonous then her husband could appeare.
Psyche was troubled, as the sea, in mind
Approv'd their councell, and againe declin'd
What they perswade; now hastens, now delayes,
Dares, and not dares, and with a blush betrayes
Her wandring passion, which knowes no meane,
But travels from extreame, unto extreame:
She loves him now, and does againe detest,
Loves as a husband, hates him as a beast.
The onely checke, and bridle to her hate,
Was the fam'd story, and revengefull fate
Of Danans daughters, who in hell are bound
To fill a Vessell, they can never sound:
She told the story to them, how all these
Were fifty Virgins, call'd the Belides;
Her Sisters list, while Psyche does discover,
How each was too in humane to her lover:
With hearts, hard as the steele, that did the deed:
Yet one sayes she, most worthy of the name
Of wife, and to it everlasting fame:
Hight Hypermnestra, with officious lye,
Met with her Father; and his perjury:
Who said unto her husband, youth arise,
Least a long sleepe unfear'd, doe thee surprize.
I will not hold thee captive, nor will strike
This to thy heart; although my sisters, like
So many cruell Lyonesses, voyd
Of mercy, all their husbands have destroy'd.
I am of nature soft, nor doe I dare
To view, much lesse to act thy massacre;
What though my Father me in prison lay,
Or loade with Iron chaines, or send away
Farre from his Kingdome, into banishment,
Or tortures use, cause I would not consent
To murder thee; however take thy flight,
Post for thy life, whilst Venus and the night
Doe fauour thee, and onely this vouchsafe
VVhen I am dead, to write my Epitaph:
The meere remembrance of this vertuous deed,
Did a remorce, and kind of pitty breed
In Psyches brest, for passions are infus'd,
According to the stories, we are us'd
To reade; and many men doe amorous prove,
By viewing acts, and monuments of loue:
But yet her sisters malice, that still stood
In opposition, against all thats good,
Ceases not to precipitate her on,
Till they had gain'd this confirmation;
Thus fury like, they did her soule inspire:
Night and her husband came, and now the sport
Of Venus ended, he began to snort,
Psyche, though weake of mind, and body both,
Yet urg'd by cruell fate, and her rash oath,
Rose up to make provision for her sinne;
Lye still faire maide, thou mayst more honour win,
And make thy murder glory, not a crime,
If thou wouldst kill those thoughts, that doe beslime
And knaw upon thy breast, and never cease
With hishing clamours to disturbe thy peace,
When thine owne heart with Serpents doth abound;
Seeke not without, that may within be found.
Yet was she not so cruell in her hast,
But ere she kild him, she his lips would tast,
Wishing she neede not rise out from her bed,
But that she had the power to kisse him dead:
Now with her lips she labours all she may,
To sucke his soule out, whilst he sleeping lay,
Till she at last through a transfused kisse,
Left her owne soule, and was inspir'd with his;
And had her soule within his body stay'd,
Till he therein his vertues had convay'd,
And all pollution would from thence remove,
Then after all her thoughts had beene of love;
But since she could not both of them retaine,
She restor'd his, and tooke her owne againe:
Sorry, that she was forc'd it to transferr,
And wisht though dead, that he might live in her:
Then in the one hand she held the emulour light,
And in the other tooke the sword, so bright
And she thus arm'd, became more masculine.
But when by friendship of the Lampe, her eye
Had made a perfect true discovery
Of all was in the roome, what did she see?
Object of Love, wonder of Deity.
The god of love himselfe, Cupid the faire,
Lye sweetly sleeping in his golden haire:
At this so heavenly sight, the lampy spire
Encreas'd his flames, and burnt more pure, and higher.
The very sencelesse sacrilegious steele,
Did a strong vertue from his presence feele,
Which turn'd the edge, poore Psyche all amaz'd,
With joy, and wonder on his beauty gaz'd.
His necke so white, his colour so exact,
His limbes, that were so curiously compact:
His body sleeke, and smooth, that it might not
Venus repent, t'have such a sonne begot.
A bright reflexion and perfumed sent,
Fill'd all the roome with a mixt blandishment,
Shot from his wings, and at his feete did lye
His bow, and arrows, and his armory.
And in this extasie she thought to hide
The cursed steele, but in her owne deare side;
And had perform'd it sure, had not the sword,
Flew from her hand, out of its owne accord.
Glansing on all with eyes unsatisfied,
At last she his artillerye spyed.
The Quiver was of needle-worke wrought round
With trophies of his owne, where Cupid crown'd
Sate in the midst, with a Bay-wreath, which he
Had proudly pluckt from the Peneian tree.
The one of love, the other of disdaine:
There Iove in all his borrowed shapes was drest,
His thefts, and his adulteries exprest,
As Emblemes of Loves tryumph; and these were
Drawne with such lively colours, men would sweare,
That Læda lay within a perfect bower,
And Danaes golden streames, were a true shower.
