An invective against Cupid.
1710Thou Love, if thou wilt suffer this, be blind,
Deaf, dumb, and stupid, and unwisely kind
More unto slights than merits, and reward
Respects and negligence with same regard.
If satins difference and maids adorn
Than Nature has with beauty, more with scorn,
That they must fligger, scoff, deride, and jeer,
Appoint their servants certain hours t' appear,
Afford by number kisses, sights by tale,
Command a certain distance, and impale
1720Love's game from taste or touch, and, if at all
Men do transgress, steep all their words in gall,
Check but the least presumption, and with frowns
Strike as much terror unto us as crowns—
Love, if thou'lt suffer this, and wink at them,
Make us esteem a pebble for a gem,
Stoop, cringe, adore, sue, flatter, and admire,
And in our bosoms teen'st thy amorous fire—
May all the haggish Furies soundly lash
And with their snaky whips thy sinews gash!
1730May all the tortures Hell encloseth fall
On thee, if not enough, and more than all.
But we—we men, will be no more thy slaves
And women's too: we'll pack unto our graves:
And in our silent beds of earth will court
The slender-waisted worms, and with them sport,
Dally, hug, toy, and vow their wimbling buss
Is full as sweet as women's was to us.
Enwalled with dust we'll lie: till Nature shall
Perceive thy malice, Cupid, and her fall,
1740And woo's, with sighs and tears in loving guise,
For a replantage of the world, to rise,
Then shall our wills ungod thee and thy mother,
And Cupids be ourselves one to another.
Then in thy temples shall no voice be heard,
But screech-owls, dors, and daws; no altar reared
Whereon to sacrifice true lovers' hearts,
Scalded with sighs, and gallèd with thy darts.
For we ourselves ourselves will temples call,
And make our bosoms altars, whereon shall
1750From fourteen to fourscore the females fairs
Burn frankincense of love with sighs and prayers:
And change the custom so that maidens then
Shall court, admire, adore, and woo us men.
This said, he strove t' unbillow all with slumbers,
But th' more he strove to rest less rest he takes.
His watchful thoughts each tattling minute numbers,
Bellama's wakening beauty him awakes.
And having purchased sleep, though they were dim,
Bellama's beauty darted rays at him.
1760Then, starting up her substance fair to catch,
He lost the shadow, and did rave again:
'Can grovelling brambles lofty cedars scratch?
Or waddling ducks o'ertop the tow'ring crane?
Yet virtues, imped with person, reach a sky,
And to an higher pitch than Fortune fly.
There is a tree (as our historians write),
Alpina hight, of fair and glorious glee,
With branches fine and glorious blossoms dight
But never tasted by the witty bee,
1770Fearing death lodgeth there; and this he fears
'Cause to the eye so glorious it appears.
Not much unlike to these our women are,
Whom Nature has in dainty colours dressed;
And of our women likest are the fair,
For with much beauty virtues seldom rest.
Would Jove all women I had judged to be
Alpina-like, or, if not all, yet she!
The queen of beauty strumpet was to Mars,
Officious bawd unto lascivious Jove,
1780A patroness of those that ride in cars,
And in her court nor virtue reigns nor love:
But lust and vanity, with wily trains,
That he repentance buys which beauty gains.
Sh'as many trulls, like Menelaus' wife,
And she such light-skirt things for chaste ones sells;
With whom dissembling and deceits are rife,
Smiles, tears, sighs, looks, with such enchanting spells.
If they but bend their brows and shoot out frowns,
They crack a sceptre and distemple crowns.
1790Yet stay: but by the sour we know not sweet,
White's silver hue adjoined to black shines best,
How should we know our hands but by our feet?
Health's only prized when sickness doth arrest.
This principle, perhaps, Bellama holds:
Summer is known by winter's chilling colds.
Perchance Bellama did not breath that woe,
Which by Bardino was conveyed to me,
Nor dwelt upon her lips that scornful "No":
'Twas only forgèd by her dame and he.
[1800]But—why should suspicion steal into my breast?
Suspect a friend, deceit with friendship rest?
No: Phaeton, base son to Day's bright blaze,
Daring his chariot, felt Jove's thunder fire.
Astronomers, whilst on the stars they gaze,
Oft-times do sink into the dirty mire.
Only the eagle, without purblind damps,
Can fix his eyes upon the prince of lamps.
The son of Daedalus soared up so high,
That Phoebus plucked his waxen jointed wings,
1810It was her pride checked my ambitious eye.
True love, to hatred changed by slights, has stings.
I'll write invectives: no! I'll only try
What virtue dwells in slighting poesie.'