And as she wept, her tears to pearl he turn'd,
And wound them on his arm, and for her mourn'd;
Then towards the palace of the Destinies,
Laden with languishment and grief, he flies,
And to those stern nymphs humbly made request,
Both might enjoy each other, and be bless'd;
But with a ghastly dreadful countenance,
Threatening a thousand deaths at every glance,
They answer'd Love, nor would vouchsafe so
much
As one poor word, their hate to him was such.
Hearken, awhile, and I will tell you why:
Heaven's winged herald, Jove-born Mercury, The self-same day that he asleep had laid Enchanted Argus, spied a country maid, Whose careless hair, instead of pearl to' adorn it, Glister'd with dew, as one that seem'd to scorn it: Her breath, as fragrant as the morning rose; Her mind pure, and her tongue untaught to glose: Yet proud she was, for lofty Pride that dwells In tow'red courts, is oft in shepherds' cells; And too, too well the fair vermilion knew, And silver tincture of her cheeks, that drew The love of every swain: on her this god Enamour'd was, and with his snaky rod Did charm her nimble feet, and made her stay, The while upon the hillock down he lay, And sweetly on his pipe began to play,
And with smooth speech her fancy to assay,
Till in his twining arms he lock'd her fast,
And then he woo'd with kisses, and at last,
As shepherds do, her on the ground he laid
And tumbling on the grass, he often stray'd
Beyond the bounds of shame, in being bold
To eye those parts, which no eye should behold:
And like an insolent commanding lover,
Boasting his parentage, would needs discover
The way to new Elisium: but she,
Whose only dower was her chastity,
Having striv'n in vain, was now about to cry,
And crave the help of shepherds that were nigh.
Herewith he stay'd his fury; and began
To give her leave to rise; away she ran :
After went Mercury, who us'd such cunning,
As she, to hear his tale, left off her running;
(Maids are not won by brutish force and might,
But speeches full of pleasure and delight ;)
And knowing Hermes courted her, was glad,
That she such loveliness and beauty had,
As could provoke his liking; yet was mute;
And neither would deny, nor grant his suit.
Still vow'd he love; she, wanting no excuse
To feed him with delays, as women use,
Or thirsting after immortality,
(All women are ambitious naturally,)
Impos'd upon her lover such a task,
As he ought not perform, nor yet she ask.
A draught of flowing nectar she requested,
Wherewith the king of gods and men is feasted.
He, ready to accomplish what she will'd,
Stole some from Hebe; (Hebe Jove's cup fill'd)
And gave it to his simple rustic love,
Which being known, (as what is hid from Jove?)
He inly storm'd, and wax'd more furious
Than for the fire filch'd by Prometheus;
And thrust him down from Heaven; he, wand'ring here, In mournful terms, with sad and heavy cheer, Complain'd to Cupid; Cupid, for his sake,
To be reveng'd on Jove did undertake;
And those on whom Heaven, earth, and Hell relies,
I mean the adamantine Destinies,
He wounds with love, and forc'd them equally
To doat upon deceitful Mercury.
They offer'd him the deadly fatal knife,
That shears the slender thread of human life;
At his fair feather'd feet the engines laid,
Which the earth from ugly Chaos' den upweigh'd:
- These he regarded not; but did intreat
That Jove, usurper of his father's seat,
Might presently be banish'd into Hell,
And aged Saturn in Olympus dwell,
They granted what he crav'd; and once again
Saturn and Ops begun their golden reign.
Murder, rape, war, and lust, and treachery,
Were with Jove clos'd in Stygian empery.
But long this blessed time continued not;
As soon as he his wished purpose got,
He, reckless of his promise, did despise
The love of the' everlasting Destinies.
They, seeing it, both love and him abhorr'd,
And Jupiter unto his place restor❜d.
And, but that Learning, in despite of Fate,
Will mount aloft, and enter heaven gate,
And to the seat of Jove itself advance,
Hermes had slept in Hell with Ignorance.
Yet as a punishment they added this,
That he and Poverty should always kiss;
And to this day is every scholar poor;
Gross gold from them runs headlong to the boor.
Likewise the angry Sisters, thus deluded,
To venge themselves on Hermes, have concluded
That Midas' brood shall sit in Honour's chair,
To which the Muses' sons are only heir:
And fruitful wits, that inaspiring are,
Shall discontent run into regions far;
And few great lords in virtuous deeds shall joy,
But be surpris'd with every garish toy:
And still enrich the lofty servile clown,
Who with encroaching guile keeps learning down.
Then muse not Cupid's suit no better sped,
Seeing in their loves the Fates were injured.
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