Saturns two other sonnes did seeme to throw
Their Tridents at his feete, and him allow
For their Supreme; and there were kneeling by
Gods, Nymphs, and all their Geneology
Since the first Chaos, saving the abuse,
And Cupids pride, none could the worke traduce.
Pallas in envy of Aracknes skill,
Or else to curry favour, and fulfill
Cupids behest, which she durst not withstand,
Had fram'd the emulous peece with her owne hand.
And there were portray'd more a thousand loves
Besides himselfe; the skinnes of Turtle-doves
Lin'd it within, and at the upper end,
A silver plate the Quiver did extend,
Full of small holes, where his bright shafts did lye;
Whose plumes were stiffe with gummes of Araby.
His Bow was of the best, and finest Yew
That in all Ida, or faire Tempe grew:
Smooth as his cheeke, and checkerd as his wing,
And at each end, tipt with a Pearle; the string
Drawne from the Optick of a Ladies eye,
That whensoere he shoots, strikes harmony.
Psyche with timorous heed, did softly touch
His weapons, least her prophane hand might smutch
Was wrought of Gold, for some are done with Lead,
And laid her fingers end upon the Dart,
Tempting the edge, untill it caus'd a smart:
For being pointed sharpe, it raz'd the skin,
Till drops of blood did trickle from within.
She wounded with the poison, which it bore,
Grew more in love, than ere she was before.
Then as she would her selfe incorporate,
She did her numerous kisses equall make
Vnto his haires, that with her breath did play,
Steept with rich Nectar, and Ambrosia.
Thus being ravisht with excesse of joy,
With kissing, and embracing the sweet Boy.
Loe, in the height of all her jollity,
Whether from envy, or from treachery:
Or that it had a burning appetite,
To touch that silken skin, that lookt so white.
The wicked Lampe, in an unlucky houre,
A drop of scalding oyle did let downe powre
On his right shoulder, whence in horrid wise
A blister, like a bubble did arise,
And boyl'd up in his flesh, with a worse fume,
Then blood of Vipers, or the Lernean spume.
Neere did the Dog-starre rage with so great heate
In dry Apulia, nor Alcides sweat
Vnder his shirt so. Cruell oyle, that thou
Who of all others hast the smoothest brow,
Shouldst play the traytor? who had any thing
Worse than thy selfe; as fire, or venom'd sting,
Or Sulphur blasted him, shouldst first have came,
And with thy powerfull breath suckt out the flame.
To thinke he should be privilidg'd from paine.
For we in Homer have like wounded read,
Of Mars, and Venus, both by Diomed.
But for this haynous and audacious fact,
Cupid among his statutes did enact,
Henceforth all lights be banisht, and exempt,
From bearing office in Loves government.
And in the day, each should his passage marke,
Or learne to finde his Mistresse in the darke.
Sure all the crew of lovers shall thee hate,
Nor blest Minerva hold thee consecrate.
When Cupid saw his counsells open laid,
Psyches deare faith, and his owne plots betrayd,
He buckled on his wings, away to fly;
And had she not caught hold upon his thigh,
And hung as an appendix of his flight,
He questionlesse had vanisht from her sight.
But as when men are in deepe rivers drown'd,
And tane up dead, have their close fingers found,
Clasping the weeds; so, though her armes were rackt
With her more bodies weight, and sinews crackt,
To follow him through the forc'd Element:
Yet held she fast, untill he did relent,
And his ambitious wings gan downward steere,
And stoope to earth, with a mild Cancileere.
The fourth Section.
Thus lighted on the earth, he tooke her wrist,
And wrung it hard, and did her hands untwist:
And having freed himselfe, he flew on high,
Vnto a Cypresse tree that grew thereby,
And on the utmost branches being sate,
He did the matter thus capitulate,
Was it for this indeed, for this reward,
Thou silly girle, that I should disregard
My mothers vowes, her teares, her flatteries?
When she, with all the power she might devise,
Provok't me to thy hurt, and thee assign'd
In Marriage, to a groome of some base kind,
And lowest ranke, had not my too much hast
Redeem'd thy shame, and my owne worth disgrac'd;
Was it for this I did thy plagues remove,
To paine my selfe? strike mine owne heart in love,
With mine owne shaft, that after all this geare,
I should no better then a beast appeare?
For this, wouldst thou cut off my head, which bore
Those eyes, that did thy beauty so adore?
And yet thou knowst ungratefull wretch, how I
Did with my feares, thy mischeifes still imply,
And every day my cautions did renew,
The breach of which thou must for ever rue:
And each of these thy sisters, that were guide
To thy ill act, shall dearely it abide:
Yet will I punish thee no other way
But onely this, I will for ever stray
Farre from thy sight, and having said so, fled,
Whilst she to heare this newes, lay almost dead:
Yet prostrate on the ground, her eyes up cast,
Ty'd to his winged speed; untill at last,
She could no more discerne; as Dido, then,
Or Ariadne, by some Poets pen,
Are fayn'd to grieve; whose artfull passions flow
In such sweet numbers, as they make their woe
Appeare delightfull, telling how unkind
Their lovers stole away, and the same wind,
That blew abroad their faith, and oathes before,
Then fill'd their sayles, and how the troubled shore
Answer'd the Ladies groanes, so Psyche faints,
And beates her breast with pittifull complaints.
