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A Courtlie controuersie of Cupids Cautels

Conteyning fiue Tragicall Histories, very pithie, pleasant, pitiful, and profitable: Discoursed uppon wyth Argumentes of Loue, by three Gentlemen and two Gentlewomen, entermedled with diuers delicate Sonets and Rithmes, exceeding delightfull to refresh the yrkesomnesse of tedious tyme. Translated out of French as neare as our English phrase will permit, by H. VV. Gentleman [i.e. Henry Wotton]
 

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The fourth dayes delight.
 
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201

The fourth dayes delight.


206

The Satyres song.

1

Leaue we the forrest, springs, and spraye,
The brooks and medows greene,
VVhere auntient Nimphs their nets do laye,
Full secreately vnseene.
For scorching Sommer hath berefte
All beautye from them both,
And Zephire, hath no breathings lefte,
His sighing griefes to loath.

2

Go we, the Stockdoue to pursue,
That leaues the verdant Groue,
And wandereth, seeking shadows newe,
VVhere vined Elmes do moue:
But come companions, and beholde
A hedge of grapes all blacke,
Lets presse the iuyce with visage bolde,
The newe wine hath good smacke.

3

Ho Bromia thy guilded horne
VVithin my viewe doth shine,
VVhiche faire garlands doth adorne
Of Thirce Mysien thine:
I heare thy pipe at hande reioyce,
And Bacchus taber passe,
Ay me, I heare the weeping voice
Of olde Silenus Asse.

4

O father with the crimsen face,
Thy puissaunt force hath wonne
Thy traine to be of youthfull race,
Thou brother to the Sunne:
In daliaunce, warre, and Louers game,
Right lustie, fierce, and fine,
And not as fooles do blase thy fame,
A slouthfull sleepy swine.

5

The sparkling thunder wherewithall
Thy mother was exilde,

207

Did not thy burning birth appall,
Nor daintie fleshe defilde:
And twice, within thy father, thou
Nine months didste finishe quite,
Then was, in time with dregs inough
Thy rocking cradle dight.

6

No cloth, or biggin did thee clad,
Thou neuer suckedst teate,
No other nurse thou neuer had,
But thy full gobbelet:
The often licking out whereof,
From droughte did keepe thee aye,
Then dauncing with the drunkerds cough
On meadow softe thou laye.

7

The ouer-bolde Pentheus felte
Thy puissaunt furie fell,
So knewe they that in India dwelt,
Thy victors arme right well:
VVhere they thy fretted fleshe did see,
VVhiche yoked Tygers drewe,
And of greate force thy wrath to bee,
Licurge did taste and viewe.

8

VVhē thou hadst traste the world, to hel,
It pleasde thee to discend,
VVhere neare thy side the furies fell,
Came, and to thee did bende:
And Cerberus, blacke ougly hounde,
All fearefull thee to see,
Did licke thy tender thigh, and rounde
Thy buskin, foote, and knee.

9

Thou madste the okes sweet hony sweat
And rocks with milke to floe,
And fountaines run good wine and neate,
Ere thou to heauen didst goe:

208

VVhether thou leadst thy louers corps
And crowned hir with starres,
Thy soueraigne graces are of force
To conquere cruell warres.

10

VVithout thee nothing can be faire,
Ne gentle, nor of grace:
So Princelike she of louers care
Approued well the cace:
VVhen in a pleasante herbor greene
Shee closely kissing thee,
Did childe with ioy, of Gardens fine
The onely deitie.

11

O frend of Nimphs, that haūt the brooks
Of golden Sirens wordes,
Of wandering Driades daintie lookes,
O friende to pretie burdes,
That pecke vppon the reasyn sweete,
And hang vppon thy breaste,
A frend she shews hirselfe full meete,
VVhen on their scrippes you rest.

12

Thou doste vpholde the feeble wighte,
Thou counsellest the wise,
Thou giuest cowardes hart to fight,
The poore good hope to rise:
Thou makest age againe growe young,
The sadde thou makest gladde,
Thou doste the face and pleasaunt tongue
VVith orient crimsen cladde.

13

Giue vs O Bacchus, sance delay,
A tunne full of thy muste:
So maye thy crowne of greene so gay,
Be plight with flowers iuste:
And neuer maye the snaile haue power
Vppon the same to crall,

209

VVe will commaunde them flee thy bower,
And on thy foes to fall.

14

Meane while, we will all praises sing
In honoure of thy Vine,
And yeeld a recompence condigne
To thee and thy workemen fine:
VVith hooke and cutting kniues, we will
Of grapes greate mountaines make,
And in the benigne shadowe still
All knobs awaye will take.