A Moral Poem, Entitled the Legend of CUPID and Psyche. Or CUPID and his MISTRESS.  
As it was lately presented to the Prince Elector.  
Written by Shackerley Marmion, Gent.  

Lucrece my book, 'fore Brutus did refrain,  
But Brutus gone, she took it up again.   
LONDON; Printed by N. and I. Okes, and are to be sold by H. Sheppard, at his shop in Chancery lane near Sergeant's Inn, at the Bible. 1637.   

TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY, CHARLES LODOWICK, Prince Elector, Count Palatine of the Rhine, Arch Dapifer, Vicar of the Sacred Empire, Duke of Bavaria, and Knight of the most Noble order of the Garter.  
High and Mighty Prince:  
IT is not the greatness of an Oblation, but the sincerity which the gods are delighted with: from this hope, and out of an ambitious zeal, to become your adorers, the Muses amidst so many, and rich presents, have prepared this slender offering, and are themselves both the Priests, and the Sacrifice: Their devotion is clothed with purity, and their affections, are both earnest and powerful; for their wishes of your happiness are no less than assurance, and their desires prophecies: For this Poem, it was yours e'er conceived; and the hope of being so, was both the efficient & final cause of its production; for the Dedication was elder than the birth of it: And however in the outward bark and title thereof, it appear painted with vanity, yet is that, but as a light garment to cover more deep and weighty mysteries.  
The dignity of the Subject thus calculated, the season of the year partly warrants an acceptation, but chief those royal and fresh springing ornaments of Candour and ignenuity, which are so conspicuous through your greatness: It has ever been the privilege of Poesy; to claim access to the best and, most noble persons; and if this work shall be so happy, as to bear the impress of your Princely approbation, it shall then pass currant to the World, and publish the great honour done to  
Your Highness' most humbly devoted: SHACKERLEY MARMION.   

To his worthy friend Master Shackerley Marmion, upon his Poem of Cupid and Psyche.  
TO give the world assurance, in this cold  
And leaden age, that Love must ne'er be old,  
Cupid and Psyche thou hast rendered more  
Youthful and fair, than did the age of gold:  
And if the sweetness they had heretofore  
Found least decay, thou dost it now restore  
With large increase, in structing Love to love,  
And in his Mistress more affection move,  
In this thy Poem; which thou hadst a pen  
From Loves own wing to write, powerful above  
His shafts: For thou same Iron hearts of men  
Hast made in Love with Poesy; that till then  
Can not discern her beauty, and less see  
Her excellence, as it is drawn out by thee,  
In perfect Lovelines: Cupid smiles to see't,  
And crownes his Mistress with thy Poetry,  
Composed of syllables, that kiss more sweet  
Than Violets and Roses when they meet:  
And we, thine Arts just Lovers, as we look  
On Cupid kissing Psyche, kiss thy Book.  
Rich. Brome.   

To his loving friend, Mr. Shackerley Marmion, the Author.  
FRiend, I have read thy Poem, full of wit,  
A Masterpiece, I'll set my seal to it:  
Let Judges read, and ignorance be gone:  
'Tis not for vulgar thumbs to sweat upon  
This learned work: thy Muse flies in her place:  
And Eaglelike, looks Phoebus in the face.  
Let those voluminous Authors, that affect  
Fame rather great, than good, thy worth reject.  
Jewels are small: how'nlike art thou to those,  
That tyre out Rhyme, and Verse, till they troth Prose?  
And ride the Muses Pegasus, poor jade,  
Till he be found red; and make that their trade:  
And to fill up the sufferings of the beast,  
Foot in themselves three hundred miles at least.  
These have no mercy on the Paper rheames,  
But produce plays, as school boys do write themes.  
Thou keep'st thy Muse in breath, and if men wage  
Gold on her head, will better run the stage:  
And 'tis more praise, than hadst thou labouted in't,  
To brand the world with twenty such in print.  
Francis Tuckyr.   

To his worthy friend Master Shackerley Marmion, upon his Poem of Cupid and Psyche.  
TO give the world assurance, in this cold  
And leaden age, that Love must ne'er be old,  
Cupid and Psyche thou hast rendered more  
Youthful and fair, than did the age of gold:  
And if the sweetness they had heretofore  
Found least decay, thou dost it now restore  
With large increase, in structing Love to love,  
And in his Mistress more affection move,  
In this thy Poem; which thou hadst a pen  
From Loves own wing to write, powerful above  
His shafts: For thou same Iron hearts of men  
Hast made in Love with Poesy; that till then  
Can not discern her beauty, and less see  
Her excellence, as it is drawn out by thee,  
In perfect Lovelines: Cupid smiles to see't,  
And crownes his Mistress with thy Poetry,  
Composed of syllables, that kiss more sweet  
Than Violets and Roses when they meet:  
And we, thine Arts just Lovers, as we look  
On Cupid kissing Psyche, kiss thy Book.  
Rich. Brome.   

To his loving friend, Mr. Shackerley Marmion, the Author.  
FRiend, I have read thy Poem, full of wit,  
A Masterpiece, I'll set my seal to it:  
Let Judges read, and ignorance be gone:  
'Tis not for vulgar thumbs to sweat upon  
This learned work: thy Muse flies in her place:  
And Eaglelike, looks Phoebus in the face.  
Let those voluminous Authors, that affect  
Fame rather great, than good, thy worth reject.  
Jewels are small: how'nlike art thou to those,  
That tyre out Rhyme, and Verse, till they troth Prose?  
And ride the Muses Pegasus, poor jade,  
Till he be found red; and make that their trade:  
And to fill up the sufferings of the beast,  
Foot in themselves three hundred miles at least.  
These have no mercy on the Paper rheames,  
But produce plays, as school boys do write themes.  
Thou keep'st thy Muse in breath, and if men wage  
Gold on her head, will better run the stage:  
And 'tis more praise, than hadst thou labouted in't,  
To brand the world with twenty such in print.  
Francis Tuckyr.   

To his true friend the Author, Master Shackerley Marmion, etc.  

WHat need I rack the limbs of my weak Muse,  
To fill a page might serve for better use?  
Then make some squint-eyed Reader censure me  
A Flatterer, for justly praising thee?  
It is enough, (and in that causes right  
Many thy former works may boldly fight)   

He for a good one must this piece allow,  
Reads but the Title, and thy Name below.   
Tho. Nabbes.   

Of my worthy friend, Mr. Shackerley Marmion, upon his Poem, of Cupid and Psyche.  
LOve and the Soul are two things, both Divine,  
Thy task (friend Marmion) now, which once was mine.  
What I writ was Dramatical; thy Muse  
Runs in an Epic strain, which they still use,  
Who writ Heroic Poems. Thine is such,  
Which when I read, I could not praise too much.  
The Argument is high, and not within  
Their shallow reach to catch, who hold no sin  
To tax, what they conceive not; the best minds  
judge trees by fruit, not by their leaves and rinds.  
And such can find (full knowledge having gained)  
In leaden Fables, golden truths contained.  
Thy subjects of that nature, a sublime  
And weighty rapture, which being clothed in rhyme,  
Carries such sweetness with't, as hadst thou sung  
Unto Apollo's Harp, being newly strung.  
These, had they issued from an others Pen,  
A stranger, and unknown to me, I then  
Can not have been so pleased: But from a Friend,  
Where I might envy, I must now commend.  
And glad I am this fair course thou hast run,  
Vnvext to see myself so fare out done.  
Twixt Jntimates, who mutual love profess,  
More's not required, and mine could show no less.  
Thomas Heywood.   

The Argument.  
THere were inhabitant in a certain City, a King and Queen, who had three Daughters; the elder two of a moderate, and mean beauty; but the youngest was of so curious, so pleasing a feature, and exact symmetry of body, that men esteemed her generally a Goddess, and the Venus of the earth. Her sisters being happily married to their desires and dignities, she only out of a super-excellency of perfection, became rather the subject of adoration, then Love. Venus conceiving an offence, and envious of her good parts, incites Cupid to a revenge, and severe vindication of his mother's honour. Cupid like a fine Archer, coming to execute his mother's design, falls in love with the maid, and wounds himself. Apollo, by Cupid's subornation, adjudges her in marriage to a Serpent. Upon which, like Andromeda, she is left chained to a Rock, her marriage being celebrated, rather with funeral obsequies, than Hymeneal solemnities. In this miserable affright she is borne fare away by the west Wind, to a goodly fair house, whose wealth and stateliness no praise can determine. Her husband in the deadness, and solitude of night, did ofttimes enjoy her, and as he entered in obscurity, so he departed in silence, without once making himself known unto her: thus she continued for a long season, being only waited upon by the ministry of the winds, and voices; Her sisters came every day to feeke, and bewail her; and though her husband did with many threats prohibit her the sight of them; yet natural affection prevailed above conjugal duty; for she never ceased with tears to solicit him, till he had permitted their access. They no no sooner arrived, but instantly corrupt her, and with wicked counsel deprave her understanding, infusing a belief, that she had married, and did nightly embrace a true Serpent; nor are they yet contented to turn the heaven of her security into the hell of suspicion, but with many importunities proceed, exhorting her to kill him, which she also assents unto: Thus credulity proves the mother of deceit, and curiosity the Stepmother of safety: Having thus prepared for his destruction, the Scene is altered, and she acts the Tragedy of her own happy fortunes; for coming with an intent to mischief him, so soon as the light had discovered what he was, she falls into an extremity of love and passion, being altogether ravished with his beauty and habiliments; and while she kisses him, with as little modesty as care; the burning Lamp drops upon his shoulder, whereupon her husband furiously awakes, and having with many expostulations abandoned her falsehood, scorns and forsakes her: the maid after a tedious pilgrimage to regain his love and society: Ceres and Juno having both repulsed her, freely at the last offers up herself to Venus, where through her injunctions and imperious commands: she is coursely entreated, and set to many hard and grievous tasks: as first the separation of several grains; with the fetching of the Stygian water, and the golden fleece, and the box of beauty from Proserpina; all which by divine assistance being performed, she is reconciled, and in the presence of all the gods married to her husband: the wedding is solemnised in heaven.   

The Mitheology.  
BY the City is meant the World: by the King and Queen, God, and Nature: by the two elder sisters, the flesh and the will: by the last the soul, which is the most beautiful, and the youngest, since she is infused, after the body is fashioned: Venus, by which is understood lust is feigned to envy her, and stir up Cupid, which is Desire, to destroy her: But because Desire has equal relation both to good and evil, he is here brought in to love the soul, and to be joined with her, whom also he persuades not to see his face; that is, not to learn his delights and vanities: for Adam, though he were naked, yet he saw it not, till he had eaten of the tree of concupiscence. And whereas, she is said to burn him, with the despumation of the Lamp; by that is understood, that she vomits out the flames of desire, which was hid in her breast; for desire the more it is kindled, the more it burns, and makes as it were a blister in the mind. thus, like Eve, being made naked through desire, she is cast out of all happiness, exhiled from her house, and tossed with many dangers: By Ceres and juno both repulsing of her, is meant, that neither wealth, nor honour, can secure a distressed soul: in the separation of several grains, is understood the act of the soul, which is recollection; and the substance of, that act, her forepast sins: by her going to hell and those several occurrences, are meant the many degrees of despair: by the Stygian water, the tears of repentance; and by the golden fleece, her forgiveness. All which, as in the argument is specified, being by divine providence accomplished, she is married to her spouse in heaven.   

A Moral Poem, Entitled the Legend of CUPID and PSYCHE.  


THE FIRST SECTION.  

