CUPID

WHy, now you take me! these are rites That grace Loves days, and crown his nights! These are the motions, I would see, And praise, in them that follow me! Not sighs, nor tears, nor wounded hearts, Nor flames, nor ghosts: but airy parts Tried, and refined as yours have been, And such they are, I glory in. Come, do not call it CUPIDS crime, You were thought dead, before your time. If thus you move to HERMES will Alone; you will be thought so still. Go, take the ladies forth, and talk, And touch, and taste too: Ghosts can walk. betwixt eyes, tongues, hands, the mutual strife Is bred, that tries the truth of life. They do, indeed, Like dead men move, That think they live, and not in love. HERMES, your too much wit, breeds too much fear. But, will you go? Can you leave LOVE, and he entreat you so? Here, take my quiver, and my bow, My torches too; that you, by all, may know I mean no danger to your stay: This night, I will create my holiday, And be yours, naked, and entire. I swear: and with Like cause thank MERCURY, As these have, to thank him, and destiny.