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Ad Cupidinem

O Cupid that doest never cease my smart,
O boy that lyest so slothfull in my heart.
Why me that alwayes was thy souldiour found,
Doest harme, and in thy tents why doest me wound?
Why burnes thy brand, why strikes thy bow thy friends?
More glory by thy vanquisht foes assends.
Did not Pelides whom his Speare did grieve,
Being requirde, with speedy helpe relieve?
Hunters leave taken beasts, pursue the chase,
And then things found do ever flirther pace.
We people wholy given thee, feele thine armes,
Thy dull hand stayes thy striving enemies harmes.
Doest joy to have thy hooked Arrowes shaked,
In naked bones? love hath my bones left naked.
So many men and maidens without love,
Hence with great laude thou maiest a triumph move.
Rome if her strength the huge world had not fild,
With strawie cabins now her courts should build.
The weary souldiour hath the conquerd fields,
His sword layed by, safe, though rude places yeelds.
The Docke in harbours ships drawne from the flouds,
Horse freed from service range abroad the woods.
And time it was for me to live in quiet,
That have so oft serv'd pretty wenches dyet.
Yet should I curse a God, if he but said,
Live without love, so sweete ill is a maide.
For when my loathing it of heate deprives me,
I know not whether my mindes whirle-wind drives me.
Even as a head-strong courser beares away,
His rider vainely striving him to stay,
Or as a sodaine gale thrustes into sea,
The haven touching barcke now nere the lea,
So wavering Cupid bringes me backe amaine,
And purple Love resumes his dartes againe.
Strike boy, I offer thee my naked brest,
Heere thou hast strength, here thy right hand doth rest.
Here of themselves thy shafts come, as if shot,
Better then I their quiver knowes them not.
Haples is he that all the night lies quiet
And slumbring, thinkes himselfe much blessed by it.
Foole, what is sleepe but image of cold death,
Long shalt thou rest when Fates expire thy breath.
But me let crafty damsells words deceive,
Great joyes by hope I inly shall conceive.
Now let her flatter me, now chide me hard,
Let me enjoy her oft, oft be debard.
Cupid by thee, Mars in great doubt doth trample,
And thy step-father fights by thy example.
Light art thou, and more windie then thy winges,
Joyes with uncertaine faith thou takest and brings.
Yet Love, if thou with thy faire mother heare,
Within my brest no desert empire beare.
Subdue the wandring wenches to thy raigne,
So of both people shalt thou homage gaine.

load focus English (various, 1855)
hide References (3 total)
  • Commentary references to this page (2):
    • John Conington, Commentary on Vergil's Aeneid, Volume 2, 10.722
    • John Conington, Commentary on Vergil's Aeneid, Volume 2, 12.848
  • Cross-references to this page (1):
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