TRuth says of old, and we must owe that truth  
Unto tradition, when the world in youth,  
which was the gloden age, brought for the pen,  
Love and the Muses, which since gave to men  
Inheritance of Fame, for these began  
At once, and were all coetanean.  
A happy season, when the air was clear;  
No sickness, nor infection did appear,  
No sullen change of seasons did molest  
The fruitful soil, but the whole year was blessed  
With a perpetual Spring, no Winter storm  
Did crispe the Hills, nor mildew blast the Corn:  
Yet happier fare, in that it forth did bring  
The subject of this verse, whereof I sing  
Under the Zenith of Heavens milk-white way,  
Is a fair country called Lusinia,  
'Tis Nature's chiefest Wardrobe, where do lie  
Her ornaments of rich variety:  
Where first her glorious Mantle she puts on,  
When through the world she rides procession;  
Here dwelled a King and Queen of mighty power,  
Judged for their virtues, worthy such a dower.  
They had betwixt themselves three Daughters born,  
Conspicuous for their comeliness and form.  
The elder two did neither much excel,  
But then the younger had no parallel;  
Whose lovely cheeks with Heavenly lustre shone,  
And eyes were fare too bright to look upon:  
Nay, it is credible, though fancies wing  
Should mount above the Orbs, and thence down bring  
Th' Elixir of all beauty, and dispense  
Unto one creature, the whole influence,  
And harmony of the Spears, it might not dare  
With her for face and feature, to compare  
Zeuxis the painter, who to draw one piece,  
Survayed the choicest Virgins of all Greece,  
Had rested here, his Art without this stir,  
Might have been bounded, and confined in her.  
Look how the spiced fields in Autumn smell,  
And rich perfumes, that in Arabia dwell:  
Such was her fragrant sweetness, the Sun's Bird,  
The Phoenix fled fare off, and was afeard  
To be seen near, lest she his pride should quell,  
Or make him seem a common spectacle.  
Nor did the painted Peacock once presume,  
Within her presence to display his plume.  
Nor Rose, nor Lily durst their Silks unfold,  
But shut their leaves up like the Mary gold.  
They all had been ill favoured, she alone  
Was judged the Mistress of perfection.  
Her fame spread fare abroad, and thither brought  
Thousands, that gazing worshipped her, and thought  
The God desk, whom the greene-faced Sea had bred,  
And dew of foaming waves had nourished.  
Venus herself, regardiesse of her honour,  
Did live with mortals, whosoever looked on her,  
Even most profane, did think she was divine,  
And grudged not to do worship to her shrine.  
For this cause, Venus' Temples were defaced,  
Her sacrifice, and Ceremonies razed;  
Her widowed Altars in cold ashes mourned,  
Her Images uncrowned, her Groves deformed:  
Her Rites were all polluted with contempt,  
For none to Paphos, nor Cytheros went.  
This Maid was sole adored, Venus displeased,  
Might in this Virgin only be appeased:  
The people in the street to her would bow,  
And as she passed along, would Garlands strew.  
Venus at this conceived a jealous ire,  
(For heavenly minds burn with an earthly fire)  
And spoke with indignation, what shall I,  
Mother of Elements, and lostiest sky,  
Beginner of the world, Parent of Nature,  
Partake mine honour with an earthly creature?  
Shall silly girls destined to death, and Fate,  
My high-born name, and style contaminate?  
In vain did then the Phrygian Shepherd 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 Roy all gifts sought to beguile  
His judgement, I allured him with a smile:  
But this usurper of my dignities,  
Shall have but little cause to boast the prize;  
With that she called her rash, and winged child  
Armed with Bow, Torch, and quiver: that is wild  
With mischief; he that with his evil ways  
Corrupts all public discipline, and strays  
Through chambers in the night, & with false beams,  
Or with his stinging Arrows, or with dreams,  
Tempts unto lust, and does no good at all:  
This child I say did Venus to her call,  
And stirs him up with words malicious,  
That was by nature too licentious:  
For bringing him where Psyche dwelled, for so  
This Maid was called, she there unfolds her woe,  
And emulous tale. Cupid quoth she, my stay,  
My only strength, & power, whose boundless sway,  
Contemns the thunder of my Father jove,  
I here entreat thee by thy Mother's love,  
Those wounding sweets, and sweet wounds of thy Quiver,  
And honey burnings of thy torch, deliver  
My Soul from grief revenge me on this maid  
And all her boasted beauty see decayed,  
Or else strike her in love with one so poor,  
So miserably lost, stripped of all store  
Of means, or virtue; so deformed of limb,  
That none in all the world may equal him.  
To move her Son, no flattering words she spared,  
But breathed on him with kisses, long and hard,  
This done; she hasts to the next ebbing shore,  
And with her rofie feet insulting o'er  
The submiss waves, a Dolphin she bestrides,  
And on the utmost Billows proudly rides.  
A troop of Tritons were strait sounding heard,  
And rough Portumnus with his mossy beard,  
Salacia heavy with her fishy train,  
And Nereus' daughters came to entertain  
The Seaborn Goddess; some played on a shell,  
Some with their Garments laboured to expel  
The scorching heat, and Sunshine from her face,  
And other some did hold a lookingglass:  
All these in triumph by the Dolphin swum,  
And followed Venus to the Ocean;  
Phyche the while, in this great height of bliss,  
Yet reaps no fruit of all her happiness,  
For neither King, nor Prince, nor Potentate,  
Nor any durst attempt her for a mate,  
But as a polished picture her admire,  
And in that admiration cease desire:  
Her Sisters both, whose moderate beauty none  
Did much despise, nor much contemplate on,  
Were to their wishes happily contracted,  
And by two Kings espoused. Psyche distracted  
Because she had no lover, pensive sat  
In mind, and body, and began to hate,  
And curse that beauty, and esteem at nought,  
Which, but was excellent, had no other fault.  
Cupid now in a causeless rage was gone,  
To whet his Arrows on a bloody stone,  
As if he were t'encounter with some main  
Monster, like Python, by Apollo slain,  
Or jove, or Titan lame, or once again,  
Draw the pale Moon down to the Latmian Den,  
Or with Love's fire great Pluto to annoy,  
For these were works of labour, and the Boy  
Was ignorant, how matters would succeed,  
Or what the fare of Beauty had Decreed.  
Therefore he filled his arrows sharp and small,  
To pierce what ever they should meet withal.  
And vowed, if cause were, he his shafts would shiver,  
'Gainst Psyche's breast, and empty all his Quiver.  
Themis a Goddess, whom great jove had sent  
Into the World, for good, or punishment,  
As justice should require, when she did hear  
Cupid so proudly boast, again did swear,  
That she his haughty malice would abate,  
And turn the edge, both of his shafts, and hate.  
And having thus disarmed him, ten to one,  
Would change his fury to affection.  
A clap of Thunder all about them shaken,  
To ratify, what Themis undertook.  
Then both together went, and entering found,  
Fair Psyche, with her looks fixed on the ground.  
Honour and Modesty, with equal grace,  
Simplicity and truth, smiled in her face.  
But rising up, there shot from either eye,  
Such beams, as did Love's senses stupefy.  
And as in this distraction he did stand,  
He let his arrows fall out of his hand.  
Which Themis laughing taken, and thence conveyed,  
Whilst Cupid minded nothing but the Maid.  
Then did he cry amazed, what fence is here?  
Beauty and Virtue have no other sphere.  
Her brow's a Castle, and each lip a Fort,  
Where thousand armed Deities resort  
To guard the golden fruit from all surprise,  
Chastely, and safe, as the Hesperideses.  
Pardon me, Venus, if I thee abridge  
Of this unjust revenge; 'twere sacrilege,  
Beyond Prometheus' theft, to quench such fire,  
Or steal it from her eyes, but to inspire  
Cupid's own breast, in all Love's spoils, I yet  
Never beheld so rich a Cabinet.  
jove, here for ever, here, my heart confine,  
And let me all my Empery refigne.  
Then looking down, he found himsfelfe bereft  
Of his lose arms, and smiled at Themis theft;  
Because he knew, she might as soon abide  
Fire in her bosom, as Love's arrows hide.  
But that they must again with shame be sent,  
And claim, for the possession, a dear rent:  
Yet one dropped out by chance, and 'twas the best  
Of all the bundle, and the curiousest.  
The plumes were coloured azure, white, and red,  
The shaft painted alike down to the head,  
Which was of burnished Gold: this Cupid took,  
And in revenge, through his own bosom strooke:  
Then sighing called, You Lovers all, in chief)  
Whom I have wronged, come triumph at my grief;  
See, and be satisfied for all my sin,  
'Tis not one place that I am pained in,  
My Arrows venom is dispersed round,  
And beauty's sign is potent in each wound.  
Thus he with pity did himself deplore,  
Foe never pity entered him before.  
Ill as he was, he took his flight, and came  
Unto the palace of the Sun, whose flame  
Was fare inferior to what Cupid felt;  
And said, dear Phoebus, if I still have dealt  
Like a true friend, and stood thee in some steed,  
When thou for love didst like a shepherd feed,  
Admetus' Cattle, now thine help impart,  
'tis not for Physic, though I am sick at heart,  
That I implore, but through thy skill divine  
The fairest Psyche for my wife assign:  
Phoebus assents, and did not long delay,  
To make it good by a Prophetic way;  
Her Father fearing for the injury,  
Offered to Venus sacred Deity,  
Consults the Delpick Oracle, who thus  
Expounds his mind in terms ambiguous.   

The Oracle.  
Your Daughter bring to a steep mountain spire,  
Invested with a funeral attire;  
Expect no good, but bind her to a stake,  
No mortal wight, her for a wife shall take:  
But a huge venomned Serpent, that does fly  
With speckled wings, above the starry sky.  
And down again, does the whole Earth molest  
With sire, and sword, and all kind of unrest,  
So great in malice, and so strong in might,  
That Heaven, and hell do tremble at his flight.   

The King affrighted what this speech should ween  
Goes slow, and sadly home unto his Queen,  
Both ponder in their mind the strange prediction,  
Whether it were a riddle, or a fiction:  
What gloss it might endure, and what pretence,  
Wither a verbal, or a mystic sense;  
Which cast about in vain, they both bewail  
Their Daughter's chance, but grief can not prevail;  
But that she must fulfil the Delpicke doom,  
Or worse plagues are threatened in the room:  
And now the pitchy torches lighted are,  
And for her fatal Marriage they prepare.  
Songs are to howl turned, bright fire to fume,  
And pleasant music to the Lydian tune:  
For Hymen's Saffron weed, that should adorn  
Young blushing Brides, Psyche is forced to mourn,  
And for her mourning a black mantle wears,  
With which she gently wipes away her tears.  
Thus all the City wait her in sad wise,  
Not to her wedding, but her obsequies;  
But whilst her parents weak excuses make,  
And vain delays, thus Psyche them bespoke?  
Why do you thus with deep fetched sighs perplex  
Your most unhappy age? why do you vex  
Your spirit, which is mine, and thus disgrace  
With fruitless tears, your venerable face?  
Why do you tear your hair, and beat your breast?  
Are these the hopeful issues, and the blessed  
Rewards for beauty? then ought you lament,  
When all the City with a joined consent  
Did style me the new Venus, and ascribed  
Those honours which to mortals arc denied.  
'Twas your ambition first plucked on my shame,  
I see, and feel my ruin in her name:  
'Tis now to late, we suffer under those  
Deep wounds of envy, which the Gods impose;  
Where is the rock? why do you linger so?  
Lead hence, my thinks I long to undergo  
This happy Marriage, and I long to see  
My noble Husband, whatsoever he be:  
Into his arms, o let me soon be hurled,  
That's borne for the destruction of the world.  
This said, each slander by, with hanged down head  
And mournful pomp the Virgin followed,  
And to the place prefixed her arms they tie,  
Then howling forth a doleful Elegy,  
Depart from her in tears, wishing from fare  
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 charmed her fears,  
The maid asleep on his soft bosom bears.  
This wind is called Zephyrus, whose mild  
And fruifull breath gets the young spring with child,  
Filling her womb with such delicious heat,  
As breeds the blooming Rose, and Violet:  
Him Cupid for his delicacy chose,  
And did this amorous task on him impose,  
To fetch his Mistress; but lest he should burn  
With beauty's fire, he bade him soon return;  
But all in vain, for promises are frail,  
And virtue flies, when love once blows the sail,  
For as she slept, he lingered on his way,  
And oft embraced, and kissed her as his prey,  
And gazed to see how fare me did surpass  
Erichthens Daughter, wife to Boreas,  
Fair Orythia; and as she began  
To wax hot through his motion, he would fan  
And cool her with his wings, which did disperse  
A perfumed sent, through all the universe;  
For 'fore that time, no fragrant smell did live  
In any thing, till Psyche did it give:  
Herbs, Gums, and spices had perhaps a name,  
But their first odours from her breathing came:  
And in this manner Zephyrus flew on  
With wanton gires, through every region  
Of the vast air, than brought her to a vale,  
Where thousand several flowers her sweets exhale:  
The whilst her parents robbed of her dear sight,  
Devote themselves to everlasting night.    