There ran a River neere, whose purling streames,
Hyperion oft, did with his golden beames
Delight to gild, and as it fled along
The pleasant murmurs, mixt with the sweet song
Of aged Swannes, detayn'd the frequent eare
Of many a Nymph, which did inhabitt there:
Poore Psyche thither went, and from the brim,
In sad despaire threw her selfe headlong in.
The Rivers God; whither 'twere out of feare,
Duty, or love, or honour he did beare
Her husband; or least her spilt blood should staine
His christall current, threw her up againe:
But it is thought, he would not let her sinke,
Cause Cupid oft times would descend to drinke,
Or wash him in the Brooke, and when he came
To coole his owne heat, would the floud inflame.
Pan at that time sate playing on a reed,
Whilst his rough Goates did on the meddowes feed,
And with intentive eyes observed all,
That to the fayrest Psyche did befall;
Who seeing her thus pittiously distrest,
He ran to take her up, and did the best
He could to comfort her; faire maid, sayes he,
Though I a rustick, and a shepheard be,
Scorne not for that my counsell, and advice;
Nor let my trade become my prejudice,
Forby the benefit of time well spent,
I am indued with long experiment:
And if I doe conjecture it aright,
The cause of all this Phrensie, and dispight,
Which your sad lookes, and palenesse doe imply,
With other signes in Physiognomy,
By which wise men the truth of Art doe prove,
And know the state of minds, you are in love.
And wrung it hard, and did her hands untwist:
And having freed himselfe, he flew on high,
Vnto a Cypresse tree that grew thereby,
He did the matter thus capitulate,
Was it for this indeed, for this reward,
Thou silly girle, that I should disregard
My mothers vowes, her teares, her flatteries?
When she, with all the power she might devise,
Provok't me to thy hurt, and thee assign'd
In Marriage, to a groome of some base kind,
And lowest ranke, had not my too much hast
Redeem'd thy shame, and my owne worth disgrac'd;
Was it for this I did thy plagues remove,
To paine my selfe? strike mine owne heart in love,
With mine owne shaft, that after all this geare,
I should no better then a beast appeare?
For this, wouldst thou cut off my head, which bore
Those eyes, that did thy beauty so adore?
And yet thou knowst ungratefull wretch, how I
Did with my feares, thy mischeifes still imply,
And every day my cautions did renew,
The breach of which thou must for ever rue:
And each of these thy sisters, that were guide
To thy ill act, shall dearely it abide:
Yet will I punish thee no other way
But onely this, I will for ever stray
Farre from thy sight, and having said so, fled,
Whilst she to heare this newes, lay almost dead:
Yet prostrate on the ground, her eyes up cast,
Ty'd to his winged speed; untill at last,
She could no more discerne; as Dido, then,
Or Ariadne, by some Poets pen,
Are fayn'd to grieve; whose artfull passions flow
In such sweet numbers, as they make their woe
Their lovers stole away, and the same wind,
That blew abroad their faith, and oathes before,
Then fill'd their sayles, and how the troubled shore
Answer'd the Ladies groanes, so Psyche faints,
And beates her breast with pittifull complaints.
There ran a River neere, whose purling streames,
Hyperion oft, did with his golden beames
Delight to gild, and as it fled along
The pleasant murmurs, mixt with the sweet song
Of aged Swannes, detayn'd the frequent eare
Of many a Nymph, which did inhabitt there:
Poore Psyche thither went, and from the brim,
In sad despaire threw her selfe headlong in.
The Rivers God; whither 'twere out of feare,
Duty, or love, or honour he did beare
Her husband; or least her spilt blood should staine
His christall current, threw her up againe:
But it is thought, he would not let her sinke,
Cause Cupid oft times would descend to drinke,
Or wash him in the Brooke, and when he came
To coole his owne heat, would the floud inflame.
Pan at that time sate playing on a reed,
Whilst his rough Goates did on the meddowes feed,
And with intentive eyes observed all,
That to the fayrest Psyche did befall;
Who seeing her thus pittiously distrest,
He ran to take her up, and did the best
He could to comfort her; faire maid, sayes he,
Though I a rustick, and a shepheard be,
Scorne not for that my counsell, and advice;
Nor let my trade become my prejudice,
I am indued with long experiment:
And if I doe conjecture it aright,
The cause of all this Phrensie, and dispight,
Which your sad lookes, and palenesse doe imply,
With other signes in Physiognomy,
By which wise men the truth of Art doe prove,
And know the state of minds, you are in love.
