Amours

For Ceres, though she loves the fruitful fields,

Yet sometimes feels the force of love, and yields:

This Crete can witness, (Crete not always lies)

Crete that nurs'd Jove, and heard his infant cries,

There he was suckled who now rules the skies.

That Jove his education there receiv'd,

Will raise her fame, and make her be believ'd;

Nay she herself will never strive to hide

Her love, 'tis too well known to be denied:

She saw young Jasius in the Cretan grove

Pursue the deer, she saw, and fell in love.

She then perceived when first she felt the fire,

On this side modesty, on that desire;

Desire prevail'd, and then the field grew dry,

The farmer lost his crop and knew not why;

When he had toil'd, manur'd his grounds, and plough' d,

Harrow'd his fields, and broke his clods, and sow'd,

No corn appear'd, none to reward his pain,

His labour and his wishes were in vain.

For Ceres wand'red in the woods and groves,

And often heard, and often told her loves:

Then Crete alone a fruitful summer knew,

Where'er the goddess came a harvest grew.

Ida was grey with corn, the furious boar

Grew fat with wheat, and wonder'd at the store:

The Cretans wish'd that such all years would prove,

They wish'd that Ceres would be long in love.

Well then, since then 'twas hard for you to lie

All night alone, why at your feast must I ?

Why must I mourn, when you rejoice to know

Your daughter safe, and queen of all below?

'Tis holy-day, and calls for wine and love;

Come, let's the height of mirth and humor prove,

These gifts will please our master pow'rs above.

So much I've suffer'd, and so long, no more

I'll bear the wrongs which I have borne before.

Begone, vile Cupid, I'll no more endure

Thy slavish labors, and fatigues impure;

From hence, I'll put an end to all the pains

Thou'st cost me, and from hence shake off thy chains.

I hate the liv'ry I with pleasure wore,

And blush at bonds, which once with pride I bore:

But this, methinks, should have been done before.

To leave my wicked courses I begin,

As years deprive me of the gust of sin.

On Cupid's neck I should have trod when young,

And vanquish'd him when my desires were strong.

In that there had been virtue; now there's none,

The world will say so; let the world say on.

Much opposition I shall meet; perhaps,

The lewd will laugh, and threaten a relapse.

To bear reproaches I must be prepar'd,

Easy's the end, when the beginning's hard;

Content let me the present pain endure,

For the sharp medicine is the patient's cure.

How oft you have expos'd me to the cold,

While in your arms you did my rival hold!

How like a slave have I been forc'd to wait

All weathers, and how oft have watched the gate!

As if your house was trusted to my care

And I, your sentinel, did duty there.

Oft have I seen your sated lover come

With looks, as if he long'd to be at home.

But what most grated on my jealous mind,

Was that he there the waiting fool should find.

That aggravated most the cruel curse;

I would not wish my greatest foe a worse.

How oft have I attended you abroad,

Or in the city, cirque, or on the road ?

They took me for your husband by my care,

Or that your guardian or your slave I were.

I by the people's glances, and your own,

Observ'd you were acquainted with the town;

That of your love if I possess'd a part,

'Twas plain I shared with many more your heart.

What need I of your perjuries bring proof,

Suppose the common talk was not enough!

What do your ogles and your gestures mean,

Your carriage at th' assembly and the scene ?

There's scarce a fop you meet with in your way,

To whom you have not something soft to say;

Some token which you either understand

By mystic words or motion of the hand.

They tell me you are sick; I run to see,

And find, as ill as you pretend to be,

It is not for my rival, but for me.

I seldom told you of your faults, but strove

To cover all your failings with my love;

Of this I might remind you, and much more,

But what avails it now; th' affair is o'er:

A fond you found me, and a patient man,

And get you such another if you can.

I fear not now your frowns; my bark defies

The storm of words, and tempest of your eyes;

No coaxing now, your hardest phrases use,

Your looks, your language, all their terrors lose;

I am not such a fool as I have been,

To dread your spirit, and to sooth your spleen.

But, ah! by diff'rent passions I'm oppress'd,

Fierce love and hate contend within my breast;