The Second Section.  
THus Psyche on a grassy bed did lie,  
Adorned with Flora's richest tapestry,  
Where all her senses with soft slumber bound,  
At last awaked, and rising from a swound  
She spies a wood, with fair trees beautified,  
And a pure crystal Fountain by the side;  
A Kingly Palace stood not far apart,  
Built not with humane hands, but divine Art;  
For by the structure men might guess it be  
The habitation of some Deity:  
The Roof within was curiously o'er spread  
With Ivory, and Gold enameled;  
The Gold was burnished, glistering like a flame,  
And Golden pillars did support the same;  
The walls were all with Silver wainscott lined,  
With several Beasts, and Pictures there enshrined,  
The Flower, and Pavement with like glory shone,  
Cut in rare figures, made of precious Stone,  
That though the Sun should hide his light away,  
You might behold the house through its own day.  
Sure 'twas some wondrous power by arts extent  
That fancied forth so great an argument:  
And no less happy they, that did command,  
And with their feet trod on so rich a land,  
Psyche amazed, fixed her delighted eye,  
On the magnificence, and treasury,  
And wondered most, that such a mass of wealth  
Was by no door, nor guard, preserved from stealth:  
For looking when some servant should appear,  
She only heard voices attending there,  
That said, fair Mistress why are you afraid?  
All these are yours, and we to do you aid.  
Come up into the rooms, where shall be shown  
Chambers all ready furnished, all your own:  
From thence descend, and take the spiced air,  
Or from your bath unto your bed repair,  
Whilst each of us, that Echo represents,  
Devoid of all corporeal instruments,  
Shall wake your Minister: no Princely fare  
Shall wanting be, no diligence, no care,  
To do you service. Psyche had the sense  
To taste, and thank the God's beneficence:  
When strait, a mighty golden dish was brought,  
 with all the dainties can be thought;  
And next a bowl was on the table set,  
Fraught with the richest Nectar, that ere yet  
Fair Hebe filled to juno, Heaven's Queen,  
Or Ganymede to jove; yet none was seen,  
Nor creature found to pledge, or to begin,  
But some impulsive spirit brought it in.  
The banquet ended, there was heard on high,  
A consort of celestial harmony:  
And Music, mixed with sounds articulate,  
That Phoebus' self might strive to emulate.  
All pleasures finished, Psyche went to rest,  
But could find none, because her troubled breast  
Laboured with strange events, and now the noon  
Of night began t'approach, and the pale Moon  
Hid her weak beams, and sleep had seized all eyes;  
But Lovers, vexed with fears and jealousies.  
What female heart, or conscience so strong  
Through the discharge of fin? but yet among  
So many fancies of her active brain,  
She must a hundred terrors entertain?  
And more, and greater her amazements were,  
Because she knew not, what she was to fear.  
In came her dreadful husband, so conceived,  
Till his sweet voice told her, she was deceived,  
For drawing near, he sat upon the bed,  
Then laid his gentle hand upon her head,  
And next embraced, and kissed, and did imbrue  
Her balmy lips with a delicious dew:  
So, so, says he, let each give up his treasure,  
Quite bankrupt through a rich exchange of pleasure.  
So lets sweet Loves preludiums begin,  
My arms shall be thy Sphere to wander in,  
Circled about with spells, to charm thy fears.  
Instead of Morpheus to provoke thy tears,  
With horrid dreams, 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.  
And having said so, he made haste to bed.  
Enjoyed his spouse, and got her Maidenhead:  
And lest that she his feature should disclose,  
He went away before the morning rose:  
Her vocal servants watching at the door,  
With their mild whispers entered in before  
Psyche awaked, and joyed the bride to see,  
And cheered her for her shine virginity.  
These things being acted in continued time,  
And as all humane natures do incline  
To take delight by custom, Psyche so  
With these aerial comforts eased her woe:  
But yet her Parents with unwearied grief  
Waxed old in tears, and hated all relief.  
Her Sisters too forsook their house, and home,  
And came to add unto their father's moan.  
That night her husband Psyche thus bespoke,  
Alas sweet heart, what comfort can I take,  
That spend the day in sighs, when you are gone,  
Robbed of all humane conversation:  
My undistinguished friends are banished quite,  
That almost weep their eyes out for my sight,  
Not one of all to bear me company:  
O let me see my sisters, or I die.  
Her husband her embraced, and kissed away  
Those hurtful tears, and thus began to say:  
Psyche my sweet, and dearest wife, I see,  
Fortune begins to threat thy misery.  
What envious Fate suggests this baneful boon,  
To force my grief, and thy destruction?  
Thy sisters both, through their vain fancies led,  
And troubled with the thought that thou art dead,  
Will seek thee forth: but if thou shouldst regard  
Their fruit less tears, or speak to them a word,  
Or by their wicked counsel seek to pry  
With sacrilegious curiosity,  
And view my shape, how quickly wouldst thou throw  
Thyself down headlong to the depth of woe?  
Thy wretched state for ever to deplore,  
Nor must thou hope to touch me any more.  
Psyche regardless, what his love, or fears  
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 do I prise thee, whatsoever thou be?  
Above my soul, more than my own dear life:  
Nor would I change to be young Cupid's wife.  
And rather vowed a thousand deaths to dye,  
Then live divorced from his society.  
Her husband overcome through his own fire,  
Which her impressive kisses did inspire:  
Gives way to his new spouse, and a strict charge  
To Zephyrus, that he should spread at large  
His plumy sails, and bring her sisters twain,  
Both safe in presence of his wife, in pain,  
To be in prison, and strict durance bound,  
With the earth's weighty fetters under ground,  
And a huge mountain to be laid upon  
His airy back, which if it once were done,  
No power could e'er redeem his liberty,  
Nor Aeolus himself might set him free.  
Lover's commands are still imperious:  
Which made the fierce and haughty Zephyrus  
Swell with close indignation, and fret  
To see his service slighted so, but yet  
Not daring to proclaim his discontent,  
Made a soft noise, and murmured as he went.  
By chance her sisters at that instant time,  
With long laborious steps the Hill did climb,  
Where Psyche first was left, and with their plain,  
Waken the rocks, still they result again.  
Calling their sister by her proper name,  
With hideous cries, until the west wind came,  
And as command was, in a winged chair,  
With harmless portage bore them through the air.  
All three together by this means combined,  
Embrace each other with a mutual mind.  
Until their spirits, and the day was spent  
In long, and ceremonious compliment.  
Sometimes fair Psyche, proud her friends were by,  
To witness her majestic bravery:  
Ushering her sisters with affected gate,  
Would show them all her glory, and her state,  
And round about her golden house display  
The massy wealth that unregarded lay.  
Sometimes she would demonstrate to their cares  
Her easy 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 pitied her distress,  
Now swell with envy of her happiness.  
There is a Goddess flies through the earth's globe  
Girt with a cloud, and in a squalid robe,  
Daughter to Pluto, and the silent night,  
Whose direful presence does the Sun affright:  
Her name is Ate, venom is her food,  
The very Furies and Tartarian brood  
Do hate her for her ugliness, she blacks  
Her horrid visage with so many Snakes,  
And as her tresses 'bout her neck she hurls,  
The Serpent's hiss within their knotty curls.  
Sorrow, and shame, death, and a thousand woes,  
And discord waits her, where so ere she goes,  
Who riding on a whirl wind through the sky,  
The saw fair Psyche in her jollity,  
And grudged to see it; for she does profess  
Herself a foe, to every good success:  
Then cast to ruin her; but found no way,  
Less she could make her sisters her betray,  
Then cropped four Snakes out of her hairy nest,  
And as they slept, cast two on either's breast;  
Who piercing through their bosoms in a trice,  
Poisoned their souls, but made no Orifice:  
And all this while the powerful bane did lurk  
Within their hearts, and now began to work:  
For one of them, too fare inquisitive,  
With crafty malice did begin to dive  
Into her council, studious for to learn,  
Whom so divine possessions might concern:  
But all in vain, no lineal respect,  
No Siren charms, might move her to reject  
His precepts; nothing they could do, or say,  
Might tempt her, his sweet council to betray:  
Yet lest too much suspense of what he is,  
Should trouble their lose thoughts, she told them this,  
He was a fair young man, whose downy chin,  
Was newly decked with nature's coverin,  
And that he used with hunting still to room  
About the woods, and seldom was at home,  
But fearing their discourse might her entrap,  
She pours forth gold, and jewels in their lap,  
And turning all their travel to their gain,  
Commands the winds to bear them back again.  
This done, her sisters after their return,  
With envies fuel, both begin to burn  
Unable to contain their discontent,  
And to their swelled up malice give a vent.  
Says one unto the other, what's the cause,  
That we both privileged by nature's laws,  
And of the self same parents both begot,  
Should yet sustain such an indifferent lot?  
You know, that we are like to handmaids wed  
To strangers, and like strangers banished.  
When she, the off spring of a latter birth,  
Sprung from a womb, that like the tired earth  
Grew old with beating; nor yet very wise,  
Enjoys that wealth, whose use, whose worth and prize  
She knows not, what rich furniture there shone,  
What Gems, what gold, what silks we trod upon?  
And if her husband be so brave a man  
As she affirms, and beasts; what woman can  
In the whole world compare with her? at length  
Perhaps by custom's progress, and the strength  
Of Love, he may her like himself translate  
And make her with the Gods participate:  
She has already for to come, and go  
Voices her handmaids, and the winds, 'tis so;  
She bore herself with no less Majesty,  
And breathed out nothing but Divinity:  
But I poor wretch, the more to aggravate  
My cares, and the iniquity of fate,  
Have got a Husband, elder than my Sire,  
And then a boy fare weaker in desire;  
Who though he have nor will, nor power, to use  
What he enjoys, does miser like refuse;  
To his own wife this benefit to grant,  
That others should supply, his, and my want:  
Her Sister answers, do not I embrace  
A man fare worse, and is't not my own case?  
I have a husband to, not worth a point,  
And one, that has the Gout in every joint:  
His Nose is dropping, and his eyes are gummed,  
His Body crooked, and his Fingers numbed,  
His Head, which should of wisdom be the place,  
Is grown more Bald, than any Looking-glass;  
That I am fain the part to undergo,  
Not of a wife, but a Physician to;  
Still plying him, howe'er my sense it loathes:  
With Oils and Balms, and cataplasms and ,  
Yet you see, with what patience I endure  
This servile office, and this fruitless cure,  
The whilst the minks our Sister, you beheld  
With how great pride, and arrogance, she swelled,  
And though much wealth lay scattered all along,  
Yet out of it, how small a portion  
She gave to us, and how unwillingly,  
Then blue, or hist us from her company.  
Let me not breath, nor me a woman call,  
Unless I strait her ruin, or enthrall  
In everlasting misery: and first  
In this one point, i'll render her accursed.  
We will not any into wonder draw,  
Nor comfort, by relating what we saw;  
For they can not be said true joy to own,  
Whose neither wealth, nor happiness is known.  
It is enough, that we have seen and grieve,  
That we have seen it, let none else believe  
The truth from our report. So let's repair  
To our own home, and our own homely fare,  
And then return, to vindicate her pride,  
With fraud and malice, strongly fortified:  
Which to confirm, ungrateful as they were,  
(For wicked council ever is most dear  
To wicked people,) home again they drew,  
And their feigned grief most impiously renew.   