Now list to me, and doe not with fond hast
The sacred oyle of your lifes taper wast:
Vse no sinister meanes, to hasten on,
But labour to adjourne destruction,
Cast not away your selfe by too much griefe,
But courage take; for care is beauties thiefe:
Cupid I know, whose humour is to strive,
Then yeeld, then stay, then play the fugitive.
Be not dismayd for that, but shew your duty,
And above all things doe not spoyle your beauty,
Hee's delicate, and wanton, prayers may win,
And faire demeaoure may demerit him,
These are the medicines I would have you chuse,
To cure your minds health, and redresse abuse:
She gave him thankes, then rose from where she lay,
And having done obeysance went her way;
Thence did she wander on with weary feet,
And neither track, nor passenger could meet,
Vntill at length she found a Kingly roade
Which led unto a Palace, where aboade
Her eldest sister. Psyche enter'd in,
Then sent up newes, how one of her neere kin,
Was come to visite her, returne being made,
Psyche was brought before her; each invade
The other with embraces, and fulfill
A tedious scene of countefeit good will.
But when they had discours'd a while together,
She askt Psyche the cause, that brought her thither,
Who did recount the passages, and tell,
In order all the story that befell,
Which by degrees had ruind her; and laid
The blame on their lewd counsell, that betray'd
Her innocent soule, and her firme faith misled,
To murder her deare husband in his bed:
She told how she his certaine death decreed,
And how she rose to execute the deed:
She told, how like a Lyonesse she far'd,
And like an armed fury, how she star'd,
Or like a blazing comet in the ayre,
With fire, and sword, and with disshevell'd haire,
She told the trouble, and Epitasis,
When she beheld his Metamorphosis:
A spectacle, that ravisht her with joy,
A Serpent turn'd into a lovely boy,
Whose young, smoth face, might speake him boy or maid:
Cupid himselfe in a soft slumber lay'd,
She told too of the drop of scalding oyle,
That burnt his shoulder, and the heavy coyle
He kept, when he awakt, caus'd by the smart;
And how he chid, and how at last did part:
And for revenge, had threatned in her stead,
To make her sisters partners of his bed,
And twixt each word, she let a teare downe fall,
Which stopt her voyce, and made it musicall.
Thus Psyche at the last, finisht her story
Season'd with sharpe griefe, and sweet oratory,
Which was as long by her relation made,
As might have serv'd to stuffe an Iliade.
Such as Æneas unto Dido told,
Full of adventures, strange, and manifold.
Her sister by her lookes great joy did show,
Resolv'd in that, she did her husband know;
And therefore heard her out, with much applause,
And gave great heed, but chiefly to that clause
VVhere 'twas declar'd, that he her pompe, and state
To one of her owne sisters would translate.
VVhence gathering, that her selfe might be his bride,
She swelld with lust, with envy, and with pride;
And in this heate of passion did transcend
The Rock, where Zephirus us'd to attend
To waft her up and downe, and there call'd on
Him, that had now forsooke his station.
Yet through the vanity of hope made blind,
Though then there blew a contrary wind:
Invoking Cupid, that he would receive
Her for his spouse, she did her selfe bequeath
Vnto a fearefull precipice, and threw
Her body headlong downe, whose weight it drew
Towards the Center; for without support,
All heavy matter thither will resort.
In this her fall, the hard stones by the way,
Did greet her limbes with a discourteous stay:
Bruising her in that manner, that she dyed,
As if that she her Jury had denyed.
Her younger sister missing thus the chiefe
Copartner of her sorrows, pin'd for griefe.
This craggy rocke did overlook the sea,
Where greedy Neptune had eate in a bay,
And undermining it, much ground did win,
Where silver-footed Thetis, riding in
Vpon a bridled Dolphin, did explore,
And every tyde her armes stretcht on the shore,
Searching each creeke, and cranny, to augment
The confines of her watry regiment.
The sacred oyle of your lifes taper wast:
Vse no sinister meanes, to hasten on,
But labour to adjourne destruction,
Cast not away your selfe by too much griefe,
But courage take; for care is beauties thiefe:
Cupid I know, whose humour is to strive,
Then yeeld, then stay, then play the fugitive.
Be not dismayd for that, but shew your duty,
And above all things doe not spoyle your beauty,
Hee's delicate, and wanton, prayers may win,
And faire demeaoure may demerit him,
These are the medicines I would have you chuse,
To cure your minds health, and redresse abuse:
She gave him thankes, then rose from where she lay,
And having done obeysance went her way;
Thence did she wander on with weary feet,
And neither track, nor passenger could meet,
Vntill at length she found a Kingly roade
Which led unto a Palace, where aboade
Her eldest sister. Psyche enter'd in,
Then sent up newes, how one of her neere kin,
Was come to visite her, returne being made,
Psyche was brought before her; each invade
A tedious scene of countefeit good will.
