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 fourth Section.
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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.
| Cvpid and Psiche | |