The Third Section.  
BY this fair Psyche's womb began to breed,  
And was made pregnant with immortal seed;  
Yet this condition was on her imposed,  
That it should mortal prove, if she disclosed  
Her husband's counsels: who can now relate  
The joy that she conceived, to propagate  
A Divine birth? she reckons every day,  
And week, and month, and does her womb survey;  
And wonders since so little was instilled  
So small a Vessel should so much be filled:  
Her husband smelling of her sister's drift,  
Began to call fair Psyche unto shrift,  
And warn her thus, the utmost day says he,  
And latest chance is now befallen to thee;  
A sex pernicious of thine own dear blood,  
Has taken arms up to withstand thy good.  
Again thy sisters with regardless care  
Of love, or piety, come to ensnare,  
And tempt thy faith, which I forbade before,  
That thou my shape, and visage shouldst explore.  
In lieu of which, take up a like defence,  
Protecting with religious continence,  
Our house from ruin, and thyself prevent,  
And our small pledge from dangers imminent.  
Psyche with sighs, and tears together blended,  
Breaks off his speech, since you a document  
Have of my silence, and my love, quoth she,  
Why should you fear to trust my constancy?  
Which to confirm, bid Zephyrus fulfil  
Once more his duty, and obey ray will.  
That since your longed for sight I am denied,  
I may behold my sisters by my side.  
Turn not away sweet love, I thee beseek,  
By thy curled hair, and by thy filken cheek:  
Deign from thy bounty, this small boon to spare,  
Since the forced ignorance of what you are,  
Must not offend me, nor the darkest night,  
Where I embrace in you a greater light.  
Charmed with her sugared words, he gives consent,  
That the swift wind, with haste incontinent;  
Although unwilling, should display his wing,  
And the she traitors to fair Psyche bring.  
Thus altogether met, her sisters twain,  
Embrace their prey, and a false love do fain.  
Psyche, says one, you are a mother grown:  
My thinks your womb like a full Rose is blown.  
O what a mass of comfort will accrue  
Unto our friends, and family from you?  
Certs this your child, if it be half so fair  
As is the mother, must be Cupid's heir.  
Thus they with flatteries, and with many a smile,  
Pretending false affection, her beguile.  
And she out of her innocence, poor maid,  
Gave easy credit unto all they said:  
And too too kind, to a fair chamber led,  
Where with celestial dainties she them fed.  
She speaks but to the Lute, and strait it hears;  
She calls for raptures, and they swell their cares.  
All sorts of Music sound, with many a lay,  
Yet none was present seen, to sing or play.  
But as no mirth is pleasant to a dull  
And heavy soul, no less, they that are full  
Of cankered malice, all delight disdain,  
But what does nourish their beloved pain.  
So that no gifts, nor price might mollify,  
Nor no rewards, nor kindness qualify  
Their hardened hearts, but still they are on fire,  
To sound her through, and make a strict inquire,  
What was her husband, what his form, and age,  
And whence he did deduce his parentage:  
You read, how from simplicity at first,  
She framed a formal story, and what erst  
She told, she had forgot, and 'gan to feign  
Another tale, and of another strain:  
How that he was a man both rich, and wise,  
Of middle years, and of a middle size:  
A Merchant by profession, that did deal  
For many thousands in the Commonweal.  
With that they checked her in the full career  
Of her discourse; says one, nay sister dear,  
Pray do not strive thus to impose upon  
Your loving friends, sure this description  
Must to his person needs be contrary,  
When in itself your speech does disagree.  
You lately boasted, hhe was young, and fair;  
What does the soil, or nature of the air  
Bring age so soon? and that he used to range  
About the woods, lo there's another change.  
Do you conceit so ignorantly of us,  
We know not Tethis, from Hippolytus?  
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 form, and function, or you know them not.  
Then with the pressure of her eyes, she freed  
One tear from prison, and did thus proceed:  
Psyche we grieve, and pity you, that thus  
Are grown so careless, and incurious  
Of what you ought to fear: you think yourself  
Much happy in your husband, and yourself,  
But are deceived; for we, that always watch,  
And at each opportunity do catch,  
To satisfy our doubts, for truth have found,  
Both by his crawling footsteps on the ground,  
And by report of neighbouring husbandmen,  
That have espied him flying from his den.  
When he to them most hideously has yield,  
From his huge throat, with blood and poison swelled,  
That this your husband is of Serpent breed,  
Either of Cadmus, or of Hydra's seed.  
Call but the Pythian Oracle to mind.  
That you to such hard destiny assigned;  
And think not all your art, or policy,  
Can cancel his prophetical decree.  
Let not this Monster's usage for awhile,  
Your soul of just suspicion beguile.  
As that you still shall live at such high rate,  
And that these happy days shall ne'er have date.  
Far be it, that my words should ill portend,  
Yet trust me, all these joys must have an end:  
The time will come, when this your Paramour,  
In whom you so delight, shall you devour.  
And when your womb casts her abortive brood,  
Then Saturn like, he will make that his food.  
For this prediction also bore a share,  
In what the god foretell, but lest despair  
Should load you with too great oppression,  
It was concealed, and therefore stands upon,  
Whether through our advice, you will be saved,  
Or in his beastly entrayles be engraved.  
Now if this uncouth life, and solitude  
Please you, then follow it, and be still stewed  
In the rank lust of a lascivious worm:  
Yet we our pious duties shall perform.  
Psyche that tender was, grew wan, and pale,  
And swoone for dread of this so sad a tale.  
Then fell she from the sphere of her right mind,  
And forgot all those precepts she combined,  
And vowed to keep, and herself headlong threw  
Into a thousand griefs, that must ensue.  
At last revived, having herself up heaved,  
With fainting voice, thus half her words out breathed.  
Truly my sister's dear, full well I see  
How you persist in constant piety:  
Nor did they, who suggest such words as these,  
In my opinion altogether lease:  
For to this hour, I never did survey  
My husband's shape, but forced am to obey  
What he commands, and do embrace i'th' night,  
A thing uncertain, and that shuns the light:  
Therefore to your assertious I assent,  
That with good reason seem so congruent,  
For in my thoughts I cannot judge at least  
But he must be a monster, or some beast;  
He uses so much cautionary care,  
And threatens so much ill, if I should dare  
To view his face; so I refer me to  
Your best advice, t'instruct me what to do:  
Her sisters now arrived at the full scope  
Of their base plots, and seeing the gate open  
That kept her heart, scorn any artful bait,  
But use their down right weapons of deceit:  
Saying, dear Psyche, nature should prevail  
So much with us, if mischief did assail  
Your person, in our sight: we were too blame  
Should we permit, and not divert the same;  
Yet wise men have their ways, and eyes still clear,  
And leave no mists of danger, or of fear:  
You do but brave your death, when you repel  
The whispers of your Genius, which would tell  
The peril you are in; nor are you sure  
Of longer life, till you are quite secure:  
Which to effect, provide a sword that's keen,  
And with it, a bright Lamp, and both unseen  
Hide in some place, until a fitting hour  
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 design; so when your husband's eyes  
Are sealed with sleep, from your soft couch arise,  
And seize this Dragon, when he lest takes heed,  
Like Pallas armed, and to his death proceed;  
And where his neck, and head, are joined in one,  
Make 〈◊〉 a speedy separation:  
Alcides son of jove, as rumour goes,  
Strangled two Serpents in his swaddling :  
And can your strength fail to bring that to pass,  
Which half the labour of an infant was?  
Such wicked words they pour into her ear,  
More poisonous than her husband could appear.  
Psyche was troubled, as the sea, in mind  
Approved their council, and again declined  
What they persuade; now hastens, now delays,  
Dares, and not dares, and with a blush betrays  
Her wand'ring passion, which knows no mean,  
But travels from extreme, unto extreme:  
She loves him now, and does again detest,  
Loves as a husband, hates him as a beast.  
The only check, and bridle to her hate,  
Was the famed story, and revengeful fate  
Of Danans daughtets, who in hell are bound  
To fill a Vessel, they can never sound:  
She told the story to them, how all these  
Were fifty Virgins, called the Belides;  
Her Sister's list, while Psyche does discover,  
How each was too inhuman to her lover:  
And in on night made all their husbands bleed;  
With hearts, hard as the steel, that did the deed:  
Yet one says she, most worthy of the name  
Of wife, and to it everlasting fame:  
Height Hypermnestra, with officious lie,  
Met with her Father; and his perjury:  
Who said unto her husband, youth arise,  
Lest a long sleep unfeared, do thee surprise.  
I will not hold thee captive, nor will strike  
This to thy heart; although my sisters, like  
So many cruel Lionesses, void  
Of mercy, all their husbands have destroyed.  
I am of nature soft, nor do I dare  
To view, much less to act thy massacre;  
What though my Father me in prison lay,  
Or load with Iron chains, or send away  
Fare from his Kingdom, 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  
Do favour thee, and only this vouchsafe  
When I am dead, to write my Epitaph:  
The mere remembrance of this virtuous deed,  
Did a remorse, and kind of pity breed  
In Psyche's breast, for passions are infused,  
According to the stories, we are used  
To read; and many men do amorous prove,  
By viewing acts, and monuments of love:  
But yet her sister's malice, that still stood  
In opposition, against all that's good,  
Ceases not to precipitate her on,  
Till they had gained this confirmation;  
To put in act what ere they did desire,  
Thus fury like, they did her soul inspire:  
Night and her husband came, and now the sport  
Of Venus ended, he began to snort,  
Psyche, though weak of mind, and body both,  
Yet urged by cruel fate, and her rash oath,  
Risen up to make provision for her sin;  
Lie still fair maid, thou mayst more honour win,  
And make thy murder glory, not a crime;  
If thou wouldst kill those thoughts, that do beslime  
And knaw upon thy breast, and never cease  
With hishing clamours to disturb thy peace,  
When thine own heart with Serpents doth abound;  
Seek not without, that may within be found.  
Yet was she not so cruel in her haste,  
But ere she killed him, she his lips would taste,  
Wishing she need not rise out from her bed,  
But that she had the power to kiss him dead:  
Now with her lips she labours all she may,  
To suck his soul out, whilst he sleeping lay,  
Till she at last through a transfused kiss,  
Left her own soul, and was inspired with his;  
And had her soul within his body stayed,  
Till he therein his virtues had conveyed,  
And all pollution would from thence remove,  
Then after all her thoughts had been of love;  
But since she could not both of them retain,  
She restored his, and took her own again:  
Sorry, that she was forced it to transferr,  
And wished though dead, that he might live in her:  
Then in one hand she held the emu●our light,  
And in the other took the sword, so bright  
As 'twould her beauty, and the fire outshine,  
And she thus armed, became more masculine.  
But when by friendship of the Lamp, her eye  
Had made a perfect true discovery  
Of all was in the room, what did she see?  
Object of Love, wonder of Deity.  
The god of love himself, Cupid the fair,  
Lie sweetly sleeping in his golden hair:  
At this so heavenly sight, the lampy spire  
Increased his flames, and burned more pure, and higher,  
The very senseless sacrilegious steel,  
Did a strong virtue from his presence feel,  
Which turned the edge, poor Psyche all amazed,  
With joy, and wonder on his beauty gazed.  
His neck so white, his colour so exact,  
His limbs, that were so curiously compact:  
His body sleek, and smooth, that it might not  
Venus repent, t'have such a son begot.  
A bright reflection and perfumed sent,  
Filled all the room with a mixed blandishment,  
Shot from his wings, and at his feet did lie  
His bow, and arrows, and his armoury.  
And in this ecstasy she thought to hide  
The cursed steel, but in her own dear fide;  
And had performed it sure, had not the sword,  
Flew from her hand, out of its own accord.  
Glancing on all with eyes unsatisfied,  
At last she his artillery espied.  
The Quiver was of needlework wrought round  
With trophies of his own, where Cupid crowned  
Sat in the midst, with a Bay-wreath, which he  
Had proudly plucked from the Peneian tree.  
Next Venus and Adonis, sad with pain,  
The one of love, the other of disdain:  
There love in all his borrowed shapes was dressed,  
His thefts, and his adulteries expressed,  
As Emblems of Love's triumph; and these were  
Drawn with such lively colours, men would swear,  
That Leda lay within a perfect bower,  
And Danae's golden streams, were a true shower.  
Satur's two other sons did seem to throw  
Their Tridents at his feet, 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 Cupid's pride, none could the work traduce.  
Pallas in envy of Aracknes skill,  
Or else to curry favour, and fulfil  
Cupid's behest, which she durst not withstand,  
Had framed the emulous piece with her own hand.  
And there were portrayed more a thousand loves  
Besides himself; the skins of Turtle-doves  
Lined it within, and at the upper end,  
A silver plate the Quiver did extend,  
Full of small holes, where his bright shafts did lie;  
Whose plumes were stiff with gums of Araby.  
His Bow was of the best, and finest Yew  
That in all Ida, or fair Tempe grew:  
Smooth as his cheek, and chequered as his wing,  
And at each end, tipped with a Pearl; the string  
Drawn from the Optic of a Lady's eye,  
That whensoe'er he shoots, strikes harmony.  
Psyche with timorous heed, did softly touch  
His weapons, lest her profane hand might smutch  
The gloss of them: then drew a shaft, whose head  
Was wrought of Gold, for some are done with Lead,  
And laid her finger's end upon the Dart,  
Tempting the edge, until it caused a smart:  
For being pointed sharp, it razed 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 herself incorporate,  
She did her numerous kisses equal make  
Unto his hairs, that with her breath did play,  
Steeped with rich Nectar, and Ambrosia.  
Thus being ravished with excess of joy,  
With kissing, and embracing the sweet Boy.  
Lo, 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 looked so white,  
The wicked Lamp, in an unlucky hour,  
A drop of scalding oil did let down power  
On his right shoulder, whence in horrid wise  
A blister, like a bubble did arise,  
And boiled up in his flesh, with a worse fume,  
Then blood of Vipers, or the Lernaean spume.  
Near did the Dogstar rage with so great heat  
In dry Apulia, no Alcides sweat  
Under his shirt so Cruel oil, that thou  
Who of all others hast the smoothest brow,  
Shouldst play the traitor? who had any thing  
Worse than thyself, as fire, or venomed sting,  
Or Sulphur blasted him, shouldst first have came,  
And with thy powerful breath sucked out the flame.  
For though he be Love's god, it were but vain,  
To think he should be privilidged from pain.  
For we in Homer have like wounded read,  
Of Mars, and Venus, both by Diomed.  
But for this heinous and audacious fact,  
Cupid among his statutes did enact,  
Henceforth all lights be banished, and exempt,  
From bearing office in Love's government.  
And in the day, each should his passage mark,  
Or learn to find his Mistress in the dark.  
Sure all the crew of lovers shall thee hate,  
Nor blessed Minerva hold thee consecrate.  
When Cupid saw his counsels open laid,  
Psyche's dear faith, and his own plots betrayed,  
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 questionless had vanished from her sight.  
But as when men are in deep rivers drowned,  
And ta'en up dead, have their close fingers found,  
Clasping the weeds; so, though her arms were racked  
With her more bodies weight, and sinews cracked,  
To follow him through the forced Element:  
Yet held she fast, until he did relent,  
And his ambitious wings 'gan downward steer,  
And stoop to earth, with a mild Cancileere.   

The fourth Section.  