But when they had discours'd a while together,
She askt Psyche the cause, that brought her thither,
Who did recount the passages, and tell,
In order all the story that befell,
Which by degrees had ruind her; and laid
The blame on their lewd counsell, that betray'd
Her innocent soule, and her firme faith misled,
To murder her deare husband in his bed:
She told how she his certaine death decreed,
And how she rose to execute the deed:
She told, how like a Lyonesse she far'd,
And like an armed fury, how she star'd,
Or like a blazing comet in the ayre,
With fire, and sword, and with disshevell'd haire,
She told the trouble, and Epitasis,
When she beheld his Metamorphosis:
A spectacle, that ravisht her with joy,
A Serpent turn'd into a lovely boy,
Whose young, smoth face, might speake him boy or maid:
Cupid himselfe in a soft slumber lay'd,
She told too of the drop of scalding oyle,
That burnt his shoulder, and the heavy coyle
He kept, when he awakt, caus'd by the smart;
And how he chid, and how at last did part:
And for revenge, had threatned in her stead,
To make her sisters partners of his bed,
And twixt each word, she let a teare downe fall,
Which stopt her voyce, and made it musicall.
Thus Psyche at the last, finisht her story
Season'd with sharpe griefe, and sweet oratory,
As might have serv'd to stuffe an Iliade.
Such as Æneas unto Dido told,
Full of adventures, strange, and manifold.
Her sister by her lookes great joy did show,
Resolv'd in that, she did her husband know;
And therefore heard her out, with much applause,
And gave great heed, but chiefly to that clause
VVhere 'twas declar'd, that he her pompe, and state
To one of her owne sisters would translate.
VVhence gathering, that her selfe might be his bride,
She swelld with lust, with envy, and with pride;
And in this heate of passion did transcend
The Rock, where Zephirus us'd to attend
To waft her up and downe, and there call'd on
Him, that had now forsooke his station.
Yet through the vanity of hope made blind,
Though then there blew a contrary wind:
Invoking Cupid, that he would receive
Her for his spouse, she did her selfe bequeath
Vnto a fearefull precipice, and threw
Her body headlong downe, whose weight it drew
Towards the Center; for without support,
All heavy matter thither will resort.
In this her fall, the hard stones by the way,
Did greet her limbes with a discourteous stay:
Bruising her in that manner, that she dyed,
As if that she her Jury had denyed.
Her younger sister missing thus the chiefe
Copartner of her sorrows, pin'd for griefe.
This craggy rocke did overlook the sea,
Where greedy Neptune had eate in a bay,
Where silver-footed Thetis, riding in
Vpon a bridled Dolphin, did explore,
And every tyde her armes stretcht on the shore,
Searching each creeke, and cranny, to augment
The confines of her watry regiment.
Whilst here she sate within a peerly chaire,
And round her all the Sea-gods did repaire,
To whom her lawes she did prescribe, by hap,
The mangled corps fell full into her lap.
Thetis, that once a child her selfe had borne,
Seeing so faire a body, fouly torne,
And bleeding fresh, judging some ravisher
Had done this injury, she did conferre
About the cure, and there were many found
Whose trade in Surgery, could heale a wound,
But none that might restore to life agen.
Such was the envy of the gods: for when
The scatter'd limbes of chast Hippolitus,
Were re-inspir'd by Æsculapius,
And by his Arts command together came,
And every bone and joynt put into frame:
That none with emulous skill, should dare the like,
Iove him to Hell did with his thunder strike.
But though she could not by her power controule
The Fates decree, to reunite the soule,
Into another shape she made it passe,
A doctrine held by old Pythagoras:
For stripping off her clothes, she made her skin
To weare a soft, and plumy coverin.
Her grisly nose was hardned to a bill,
And at each fingers end grew many a quill.
Her armes to pennons turn'd, and she in all
Chang'd to a Fowle, which men a Sea-gull call.
A Bird of evill nature, and set on
Much mischiefe, to whose composition,
A great part of her former malice went,
And was the principle ingredient.
For being thus transfigur'd, straight she swam
Into the bottom of the Ocean,
Where Neptune kept his Court, and pressing neere
To Venus seat, she whisper'd her i'th' eare,
How that her sonne lay desperately griev'd,
Sicke of a burne he lately had receiv'd,
And many by that meanes at her did scoffe,
And her whole family was ill spoken off.
For whilst that she her selfe, thus liv'd recluse,
And he his close adulteries did use:
No sport, or pleasure; no delight, or grace,
Friendship, nor marriage could find any place.
In Love no pledge, no harmony in life,
But every where confusion was, and strife.
Thus the vile Bird maliciously did prate,
And Cupids credit did calumniate.
Venus replyd, impatient, and hot,
What has my good sonne then a Mistresse got?