THus lighted on the earth, he took her wrist,  
And wrung it hard, and did her hands untwist:  
And having freed himself, he flew on high,  
Unto a Cypress tree that grew thereby,  
And on the utmost branches being sat,  
He did the matter thus capitulate,  
Was it for this indeed, for this reward,  
Thou silly girl, that I should disregard  
My mother's vows, her tears, her flatteries?  
When she, with all the power she might devise,  
Provoked me to thy hurt, and thee assigned  
In Marriage, to a groom of some base kind,  
And lowest rank, had not my too much hast  
Redeemed thy shame, and my own worth disgraced;  
Was it for this I did thy plagues remove,  
To pain myself? strike mine own heart in love,  
With mine own shaft, that after all this gear,  
I should no better than a beast appear?  
For this, wouldst thou cut off my head, which bore  
Those eyes, that did thy beauty so adore?  
And yet thou know'st ungrateful wretch, how I  
Did with my fears, thy mischiefs 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 dear it abide:  
Yet will I punish thee no other way  
But only this, I will for ever stray  
Fare from thy fight, and having said so, fled,  
Whilst she to hear this news, lay almost dead:  
Yet prostrate on the ground, her eyes up cast,  
Tied to his winged speed; until at last,  
She could no more discern; as Dido, then,  
Or Ariadne, by some Poet's pen,  
Are feigned to grieve; whose artful passions flow  
In such sweet numbers, as they make their woe  
Appear delightful, telling how unkind  
Their lovers stole away, and the same wind,  
That blew abroad their faith, and oaths before;  
Then filled their sails, and how the troubled shore  
Answered the Lady's groans, so Psyche faints,  
And beats her breast with pitiful complaints.  
There ran a River near, whose purling streams,  
Hyperion oft, did with his golden beams  
Delight to gild, and as it fled along  
The pleasant murmurs, mixed with the sweet song  
Of aged Swans, detained the frequent ear  
Of many a Nymph, which did inhabit there:  
Poor Psyche thither went, and from the brim,  
In sad despair threw herself headlong in.  
The Rivers God; whither 'twere out of fear,  
Duty, or love, or honour he did bear  
Her husband; or lest her spilt blood should stain  
His crystal current, threw her up again:  
But it is thought, he would not let her sink,  
Cause Cupid oft times would descend to drink,  
Or wash him in the Brook, and when he came  
To cool his own heat, would the flood inflame.  
Pan at that time sat playing on a reed,  
Whilst his rough Goats did on the meadows feed,  
And with intentive eyes observed all,  
That to the fairest Psyche did befall;  
Who seeing her thus piteously distressed,  
He ran to take her up, and did the best  
He could to comfort her; fair maid, says he,  
Though I a rustic, and a shepherd be,  
Scorn not for that my counsel, and advice;  
Nor let my trade become my prejudice,  
For by the benefit of time well spent,  
I am endued with long experiment:  
And if I do conjecture it aright,  
The cause of all this Frenzy, and despite,  
Which your sad looks, and paleness do imply,  
With other signs in Physiognomy,  
By which wise men the truth of Art do prove,  
And know the state of minds; you are in love.   

Now list to me, and do not with fond haste  
The sacred oil of your life's taper waste:  
Use no sinister means, to hasten on,  
But labour to adjourn destruction,  
Cast not away yourself by too much grief,  
But courage take; for care is beauty's thief:  
Cupid I know, whose humour is to strive,  
Then yield, then stay, then play the fugitive.  
Be not dismayed for that, but show your duty,  
And above all things do not spoil your beauty,  
he's delicate, and wanton, prayers may win,  
And fair demeanour may demerit him,  
These are the medicines I would have you choose,  
To cure your mind's health, and redress abuse:  
She gave him thankes, than rose from where she lay,  
And having done obeisance went her way;  
Thence did she wander on with weary feet,  
And neither tract, nor passenger could meet,  
Until at length she found a Kingly road  
Which led unto a Palace, where abode  
Her eldest sister. Psyche entered in,  
Then sent up news, how one of her near kin,  
Was come to visit her, return being made,  
Psyche was brought before her, each invade  
The other with embraces, and fulfil  
A tedious scene of counterfeit good will.  
But when they had discoursed a while together,  
She asked 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 ruined her; and laid  
The blame on their lewd counsel, that betrayed  
Her innocent soul, and her firm faith misled,  
To murder her dear husband in his bed:  
She told how she his certain death decreed,  
And how she rose to execute the deed:  
She told, how like a Lioness she fared,  
And like an armed fury, how she stared,  
Or like a blazing comet in the air,  
With fire, and sword, and with disshevelled hair,  
She told the trouble, and Epitasis,  
When she beheld his Metamorphosis:  
A spectacle, that ravished her with joy,  
A Serpent turned into a lovely boy,  
Whose young, smooth face, might speak him boy or maid:  
Cupid himself in a soft slumber laid,  
She told too of the drop of scalding oil,  
That burned his shoulder, and the heavy coil  
He kept, when he awaked, caused by the smart;  
And how he chid, and how at last did part:  
And for revenge, had threatened in her stead,  
To make her sister's partners of his bed,  
And 'twixt each word, she let a tear down fall,  
Which stopped her voice, and made it musical.  
Thus Psyche at the last, finished her story  
Seasoned with sharp grief; and sweet oratory,  
Which was as long by her relation made,  
As might have served to stuff an Iliad.  
Such as Aeneas unto Dido told,  
Full of adventures, strange, and manifold.  
Her sister by her looks great joy did show,  
Resolved in that, she did her husband know;  
And therefore heard her out, with much applause,  
And gave great heed, but chief to that clause  
Where 'twas declared, that he her pomp, and state  
To one of her own sisters would translate.  
Whence gathering, that herself might be his bride,  
She swelled with lust, with envy, and with pride;  
And in this heat of passion did transcend  
The Rock, where Zephyrus used to attend  
 waft her up and down, and there called on  
Him, that had now forsook 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 herself bequeath  
Unto a fearful precipice, and threw  
Her body headlong down, whose weight it drew  
Towards the Centre; for without support,  
All heavy matter thither will refort.  
In this her fall, the hard stones by the way,  
Did greet her limbs with a discourteous stay:  
Bruising her in that manner, that she died,  
As if that she her Jury had denied.  
Her younger sister missing thus the chief  
Copartner of her sorrows, pined for grief.  
This craggy rock did overlook the sea,  
Where greedy Neptune had eat in a bay,  
And undermining it, much ground did win,  
Where silver-footed Thetis, riding in  
Upon a bridled Dolphin, did explore,  
And every tide her arms stretched on the shore,  
Searching each creek, and cranny, to augment  
The confines of her watery regiment.   

Whilst here she sat within a peerly chair,  
And round her all the Sea-gods did repair,  
To whom her laws she did prescribe, by hap,  
The mangled corpse fell full into her lap.  
Thetis, that once a child herself had borne,  
Seeing so fair a body, foully torn,  
And bleeding fresh, judging some ravisher  
Had done this injury, she did confer  
About the cure, and there were many found  
Whose trade in Surgery, could heal a wound,  
But none that might restore to life again.  
Such was the envy of the gods: for when  
The scattered limbs of chaste Hippolytus,  
Were re-inspired by Aesculapius,  
And by his Arts command together came,  
And every bone and joint put into frame:  
That none with emulous skill, should dare the like,  
jove him to Hell did with his thunder strike.  
But though she could not by her power control  
The Fates decree, to reunite the soul,  
Into another shape she made it pass,  
A doctrine held by old Pythagoras:  
For stripping off her clothes, she made her skin  
To wear a soft, and plumy coverin.  
Her grisly nose was hardened to a bill,  
And at each finger's end grew many a quill.  
Her arms to pennons turned, and she in all  
Changed to a Fowl, which men a Seagull call.  
A Bird of evil nature, and set on  
Much mischief, to whose composition,  
A great part of her former malice went,  
And was the principle ingredient.  
For being thus transfigured, strait she swum  
Into the bottom of the Ocean,  
Where Neptune kept his Court, and pressing near  
To Venus' seat, she whispered her i'th' ear,  
How that her son lay desperately grieved,  
Sick of a burn he lately had received,  
And many by that means at her did scoff,  
And her whole family was ill spoken off.  
For whilst that she herself, thus lived 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 Cupid's credit did calumniate.  
Venus replied, impatient, and hot,  
What has my good son than a Mistress got?  
Which of the Nymphs, or Muses is his joy?  
Who has inveigled the ingenious Boy?  
Which of the Hours, or of the Graces all?  
None of these, said the Bird, but men her call  
Psyche. So soon as Venus heard her named,  
O how with indignation she exclaimed?  
What my own beauty's rival, is it she?  
That plant, that sucker of my dignity.  
And I his Bawd? With these words she ascended  
To the Seas superficies, where attended  
Her Doves born ready harnessed, up she got,  
And flew to Paphos in her chariot.  
The Graces came about her, and in haste  
What the rough seas, or rude winds had misplaced,  
Did recompose with art and studious care,  
Kembing the Cerule drops from her lose hair:  
Which dried with Rofie powder, they did fold,  
And bind it round up in a brayed of Gold.  
These wait about her person still, and pass  
Their judgement on her, equal with her glass.  
These ar● the only Critics, that debate  
All beauty, and all fashions arbitrate:  
These temper her Ceruse, and paint, and limb  
Her face with oil, and put her in her trim.  
Twelve other Hand maids clad in white array,  
Called the twelve Hours, and daughters of the day,  
Did help to dress her: there were added more,  
Twelve of the night, whose eyes were shadowed over  
With dusky, and black veils, lest Vulcan's light,  
Or vapours should offend their bleared sight,  
When they her linen starch, or else prepare  
Strong distillations to make her fair.  
These bring her baths, and ointments for her eyes,  
And provide Cordials, 'gainst she shall arise.  
These play on Music, and perfume her bed,  
And snuff the Candle, while she lies to read  
Herself asleep: thus all assigned unto  
Their several office, had enough to do.  
And had they twenty times as many been,  
They all might be employed about the Queen.  
For though they used more reverence, then at prayer.  
And sat in counsel upon every hair,  
And every pleat, and posture of her gown,  
Giving observance to each frequent frown.  
And rather wished the state disordered were,  
Then the least implement, that she did wear.  
As if, of all, that were the greatest sin,  
And that their fate were fastened to each pin:  
Though their whole life, and study were to please,  
Yet such a sullen humour, and disease  
Reigned in her curious eyes, she ever sought,  
And scowling looked, where she might find a fault,  
Yet felt she no distemper from the care  
Of other business, 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 bend  
To place each jewel, and each ornament.  
And when that she was dressed, and all was done,  
Then she began to think upon her son,  
And being absent, spoke of him at large,  
And laid strong aggravations to his charge.  
She ripped her wrongs up, how she had passed by,  
In hope of mendment, many an injury:  
Yet nothing could reclaim his stubborn spleen  
And wanton looseness, though she still had been  
Indulgent to him, as they all did know.  
She talked to of the duty, children own  
Unto their parents, and did much complain;  
Since she had boar, and bred him up with pain,  
Now for requital, had received offence;  
And sorely taxed his disobedience,  
Then asked the Graces, if they could disclose  
Where his new haunts were, and his Rendezvous,  
For, she had trusted them, to over look  
As Guardians, and to guide, as with a hook  
His straggling nature, and they had done ill,  
To slack their hand, and leave him to his will;  
Who, as she said, was a weak child, and none  
Being near, might soo●e into much mischief run.  
They blushing smile, and thus allege; 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 do,  
Upon the least distaste, to shoot us through.  
When Venus heard, how the world stood in awe  
Of her son's desperate valour, and no law  
Might curb his fierceness, flattery, nor force  
Prevail, she then resolved upon a course,  
With open libels, and with hue and cry,  
To publish to the world his infamy:  
And therefore caused in every town, and street,  
And in all trivial places, where ways meet,  
In these words or the like, upon each post,  
A chartel to be fixed, that he was lost.   

The wanton Cupid, t'other day,  
Did from his mother Venus' stray.  
Great pains she took, but all in vain  
How to get her Son again:  
For since the boy is sometimes blind,  
He his own way cannot find.  
If any one can fetch him in,  
Or take him captive in a Gin,  
And bring her word, she for this,  
Will reward him with a kiss.  
That you the fellow may descry,  
These are signs to know him by:  
His skin is red with many a stain  
Of Lovers, which by him were slain;  
Or else it is, the fatal doom,  
Which foretells of storms to come:  
Though he seem naked to the eye,  
His mind is clothed with subtlety,  
Sweet speech he uses, and soft smiles,  
To entice where he beguiles:  
His words are gentle, as the air,  
But trust him not, though he speak fair;  
And confirm it with an oath:  
He is fierce, and cruel both,  
He is bold, and careless too,  
And will play as wantoness do:  
But when you think the sport is past,  
It turns to earnest at the last.  
His evil nature none can tame,  
For neither reverence, nor shame,  
Are in his looks; his curled hair  
Hangs like Nets, for to ensnare.  
His hands though weak, and slender; strike  
Age, and Sexes, all alike,  
And when he list, will make his nest,  
In their Marrow, or their breast:  
Those poisoned Darts shot from his Bow,  
Hurt Gods above, and men below.  
His left hand bears a burning Torch,  
Whose flame the very same will scorch;  
And not hell itself is free,  
From this Imps impiety.  
The wounds he makes, no Salve can cure;  
Then if you catch him, bind him sure:  
Take no pity, though he cry,  
Or laugh, or smile, or seem to dye,  
And for his ransom would deliver  
His Arrows, and his painted Quiver.  
Refuse them all, for they are such,  
That will burn, where ere they touch.   

When this edict was openly declared  
And Venus importunity; none dared  
To be so much of counsel, as to hide,  
And not reveal, where Cupid did abide.  
There was an old Nymph of th' Idalian grove,  
Grandchild to Faun, a Dryad; whom great jove  
Had ravished in her youth, and for a fee,  
In recompense of her Virginity,  
Did make Immortal, and with wisdom fill,  
And her endued with a Prophetic skill,  
And knowledge of all Herbs; she could apply  
To every grief a perfect remedy,  
Were it in mind, or body, and was sage,  
And weighty in her counsel, to assuage  
Any disease; she had the government  
Of the whole Palace, and was precedent  
Of all the Nymphs, for Venus did commit  
Such power, to do; what ever she thought fit.  
She at that time dressed Cupid for his smart,  
And would have hid his shame with all her heart:  
But that she feared her Mistress to displease,  
If it should after chance the Dryads  
Betrayed her; therefore she durst do no other,  
But to send private word unto his Mother,  
Where her son was, and how he hide his head,  
And groaning lay upon his Mother's bed.  
Soon as this news was brought her, Venus went,  
Blown with the wind, and her own discontent.  
And there began to scold, and rail, before  
She did arrive within the chamber door.  
Are these things honest, which I hear says she,  
And suiting with our fame and pedigree?  
Seducing trifler, 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 fettered her unto thyself in love;  
Seems you presume, that you are only he,  
The Chick of the white Hen, and still must be.  
And I, by reason of my age, quite done,  
Cannot conceive, nor bear another son.  
Yes know I can, and for thy more disgrace,  
I will adopt another in thy place.  
I'll take away that wicked stuff, with which  
Thou dost abuse thy betters, and bewitch  
Each age, and sex, and not without delight,  
Thine Uncle Mars, and thine own Mother smite.  
Then burn those arms, which were ordained to do  
Better exploits, than thou imploy'st them to.  
For thou wast ever from thy youth untoward,  
And dost without all reverence, or regard,  
Provoke thy elders, but jove, here I wish,  
I ne'er may eat of a celestial dish:  
Unless I turn this triumph to offence,  
This sweet to sour, this sport to penitence.  
But I thus scorned, whither shall I fly?  
There is a Matron called Sobriety,  
Whom I have oft offended, through his vain  
Luxurious riot, yet I must complain  
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 imbrued,  
Which I from my own bosom have bedewed.  
His various wings, the Rainbow never yet,  
Was in such order, nor such colours set:  
She shall without remorse both cut, and pair,  
And every feather clip, and every hair.  
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 eased her mind, did back retreat.  
But making haste, with this distempered look,  
Ceres, and juno both, she overtook:  
Who seeing her with such a troubled brow,  
Did earnestly demand, the manner how  
She came so vexed, and who had power to shroud  
Her glorious beauty in so black a cloud.  
You cannot choose but hear, Venus replied,  
How I have been abused, on every side.  
First, when, my limping husband me beset,  
And caught Mars, and myself, both in his net:  
And then exposed us naked to the eyes  
Of Heaven, and the whole bench of Deities.  
'Tis a known tale; and to make up the jest,  
One god, less supercilious than the rest,  
Told Mars, if those his fetters made him sweat,  
He would endure the burden, 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 seek out Psyche, she hath done this ill.  
Cupid my son, has chose her for his spouse,  
That is the only plague unto my house.  
Lady, said they, alack what hurt is done,  
Or crime in this committed by your son?  
Is this a cause, fit to provoke your spite;  
T'impugn his sports, and hinder his delight?  
What imputation on your house were laid,  
Though he should set his fancy on a Maid?  
You may allow his Patent for to pass,  
That he may love a blithe, and bonny Lass.  
What you forget, that he is well in years,  
And 'tis a comfort to you, that he bears  
His age so well; therefore you must not pry  
Into his actions so narrowly.  
For with what Justice can you disapprove  
That in your son, which in yourself you love?  
Is't fit, that seeds of love by you be sown  
In others hearts, and banished from your own?  
You have an interest, in all that's his:  
Both praised for good, both blamed for what's amiss.  
Remember too, you are his Mother dear:  
Held wise, and must give way: thus they for fear  
Of Cupid's Arrows, did him patronise.  
But Venus scorning that her injuries  
Were no more pitied, her swift Doves did reign,  
And took her way towards the Sea again.   
The end of the first Book.    

The Second Book.  

THE FIRST SECTION.  

PSyche this while wandered the world about  
With various errors to find Cupid out,  
Hoping, although no matrimonial way,  
Or Beauties force his anger might allay;  
Yet Prayers, and duty somewhat might abate,  
And humble Service him propitiate.  
She travelled forth, until at length she found  
A pleasant plain, with a fair Temple crowned.  
Then to herself she said, ah who can tell,  
Whether or no, my husband there do dwell?  
And with this thought she goes directly on,  
Led with blind hope, and with Devotion:  
Then entered in, she to the Altar bended,  
And there performed her Orisons: which ended,  
Casting her eyes about, she did espy,  
A world of instruments for husbandry:  
As Forks, & Hooks, & Rakes; Sickles, & Scythes,  
Garlands, and Sheares, & Corn for Sacrifice.  
Those ears, that were confused, she did sever,  
And those, that scattered lay, she put together;  
Thinking, she ought no worship to decline  
Of any thing, that seemed to be Divine.  
Ceres' fare off did Psyche over look,  
When this laborious task she undertook,  
And as she is a Goddess, that does love  
Industrious people, spoke to her from above;  
Alas poor Psyche, Venus is thy foe,  
And strives to find thee out with more a do,  
Then I my Proserpina; the Earth, the Sea,  
And the hid confines of the Night and Day,  
Have all been ransacked; she has sought thee forth,  
Through both the Poles, & Mantions of the North,  
Not the Riphean snow, nor all the drought,  
That parches the vast deserts of the south,  
Have stayed her steps. She has made Tethis sweep,  
To find thee out, the bottom of the deep,  
And vows that Heaven itself shall thee resign,  
Though jove had fixed thee, there his concubine.  
She never rests, for since she went to bed,  
The Rosy Crown is withered from her head:  
Thou careless wretch. Thus Venus all enraged,  
Seeks for thy life, whilst thou art here engaged  
'Bout my affairs, and thinkest of nothing less,  
Then thine own safety, and lost happiness.  
Psyche fell prostrate on her face, before  
Fair Ceres' throne, and did her help implore,  
Moistening the Earth with tears, and with her hair  
Brushing the ground; she sent up many a Prayer,  
By thy fruit-scattering hand, I thee entreat,  
And the Sicilian Fields, that are the seat  
Of thy fertility, and by the glad,  
And happy ends, the harvest ever had;  
And by thy coach, with winged Dragons drawn,  
And by the darksome hell, that 'gan to dawn  
At the bright marriage of fair Proserpina:  
And by the silent rites of Elusine,  
Impart some pity, and vouchsafe to grant  
This small request, to your poor suppliant.  
I may lie hid among these sheaves of Corn,  
Until great Venus' fury be outworn;  
Or that my strength, and faculties subdued  
By weary toil, a little be renewed.  
But as the world's accustomed, when they see,  
Any o'erwhelmed with a deep misery,  
Afford small comfort to their wretched state;  
But only are in words compassionate.  
So Ceres told her, she did greatly grieve  
At her distress, but durst her not relieve;  
For Venus was a good, and gracious Queen,  
And she her favour highly did esteem.  
Nor would she secure a contrary side,  
Being by love, and kin to her allied.  
Poor Psyche thus repulsed, soon as she saw  
Her hopes quite frustrate, did herself withdraw,  
And journied on, unto a neighbouring wood,  
Where likewise a rich Fane, and Temple stood,  
Of goodly structure, and before the house,  
Hung many gifts, and garments precious,  
That by the name engraved, and dedication,  
Expressed without, to whom they had relation.  
Here Psyche entered, her low knees did bend,  
And both herself, and fortunes recommend  
To mighty juno, and thus spoke to her.  
Thou wife, and sister to the thunderer,  
Whether thou dost in ancient Samos lie,  
The place of thy first birth, and nursery.  
Or by the banks of Inacus abide,  
Or thy loved Carthage; or round Heaven dost ride  
Upon a Lion's back; that art i'th' East  
Called Zigia, and Lucina in the west;  
Look on my grief's extremity, and deign  
To ease me, of ray labour, and my pain.  
Thus having prayed, strait juno from on high,  
Presents herself in all her Majesty;  
And said, Psyche I wish you had your ends,  
And that my Daughter, & yourself were friends:  
For Venus I have ever held most dear,  
In as high place, as she my daughter were:  
Nor can that, which one Goddess has begun,  
By any other Deity b'undone,  
Besides the Stygian laws allow no leave,  
That we another's Servant should receive;  
Nor can we by the league of friendship, give  
Relief to one, that is a fugitive.  
Fair Psyche shipwrecked in her hopes again,  
And finding no ways, how she might obtain  
Her winged husband, cast the worst of all;  
And thus her thoughts did into question call:  
What means can be attempted, or applied  
To this my strange calamity, beside  
What is already used? for though they would,  
The Gods themselves, can render me no good,  
Why then should I proceed, and unawares  
Tender my foot unto so many snares?  
What darkness can protect me? what disguise  
Hid me from her inevitable eyes?  
Some women, from their crimes, can courage gather,  
Then why not I from misery? and rather,  
What I cannot defer, nor long withstand,  
Yield up myself a prisoner to her hand.  
For timely modesty may mitigate  
That rage, which absence does exasperate.  
And to confirm this, who knows, whether he,  
Whom my soul longs for, with his Mother be?  
Venus now sick of earthly business,  
Commands her Coach be put in readiness:  
Whose subtle structure was all wrought upon,  
With gold, with purple, and Vermilion.  
Vulcan composed the fabric, 'twas the same  
He gave his wife, when he a wooing came.  
Then of those many hundred Doves, that soar  
About her palace, she selected four,  
Whose chequered necks to the small traces tied,  
With nimble gires they up to Heaven did glide:  
A world of sparrows did by Venus fly,  
And Nightingales, that sung melodiously.  
And other birds accompanied her Coach,  
With pleasant noise, proclaiming her approach:  
For neither hardy Eagle, Hawke, nor Kite,  
Durst her sweet sounding family affright.  
The clouds gave way, and Heaven was open made,  
Whilst Venus, joves' high Turrets did invade.  
Then having silenced her obstreperous choir,  
She boldly calls for Mercury the crier,  
joves' messenger, who but a while before  
Returned with a lose arrant, which he bore.  
To a new Mistress, and was now t'advise  
Upon some trick, to hide from Juno's eyes  
joves' bawdry, for he such feats can do,  
Which are his virtues, and his office to.  
When Venus saw him, she much joy did show,  
And said, kind brother Mercury, you know,  
How I esteem your love, at no small rate,  
With whom my mind I still communicate:  
Without whose counsel I have nothing done,  
But still preferred your admonition.  
And now you must assist me; there's a maid  
Lies hid, whom I have long time sought, and laid  
Close wait to apprehend, but cannot take;  
Therefore I'd have you proclamation make,  
With a reward propounded, to requite,  
Who e'er shall bring, and set her in my sight.  
Make known her marks, and age, lest any chance,  
Or after dare to pretend ignorance.  
Thus having said, she gave to him a note,  
And libel, wherein Psyche's name was wrote.  
Hermes the powerful, and all charming god  
Taking in hand his soul constraining rod,  
With which he carries, and brings back from hell,  
With Venus went, for he loved Venus well;  
'Cause he in former time her love had won,  
And in his dalliance, had of her son  
Begot, called the Hermaphrodite, which is  
The Boy, that was beloved by Salmacis.  
Thus both from Heaven descended, open cry  
In express words, was made by Mercury,   

O yes, if any can true tidings bring  
Of Venus' handmaid, daughter to a King,  
Psyche the fugitive, of stature tall,  
Of tender age, and form celestial:  
To whom, for dowry, Art, and Nature gave  
All grace, and all the comeliness they have.  
This I was bid to say, and be it spoken  
Without all envy, each smile is a token  
Sufficient to betray her. In her gate  
She Phoebus' sister does most imitate.  
Nor does her woyce sound mortal, if you spy  
Her face, you may discern her by the eye,  
That like a star, dazzles the Optic sense,  
Cupid has oft his Torch brought lighted thence.  
If any find her out, let him repair  
Strait ways to Mercury, and the news declare;  
And for his recompense, he shall have leave,  
Even from Venus own lips, to receive  
Seven fragrant kisses, and the rest among,  
One honey-kisse, and one touch from her tongue.   

Which being published, the great desire  
Of this reward, set all men's hearts on fire.  
So that poor Psyche durst no more forbear  
To offer up herself: then drawing near  
To Venus' house, a Maid of hers, by name  
Called Custom, when she saw her, did exclaim,  
O Madam Psyche, jove your honour save:  
What do you feel now, you a Mistress have?  
Or does your rashness, or your ignorant worth  
Not know, the pains we took to find you forth?  
Sweet, you shall for your stubborness be taught:  
With that, rude hold upon her locks she caught,  
And dragged her in, and before Venus brought.    

The second Section.  