Which of the Nymphs, or Muses is his joy?
Who has inveigled the ingenious Boy?
VVhich of the Howers, or of the Graces all?
None of these, said the Bird, but men her call
Psyche. So soone as Venus heard her nam'd,
O how with indignation she exclaim'd?
VVhat my owne beauties rivall, is it she?
That plant, that sucker of my dignity,
And I his Bawd? VVith these words she ascended
To the Seas superficies, where attended
Her Doves both ready harnest, up she got,
And flew to Paphos in her chariot.
The Graces came about her, and in hast
VVhat the rough seas, or rude winds had misplac'd,
Did recompose with art and studious care,
Kembing the Cerule drops from her loose haire:
VVhich dry'd with Rosie powder, they did fold,
And bind it round up in a brayd of Gold.
These waite about her person still, and passe
Their judgement on her, equall with her glasse.
These are the onely Criticks, that debate
All beauty, and all fashions arbitrate:
These temper her Ceruse, and paint, and lim
Her face with oyle, and put her in her trim.
Twelve other Handmaids clad in white array,
Call'd the twelve Houres, and daughters of the day,
Did helpe to dresse her: there were added more,
Twelve of the night, whose eyes were shadowed ore
VVith dusky, and black vailes, least Vulcans light,
Or vapours should offend their bleared sight,
When they her linnen starch, or else prepare.
Strong distillations to make her faire.
These bring her bathes, and ointments for her eyes,
And provide Cordialls, 'gainst she shall arise.
These play on Musick, and perfume her bed,
And snuffe the Candle, while she lyes to read
Her selfe asleepe: thus all assign'd unto
Their severall office, had enough to doe.
And had they twenty times as many beene,
They all might be imploy'd about the Queene.
For though they vs'd more reverence, then at prayer,
And sate in counsell upon every haire,
And every pleat, and posture of her gowne,
Giving observance to each frequent frowne.
And rather wisht the state disordered were,
Then the least implement, that she did weare.
As if, of all, that were the greatest sin,
And that their fate were fastned to each pin:
Though their whole life, and study were to please,
Yet such a sullen humour, and disease
Raign'd in her curious eyes, she ever saught,
And scowling lookt, where she might find a fault,
Yet felt she no distemper from the care
Of other businesse, nor did any dare
To interpose, or put into her mind,
A thought of any, either foe, or friend,
Receipt, or payment, but they all were bent
To place each jewell, and each ornament.
And when that she was drest, and all was done,
Then she began to thinke upon her sonne,
And being absent, spake of him at large,
And lay'd strong aggravations to his charge.
She ript her wrongs up, how she had past by,
In hope of mendment, many an injury:
Yet nothing could reclaime his stubborne spleene
And wanton loosenesse, though she still had beene
Indulgent to him, as they all did know.
She talkt to of the duty, children owe
Vnto their parents, and did much complaine;
Since she had bore, and bred him up with paine,
Now for requitall, had receiv'd offence;
And sorely taxt his disobedience,
Then askt the Graces, if they could disclose
Where his new haunts were, and his Randevous,
For, she had trusted them, to over looke
As Guardians, and to guide, as with a hooke
His stragling nature, and they had done ill,
To slacke their hand, and leave him to his will;
Who, as she said, was a weake child, and none
Being neere, might soone into much mischiefe run.
They blushing smile, and thus alleadg; since she,
His Mother could not rule him, how can we
That are but Servants? whom he does despise,
And brandishes his torch against our eyes,
And in defiance, threats what he will doe,
Vpon the least distast, to shoote us through.
When Venus heard, how the world stood in awe
Of her sonnes desperate valoure, and no law
Might curbe his fiercenesse, flattery, nor force
Prevaile, she then resolv'd upon a course,
With open libels, and with hue and cry,
To publish to the world his infamy:
And therefore caus'd in every towne, and street,
And in all tryviall places, where wayes meet,
In these words or the like, upon each post,
A chartell to be fixt, that he was lost.
The wanton Cupid, t'other day,
And round her all the Sea-gods did repaire,
To whom her lawes she did prescribe, by hap,
The mangled corps fell full into her lap.
Thetis, that once a child her selfe had borne,
Seeing so faire a body, fouly torne,
And bleeding fresh, judging some ravisher
Had done this injury, she did conferre
About the cure, and there were many found
Whose trade in Surgery, could heale a wound,
But none that might restore to life agen.
Such was the envy of the gods: for when
The scatter'd limbes of chast Hippolitus,
Were re-inspir'd by Æsculapius,
And by his Arts command together came,
And every bone and joynt put into frame:
That none with emulous skill, should dare the like,
Iove him to Hell did with his thunder strike.
But though she could not by her power controule
The Fates decree, to reunite the soule,
Into another shape she made it passe,
A doctrine held by old Pythagoras:
For stripping off her clothes, she made her skin
To weare a soft, and plumy coverin.