SO soon as Venus saw her, she like one,  
That looks 'twixt scorn, and indignation,  
Raised a loud laughter, such as does proceed  
From one, that is vexed furiously indeed.  
Then shaking of her head, biting heart thumb,  
She said, what my good daughter are you come  
Your Mother to salute? But I believe,  
You would your husband visit, who does grieve  
For the late burn, with which you did enure  
His tender shoulder, but yet rest secure  
I shall provide for you, nor will I swerve  
From any needful office you deserve.  
Thus winking Venus did on Psyche leer,  
And with such cruel kindness did her jeer.  
Then for her entertainment, cries, where are  
My two rough handmaids, Solitude, and Care?  
They entered; she commands her hands to tie,  
And take the poor maid to their custody.  
Which done accordingly, with whips they beat,  
And her with torments miserably entreat.  
Thus used, and in this shameful manner dight,  
They her, with scorn, reduce to Venus' sight:  
Who smiling said, 'tis more than time, that I  
Should set my Nymphs all to work sempstery,  
And make your Baby-clouts: why this is brave,  
And you shall juno for your Midwife have.  
Where will you lie in? how fare are you gone?  
That's a great motive to compassion.  
And I my style must rather boast, than smother,  
That in my youth shall be called Grandmother.  
But by your leave, I doubt these Marriages,  
That are solemnised without witnesses:  
Without consent of friends, the party's state  
Unequal to, are scarce legitimate,  
And so this child, they shall a bastard call:  
If yet thou bringst forth any child at all.  
Then to begin with some revenge, she rose;  
And all her ornaments did discompose,  
And her discoloured Gown in pieces pull,  
And what soever made her beautiful.  
But lest her sufferings should all passive be,  
She turns her punishment to industry,  
And takes of several Seeds, a certain measure;  
Wheat, Barley, Oates, and a confused treasure  
Of Pease, and Lentiles, then all mixed, did pour  
Into one heap, with a prefixed hour,  
That ere herself should on our Hemisphere,  
That might, as the bright evening Star appear.  
Psyche each Grain should rightly segregate,  
A task for twenty to elaborate.  
This work assigned, Venus from thence did pass,  
To a Marriage Feast, where she invited was.  
Poor Psyche all alone amazed did stand,  
Nor to this labour would once set her hand:  
In her own thoughts judging herself unable,  
To vanquish that, was so inextricable;  
When lo, a numerous multitude of Aunts,  
Her neighbours, the next fields inhabitants,  
Came thronging in, sent thither by some power,  
That pity took on Cupid's Paramour.  
Nor would that wrong should be without defence,  
And hated Venus for her insolence.  
All these by an instinct together met,  
Themselves in a tumultuous method set  
On work, and each grain Arithmetically  
Subtract, divide, and after multiply.  
And when that this was done, away they fled:  
Each grain being by its kind distinguished.   

Venus now from the Nuptial feast was come,  
Her breath perfumed with wine, and Balsamum,  
Her body was with twines of Myrtles bound,  
Her head with Garlands of sweet Roses crowned.  
And seeing this accomplished task, she said  
Huswise, 'twas not your handy work conveyed  
These seeds in order thus; but his, that still  
Persists in love; to thine, and his own ill.  
Then on the ground she threw a crust of bread,  
For Psyche's supper, and so went to bed.  
Cupid the while, in a back room was put  
Under the same roof, and in prison shut:  
A punishment forhis old luxury,  
Lest he with Psyche should accompany:  
And so by too much straining of his side,  
Might hurt his wound, before 'twas scarrifyed:  
But when the Rofie morning drew away,  
The sable curtain, which let in the day,  
Venus to Psyche calls, and bids awake,  
Who standing up, she shows to her a Lake;  
Environed with a rock, beyond whose steep  
And craggy bottom, grazed a flock of sheep:  
They had no shepherd, them to feed, or fold,  
And yet their well grown fleeces were of gold.  
Pallas sometimes, the precious locks would cull,  
To make great juno vestures of the wool:  
Fetch me, says Venus, some of that rich hair,  
But how you'll do it, I nor know, nor care.  
Psyche obeys, not out of hope to win,  
So great a prize, but meaning to leap in,  
●hat in the marish she might end her life,  
Tnd so be freed from Venus, and her strife:  
When drawing near, the wind inspired reed,  
Spoke with a tune full voice. Psyche take heed,  
Let not despair, thee of thy soul beguile,  
Nor these my waters with thy death defile:  
But rest thee here, under this Willow tree,  
That growing drinks of the same stream with me;  
Keep from those sheep, that heated with the sun,  
Rage like the Lion, or the Scorpion;  
None can their stony brows, nor horns abide,  
Till the day's fire be some what qualified.  
But when the vapour, and their thirst is quenched,  
And Phoebus' horses in the Ocean drenched,  
Then you may fetch, what Venus does desire,  
And find their fleecy gold on every briar:  
Th'oraculous Reed full of humanity,  
Thus from her hollow womb did Prophesy  
And she observing strictly what was taught,  
Her apron full of the soft mettle brought,  
And gave to Venus; yet her gift, and labour,  
Gained no acceptance, nor found any favour.  
I know the author of this fact, says she,  
How ' 'twas the price of his adultery.  
But now I will a serious trial make,  
Whether you do these dangers undertake  
With courage, and that wisdom you pretend.  
For see that lofty Mountain, whence descend  
Black-coloured waters, from earth's horrid dens,  
And with their boilings wash the Stygian fens.  
From thence augment Cocytus' foaming rage,  
And swell his channel with their surplusage.  
Go now, and some of that dead liquor skim,  
And fill this Crystal Pitcher to the brim:  
Bring it me strait, and so her brows did knit,  
Threatening great matters, if she failed of it.  
With this injunction Psyche went her ways,  
Hoping even there to end her wretched days.  
But coming near to the prefixed place,  
Whose height did covit the clouds, & lowest base,  
Gave those black streams their first original,  
That wearing the hard rocks, did headlong fall  
Into the Stygian valleys, underneath  
She saw a fatal thing, and full of death.  
Two watchful Dragons the strait passage kept,  
Whose eyes were never sealed, nor ever slept.  
The waters too said something, Psyche, fly;  
What do you here? departed, or you shall dye.  
Psyche with terror of the voice dejected,  
And thought of that might never be effected,  
Like Niobe, was changed into a stone,  
In body present, but her mind was gone.  
And in the midst of her great grief, and fears,  
Can not enjoy the comfort of her tears.  
When jove, whose still protecting providence  
Is ever ready to help innocence:  
Sent the Saturnian Eagle, who once led  
By Love's impulsion, snatched up Ganymede  
To be joves' Cupbearer, from Ida hill,  
Andever since bore Cupid a goodwill:  
And what he could not to his person show,  
Resolved upon his Mistress to bestow.  
Then with Angelic speed, when he had left  
The Airs high tracts, and the three Regions cleft,  
Before her face he on the meadow sat,  
And said, alas, thou inconsiderate,  
And foolish Maid, return back, go not nigh  
Those sacred streams, so full or majesty.  
What hope hast thou those waters to procure,  
Which jove himself does tremble to abjure?  
No mortal hand may be allowed to touch,  
Much less to steal a drop, their power is such.  
Give me the Pitcher, she it gave; he went  
To Styx, and feigned that Venus had him sent.  
Psyche the Urn did to his talons tie,  
Then with his plumed oars poised equally,  
He lets it sink bet wixt the very jaws  
Of those fierce Dragons, and then up it draws,  
And gives it Psyche; she the same conveyed  
To Venus, yet her pains were ill apaid.  
Nothing her rage might expiate, but still  
The end of one, gins another ill.  
For aught, says Venus, that I gather can,  
You are a Witch, or some Magician.  
What else can be concluded put of these  
Experienced impossibilities?  
If your commerce be such then, you may venture  
Boldly to Hell, and when you there shall enter,  
Me to my cousin Proserpina commend,  
And in my name entreat her, she would send  
Some of her Box of beauty to me; say,  
So much as may suffice me for a day:  
Excuse me to her, that my own is spent,  
I know not how, by an ill accident.  
I am ashamed to speak it, but 'tis gone,  
And wasted all in curing of my son.  
But be not slack in your return; for I  
Must with the gods feast of necessity.  
Nor can I thither go, without disgrace,  
Till I have used some art unto my face.  
Pfyche conceived now, that her life, and fate,  
And fortunes all were at their utmost date,  
Being by Venus' cruelty thrust on,  
Towards a manifest destruction:  
Which she collects by argument, that thus  
With her own feet, must march to Tanarus.   

In this delusive agony she rose,  
And by degrees, up to a Turret goes,  
Whose top orelooked the hills, it was so high,  
Resolved to tumble headlong from the sky:  
Conceiting as her fancy did her feed,  
That was the way to go to Hell indeed.  
But then a sudden voice to her did call,  
Which broke out of the caverns of the wall,  
That said, ah coward wretch, why dost thou yield  
To this last labour, and forsake the field?  
Whilst Victory her Banner does display,  
And with a proffered Crown, tempts thee to stay.  
The way to Hell is easy, and the gate  
Stands ; but if the soul be separate  
Thus from the body, true, she goes to Hell:  
Not to return, but there for ever dwell.  
Virtue knows no such stop, nor they, whom jove  
Either begot, or equally does love.  
Now list to me; there is a fatal ground  
In Greece, beyond Achaia's farthest bound,  
Near Lacedaemon, famous for the rape  
Paris on Helen made, and their escape.  
'tis quickly found; for with its steemy breath  
It blasts the fields, and is the portof death.  
The path, like Ariadne's clue does guide  
To the dark Court, where Pluto does abide:  
And if you must those dismal regions see,  
Then carry in your hand a double fee.  
For Charon will do nothing without money;  
And you must have sops made of meal, and honey.  
It is a doubtful passage, for there are  
Many Decrees, and Laws peculiar  
Must strictly be observed; and if once broke,  
No ransom, nor entreaty can revoke.  
Nor is there prosecution of more strife,  
But all are penal statutes on your life.  
The first that you shall meet with, as you pass,  
Is an old man come driving of an ass,  
Decrepit as himself, they both shall sweat  
With their hard labour, and fee shall entreat,  
That you would help his burden to untie;  
But give no ear, nor stay when you go by.  
And next you shall arrive without delay  
To slow Avernus' Lake, where you must pay  
Charon his waftage, as before I said,  
For avarice does live among the dead:  
And a poor man, though tied serve, and the wind,  
If he no stipend bring, must stay behind.  
Here as you sail along, you shall see one  
Of squalid hue, they call Oblivion,  
Heave up his hands, and on the waters float,  
Praying, you would receive him in your Boat:  
But know, all those that will in safety be,  
Must learn to disaffect such piety.  
When you are landed, and a little past  
The Stygian Ferry, you your eyes shall cast,  
And spy some busy at their wheel, and these  
Are three old women, called the Destinies;  
They will desire you, to sit down, and spin,  
And show your own life's thread upon the pin.  
Yet are they all but snares, and do proceed  
From Venus' malice, to corrupt your creed.  
For should you lend your help to spin, or card,  
Or meddle with their distaff, your reward  
Might perhaps slip out of your hand, and then  
You must hope never to come back again.  
Next, a huge Mastiff shall you see, before  
The Palace-gate, and Adamantine door  
That leads to Dis, who when he opens wide  
His triple throat, the ghosts are terrified  
With his loud barkins, which so fare rebound,  
They make all Hell to Echo with their sound:  
Him with a morsel you must first assuage,  
And then deliver Venus' Embassage.  
For Proserpina shall kindly you entreat,  
And will provide a banquet, and a seat.  
But if you sit, fit on the ground, and taste  
None of her dainties, but declare in haste  
What you desire, which she will strait deliver:  
Then with those former rules, pass back the river.  
Give the threeheaded dog his other share,  
And to the greedy Mariner his fare.  
Keep fast these precepts what soe'er they be,  
And think on Orpheus, and Eurydice.  
But above all things, this observe to do,  
Take heed, you open not, nor pry into  
The beauty's Box, else shall you there remain;  
Nor see this Heaven, nor these Stars again.  
The stone enclosed voice, did friendly thus  
Psyche forewarn, with signs propitious.    

The last Section.  

SO soon as Psyche got all things together,  
That might be useful for her going thither,  
And her return, to Tanarus she went,  
And the Infernal passage did attempt:  
Where all those strange, and fatal prophecies  
Accomplished were in their occurrences.  
For first she passes by with careless speed,  
The old man, and his Ass, and gave no heed  
Either unto his person, or desire.  
And next she pays the Ferryman his hire;  
And though Oblivion, and the Fates did woe her,  
With many strong temptations, to undo her,  
Ulysses like, she did their prayers decline,  
And came now to the house of Proserpina.  
Before the Palace was a stately Court,  
Where forty Marble-pillars did support  
The roof, and frontispiece, that bore on high  
Pluto's own statue, graved in Ebony.  
His face, though full of majesty, was dimmed  
With a sad cloud, and his rude throne untrimed:  
His golden Sceptre was eat in with rust,  
And that again quite overlays with dust.  
Ceres was wrought him by, with weeping eyen,  
Lamenting for the loss of Preserpine.  
Her daughter's rape was there set down at full,  
Who while that she too studiously did pull  
The purple Violet, and sanguine Rose,  
Lilies, and low grown Pansies; to compose  
Wreaths for the Nymphs, regardless of her health  
'Twas soon surprised, and snatched away by stealth.  
Forced by the King of the infernal powers,  
And seemed to cry, and look after her flowers.  
Enceladus was stretched upon his back,  
While Pluto's Horse hooves, and coach did wrack  
His bruised body. Pallas did extend  
The Gorgon's head. Delia her bow did bend;  
And Virgins both, their Uncle did defy  
Like Champions, to defend virginity.  
The Sun, and Stars were wrapped in sable weeds,  
Dampt with the breath, of his Tanarian Steeds.  
All these, and more were portrayed round about,  
Which filth defaced, or time had eaten out.  
Three headed Cerberus the gate did keep,  
Whom Psyche with a sop first laid to sleep;  
And then went safely by, where first she saw  
Hell's judges sit, and urging of the law:  
The place was parted in two several ways,  
The right hand to Elysium conveys;  
But on the left, were male factors sent,  
The seat of tortures, and strange punishment.  
There Tantalus stands thirsty to the chin,  
In water, but can take no liquor in.  
Ixion too, and Sifiphus; the one  
A wheel, the other turns a restless stone.  
A Vulture there on Titius does wreak  
The Gods just wrath, and pounding with his beak,  
On his immortal liver still does feed,  
For what the day does waste, the night does breed:  
And other souls are forced to reveal,  
What unjust pleasures they on Earth did steal;  
Whom fiery Phlegeton does round enclose,  
And Styx his waves does nine times interpose.  
The noise of whips, and Furies, did so fright  
Poor Psyche's ears, she hasted to the right.  
That path way strait, for on each side there grew  
A Grove of moumefull Cypress, and of Yew:  
It is the place of such as happy die.  
There, as she walked on, did Infants cry,  
Whom cruel death snatched from their teats away,  
And robbed of sweet life, in an evil day.  
There Lovers live, who living here, were wise;  
And had their Ladies, to close up their eyes.  
There Mighty Heroes walk, that spent their blood,  
In a just cause, and for their Country's good.  
All these beholding through the glimmering air,  
A mortal; and so exquisitely fair,  
Thick as the motes, in the Sun beams came running  
To gaze, and know the cause too of her coming;  
Which she dissembled; only asked to know,  
Where Pluto dwelled, for thither she must go:  
A guide was strait assigned, who did attend,  
And Psyche brought safe to her journey's end,  
Who being entered, prostrate on her knee,  
She humbly tenders Venus Embassy.  
Great Pluto's Queen presented to her guest,  
A Princely Throne to fit on, and a feast,  
Wishing her taste, and her tired limbs refresse,  
After her journey, and her weariness.  
Psyche excused it, that she could not stay,  
And if she had her arrant would away.   

But Proserpina replied, you do not know  
Fair Maid, the joys and pleasures are below,  
Stay and possess, what ever I call mine,  
For other Lights, and other Stars do shine  
Within our territories, the day's not lost,  
As you imagine, in Elysian coast.  
The Golden Age, and Progeny is here,  
And that Famed Tree, that does in Autumn bear  
Clusters of Gold, whose Apples thou shalt hoard,  
Or each meal, if thou please, set on the board.  
The Matrons of Elysium at thy beck,  
Shall come and go; and buried Queens shall deck  
Thy body, in more stately ornaments,  
Then all Earth's feigned Majesty presents:  
The pale and squalid region shall rejoice,  
Silence shall break forth a pleasant voice:  
Stern Pluto shall himself to mirth betake,  
And crowned Ghosts shall banquet for thy sake;  
New Lamps shall burn, if thou wilt here abide,  
And nights thick darkness shall be rarified,  
What ere the winds upon the Earth do sweep  
Rivers, or Fens embrace, or the vast deep,  
Shall be thy tribute; and I will deliver  
Up for thy Servant, the Lethean River:  
Besides the Parca shall thy Handmaidens be,  
And what thou speakest, stand for a destiny.   

Psyche gave thankes; but did her plainly tell,  
She would not be a Courtier unto hell:  
When wondering that such honours did not please,  
She offered gifts, fare richer, than all these.  
For as a Dowry, at her feet she laid  
The mighty engines, which the world upwaighed,  
And vowed to give her immortality,  
And all the pleasures, and the royalty  
Of the Elysian Fields; which wisely she  
Refused, for Hell, with all their power, and skill,  
Though they allure, they cannot force the will:   

This vexed fair Proserpina, any should know  
Their horrid secrets, and have power to show,  
Unto the upper world, what she had seen  
Of Hell, and Styx, of Pluto, and his Queen,  
Yet since she might not her own laws withstand,  
She gave the box of beauty in her hand.  
And Psyche, with those precepts used before,  
The Sun's bright beams did once again adore  
Then, as she thought, being out of all control,  
A curious rashness did possess her soul,  
That slighting of her charge, and pormised duty,  
She greatly itched, to add to her own beauty;  
Saying, ah fool, to bear so rich a prize,  
And yet through fear, dost envy thine own eyes  
The happy object, whose reflection might,  
Gain thee some favour, in young Cupid's sight:  
The voice forbade me, but I now am free,  
From Venus' vision, and Hell's custody.  
And so without all scruple, she unlocks,  
And let's forth the whole treasure of the box,  
Which was not any thing to make one fair,  
But a mere Stygian, and infernal air;  
Whose subtle breathe through her pores did creep,  
And stuffed her body with a cloud of sleep,   

But Cupid now, not able to endure  
Her longer absence, having gained his cure,  
And pruned his ruffled wings, flew through the gate  
Of his close prison, to seek out his Mate:  
Where finding her in this dull Lethargy,  
He drew the foggy vapour from her eye;  
And that her stupid spirits might awake,  
Did all the drow sie exhalation shake  
From off her sense; she shut it up, and sealed  
The Box so fast, it ne'er might be revealed.  
Next, with his harmless Dart, small as a pin,  
He pricked the superficies of her skin:  
Saying, what wondrous frailty does possess  
This female kind, or rather wilfulness?  
For lo, thy foolish curiosity,  
Has tempted thee again to perjury.  
What proud exploit was this? what horrid fact?  
Be sure, my mother Venus will exact  
A strict account, of all that has been done,  
Both of thyself, and thy commission.  
But yet for all this trespass, be of cheer,  
And in a humble duty persevere,  
Detain from Venus nought, that is her own,  
And for what else remains, let me alone.  
Thus Psyche by her Lover being sent,  
And waxing strong, through his encouragement,  
The Box of beauty unto Venus brings,  
Whilst Cupid did betake him wings:  
For when he saw his Mother so austere,  
Forced by the violence of love, and fear,  
He pierced the Marble concave of the sky,  
To Heaven appealed, and did for Justice cry;  
Pleading his cause, and in the sacred presence  
Of jove himself, did his Love-suit commence.   

jove at his sight, threw by his rays, so pure,  
That no eyes but his own might them endure:  
Whom Cupid thus bespoke: Great jove, if I  
Am borne your true, and lawful progeny:  
If I have played bet ween your arms, and sat  
Next to yourself, but since grown to a state  
Of riper years, have been thought fit to bear  
An equal sway, and move in the same spear  
Of honour with you, by whose means, both men,  
And gods have trembled at my Bow, as when  
Yourself have darted thunderbolts, and slain  
The earth bred Giants, in the Phlegrian Plain.  
And when in several scales my shafts were laid  
With your own Trident, neither has outwaighed.  
I come not now, that you should either give,  
Confirm, or add to my prerogative.  
But setting all command, and power aside,  
Desire by law, and justice to be tried.  
For whither else should I appeal? or bring  
My cause, but to yourself, that are a King,  
And father to us all, and can dispense  
What right you please, in Court, and Conscience?  
I have been wronged, and must, with grief indite  
My Mother of much cruelty, and spite  
To me, and my poor Psyche: there's but one,  
In the whole world, that my affection,  
And fancy likes, where others do eujoy  
So many; the diversity does cloy  
Their very appetite: yet who but owes  
All his delight to me? and Venus knows,  
By her own thoughts, the uncontrolled fire  
That reigns in youth, when love does him inspire.  
Yet she without all pity, or remorse,  
Me, and my Mistress, labours to divorce.  
I covet no one's spouse, nor have I taken  
Another's Love; there's not a man forsaken,  
Or god, for my sake, that bewails his dear,  
Or baths his spoiled bosom with a tear:  
Then why should any, me, and my Love sever?  
That join all other hearts, and loves together?  
jove heard him out, and did applaud his speech,  
And both his hand, and Sceptre to him reach.  
Then calling Cupid, his smooth fingers laid  
On his Ambrosiac cheek, and kissing said,  
My little youngster, and my son, 'tis true;  
That I have never yet received from you  
Any due reverence, or respective meed,  
Which all the other gods to me decreed.  
For this my heart, whose high pre-eminence  
Gives Edicts to the Stars, and does dispense  
The like to Nature, your fine hand the while,  
With earthly lusts still labours to defile;  
And contrary to public discipline,  
And 'gainst all laws, both Moral, and Divine,  
Chief the julian, thou dost fill mine eyes  
With many foul, and close adulteries.  
For how ofttimes, have I through vain desire  
Been changed to beasts, birds, serpents, and to fire?  
Which has procured ill censures, and much blame,  
And hurt my estimation, and my fame:  
Yet being pleased with this thy foolish sport,  
I'm loath to leave it, though I'm sorry for't;  
And on condition thou wilt use thy wit,  
In my behalf, and mind the benefit,  
I will perform all thy demands: if when  
Thou seest fair Damfells on the earth again,  
Remembering thou wast brought up on my knee,  
That every such Maid thou wilt bring to me.   

Cupid assents; then jove bids Maya's son,  
Publish a royal Proclamation,  
Through the Precincts of Heaven, and call at once  
A general council, and a Sessions,  
That the whole bench, and race of Deities,  
Should in their several ranks, and pedigrees,  
Repair strait to his Court, this to be done,  
In pain of joves' displeasure, and a sum  
Of money to be laid upon his head,  
And from his lands, and goods believed,  
If any god should dare himself absent,  
For any cause, from this great Parliament:  
And that whoever had his name i'th' book,  
His fyne, but his excuse should not be taken.  
This being noised abroad, from every where,  
The lesser gods came thronging out of fear,  
And the Celestial Theatre did thwack,  
That Atlas seemed to groan under his pack.  
The jove out of his Ivory throne did rise,  
And thus bespoke them: Conscript Deities,  
For so the Muses with their whitest stone,  
Have writ your Names, and Titles, every one.  
You know my Nephew Cupid; for the most  
Of us, I'm sure, have felt him to our cost:  
Whose youthful heat I have still sought in vain,  
And his licentious riot to restrain.  
But that his lewd life be no farther spread,  
His lusts, nor his corruptions published.  
I hold it fit, that we the cause remove,  
And bind him in the fetters of chaste love:  
And since that he has made so good a choice,  
Of his own wife, let each god give his voice,  
That he enjoy her, and for ever tie  
Unto himself, in bands of Matrimony.  
Then unto Venus turning his bright face,  
Daughter, he says, conceive it no disgrace,  
That Psyche marries with your son; for I,  
That where I please, give immortality,  
Will alter her condition, and her state,  
And make all equal, and legitimate.  
With that, command to Mercury was given,  
That he should fetch fair Psyche unto Heaven:  
And when that she into their presence came,  
Her wondrous beauty did each god inflame.   

Then Jove reached forth a cup with Nectar fraught,  
And bade her be immortal with the draught:  
So joined them hand in hand, and vowed beside,  
That she with her dear Cupid should abide;  
ne'er to be separate; and more t'enlarge  
His bounty, made a Feast at his own charge,  
Where he placed Cupid at the upper end,  
And amorous Psyche on his bosom leaned.  
Next sat himself, and juno, than each guest,  
And this great Dinner was by Vulcan dressed.  
The Graces strewed the room, and made it smile  
With blushing Roses, and sweet flowers; the while  
The spheres danced harmony. Apollo ran  
Division on his Harp, satire, and Pan  
Played on their Pipes: the Choir of Muses sang,  
And the vast concave of Olympus rang,  
With pious acclamations to the Bride;  
An joyed that Psyche was thus deified.  
Hermes, and Venus moved their graceful Feet,  
And did in artificial measures sures meet;  
The Phrygian boy filled wine at this great feast,  
Only to jove, and Bacchus to the rest.   

Thus Cupid had his love, and not long after,  
Her womb by Juno's help, brought forth a daughter.  
A child, by nature different from all,  
That laughed when she was borne, and men did call  
Her Pleasure; one, that does exhilarate  
Both Gods, and men, and does herself dilate  
Through all societies, chief the best,  
Where there is any triumph, or a feast.  
She was the Author, that did first invent  
All kinds of sport, conceits, and merriment:  
And since to all men's humours does incline,  
Whether, that they be sensual, or Divine.  
Is of a modest, and a lose behaviour,  
And of a settled, and a wanton favour:  
Most dangerous, when she appears most kind,  
For then she'll part, and leave a sting behind:  
But happy they, that can her still detain,  
For where she is most fixed, she is least vain.     
FINIS.