Her grisly nose was hardned to a bill,
And at each fingers end grew many a quill.
Chang'd to a Fowle, which men a Sea-gull call.
A Bird of evill nature, and set on
Much mischiefe, to whose composition,
A great part of her former malice went,
And was the principle ingredient.
For being thus transfigur'd, straight she swam
Into the bottom of the Ocean,
Where Neptune kept his Court, and pressing neere
To Venus seat, she whisper'd her i'th' eare,
How that her sonne lay desperately griev'd,
Sicke of a burne he lately had receiv'd,
And many by that meanes at her did scoffe,
And her whole family was ill spoken off.
For whilst that she her selfe, thus liv'd recluse,
And he his close adulteries did use:
No sport, or pleasure; no delight, or grace,
Friendship, nor marriage could find any place.
In Love no pledge, no harmony in life,
But every where confusion was, and strife.
Thus the vile Bird maliciously did prate,
And Cupids credit did calumniate.
Venus replyd, impatient, and hot,
What has my good sonne then a Mistresse got?
Which of the Nymphs, or Muses is his joy?
Who has inveigled the ingenious Boy?
VVhich of the Howers, or of the Graces all?
None of these, said the Bird, but men her call
Psyche. So soone as Venus heard her nam'd,
O how with indignation she exclaim'd?
VVhat my owne beauties rivall, is it she?
That plant, that sucker of my dignity,
To the Seas superficies, where attended
Her Doves both ready harnest, up she got,
And flew to Paphos in her chariot.
The Graces came about her, and in hast
VVhat the rough seas, or rude winds had misplac'd,
Did recompose with art and studious care,
Kembing the Cerule drops from her loose haire:
VVhich dry'd with Rosie powder, they did fold,
And bind it round up in a brayd of Gold.
These waite about her person still, and passe
Their judgement on her, equall with her glasse.
These are the onely Criticks, that debate
All beauty, and all fashions arbitrate:
These temper her Ceruse, and paint, and lim
Her face with oyle, and put her in her trim.
Twelve other Handmaids clad in white array,
Call'd the twelve Houres, and daughters of the day,
Did helpe to dresse her: there were added more,
Twelve of the night, whose eyes were shadowed ore
VVith dusky, and black vailes, least Vulcans light,
Or vapours should offend their bleared sight,
When they her linnen starch, or else prepare.
Strong distillations to make her faire.
These bring her bathes, and ointments for her eyes,
And provide Cordialls, 'gainst she shall arise.
These play on Musick, and perfume her bed,
And snuffe the Candle, while she lyes to read
Her selfe asleepe: thus all assign'd unto
Their severall office, had enough to doe.
And had they twenty times as many beene,
They all might be imploy'd about the Queene.
And sate in counsell upon every haire,
And every pleat, and posture of her gowne,
Giving observance to each frequent frowne.
And rather wisht the state disordered were,
Then the least implement, that she did weare.
As if, of all, that were the greatest sin,
And that their fate were fastned to each pin:
Though their whole life, and study were to please,
Yet such a sullen humour, and disease
Raign'd in her curious eyes, she ever saught,
And scowling lookt, where she might find a fault,
Yet felt she no distemper from the care
Of other businesse, nor did any dare
To interpose, or put into her mind,
A thought of any, either foe, or friend,
Receipt, or payment, but they all were bent
To place each jewell, and each ornament.
And when that she was drest, and all was done,
Then she began to thinke upon her sonne,
And being absent, spake of him at large,
And lay'd strong aggravations to his charge.
She ript her wrongs up, how she had past by,
In hope of mendment, many an injury:
Yet nothing could reclaime his stubborne spleene
And wanton loosenesse, though she still had beene
Indulgent to him, as they all did know.
She talkt to of the duty, children owe
Vnto their parents, and did much complaine;
Since she had bore, and bred him up with paine,
Now for requitall, had receiv'd offence;
And sorely taxt his disobedience,
Where his new haunts were, and his Randevous,
For, she had trusted them, to over looke
As Guardians, and to guide, as with a hooke
His stragling nature, and they had done ill,
To slacke their hand, and leave him to his will;
Who, as she said, was a weake child, and none
Being neere, might soone into much mischiefe run.
They blushing smile, and thus alleadg; since she,
His Mother could not rule him, how can we
That are but Servants? whom he does despise,
And brandishes his torch against our eyes,
And in defiance, threats what he will doe,
Vpon the least distast, to shoote us through.
When Venus heard, how the world stood in awe
Of her sonnes desperate valoure, and no law
Might curbe his fiercenesse, flattery, nor force
Prevaile, she then resolv'd upon a course,
With open libels, and with hue and cry,
To publish to the world his infamy:
And therefore caus'd in every towne, and street,
And in all tryviall places, where wayes meet,
In these words or the like, upon each post,
A chartell to be fixt, that he was lost.
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.
When this edict was openly declar'd
And Venus importunity; none dar'd
To be so much of counsell, as to hide,
And not reveale, where Cupid did abide.
There was an old Nimph of th' Idalian grove,
Grand-child to Faune, a Dryad; whom great Iove
Had ravisht in her youth, and for a fee,
In recompence of her Virginity,
Did make Immortall, and with wisedome fill,
And her endewed with a Prophetick skill,
And knowledge of all Hearbes; she could apply
To every greife a perfect remedy,
Were it in mind, or body, and was sage,
And waighty in her counsell, to aswage
Any disease; she had the goverment
Of the whole Pallace, and was president
Of all the Nimphs, for Venus did commit
Such power, to doe; what ever she thought fit.
And would have hid his shame with all her heart:
But that she fear'd her Mistresse to displease,
If it should after chance the Dryades
Betray'd her; therefore she durst doe no other,
But to send private word unto his Mother,
Where her sonne was, and how he hid his head,
And groaning lay upon his Mothers bed.
Soone as this newes was brought her, Venus went,
Blowne with the winde, and her owne discontent.
And there began to scold, and rayle, before
She did arrive within the chamber dore.
Are these things honest, which I heare sayes she,
And suiting with our fame and pedegree?
Seducing trisler, have you set at large
Mine enemy, whom I gave up in charge,
That thou shouldst captivate, and set on fire,
With sordid, but unquenchable desire?
But since; that thou mightst the more stubborn prove,
Hast fetter'd her unto thy selfe in love;
Seemes you presume, that you are onely he,
The Chick of the white Hen, and still must be.
And I, by reason of my age, quite done,
Cannot conceive, nor beare another sonne.
Yes know I can, and for thy more disgrace,
I will adopt another in thy place.
I'le take away that wicked stuffe, with which
Thou dost abuse thy betters, and bewitch
Each age, and sexe, and not without delight,
Thine Vncle Mars, and thine owne Mother smite.
Then burne those armes, which were ordain'd to doe
Better exploits, then thou imploy'st them to.
And dost without all reverence, or regard,
Provoke thy elders, but Iove, here I wish,
I ne're may eate of a celestiall dish:
Vnlesse I turne this tryumph to offence,
This sweet to sower, this sport to penitence.
But I thus scorned, wither shall I fly?
There is a Matron call'd Sobriety,
Whom I have oft offended, through his vaine
Luxurious riot, yet I must complaine
To her, and at her hands expect the full
Of my revenge, she shall his quiver pull,
Vnhead his arrows, and his Bow unstring;
Put out his Torch, and then away it fling.
His golden locks with Nectar all imbrewd,
Which I from my owne bosome have bedew'd.
His various wings, the Raine-bow never yet,
Was in such order, nor such colours set:
She shall without remorse both cut, and pare,
And every feather clip, and every haire.
And then, and not till then, it shall suffice,
That I have done my wrongs this sacrifice.
Thus full of choler, did she Cupid threat,
And having eas'd her mind, did backe retreat.
But making haste, with this distemper'd looke,
Ceres, and Iuno both, she overtooke:
Who seeing her with such a troubled brow,
Did earnestly demand, the manner how
She came so vext, and who had power to shrowd
Her glorious beauty in so black a clowd.
You cannot chuse but heare, Venus reply'd,
How I have beene abus'd, on every side.
And caught Mars, and my selfe, both in his net:
And then expos'd us naked to the eyes
Of Heaven, and the whole bench of Deities.
'Tis a knowne tale; and to make up the jest,
One god, lesse supercilious then the rest,
Told Mars, if those his fetters made him sweat,
He would endure the burthen, and the heat.
Time wore out this disgrace, but now your art
Must drive another sorrow from my heart:
And if you love me, use your best of skill,
To seeke out Psyche, she hath done this ill.
Cupid my sonne, has chose her for his spouse,
That is the onely plague vnto my house.
Lady, said they, alack what hurt is done,
Or crime in this committed by your sonne?
Is this a cause, fit to provoke your spight;
T'impugne his sports, and hinder his delight?
What imputation on your house were layd,
Though he should set his fancy on a Maid?
You may allow his Patent for to passe,
That he may love a blith, and bonny Lasse.
What you forget, that he is well in yeeres,
And tis a comfort to you, that he beares
His age so well; therefore you must not pry
Into his actions so narrowly.
For with what Justice can you disapprove
That in your sonne, which in your selfe you love?
Is't fit, that seeds of love by you be sowne
In others hearts, and banisht from your owne?
You have an interest, in all that's his:
Both prais'd for good, both blam'd for what's amisse.
Held wise, and must give way: thus they for feare
Of Cupids Arrowes, did him patronize.
But Venus scorning that her injuries
VVere no more pittied, her swift Doves did raigne,
And took her way towards the Sea againe.
The end of the first Booke.
| Cvpid and Psiche | |