To Cupid for reuenge of his vnkind and cruell Loue. Declaring his faithfull seruice and true hart both to the God of Loue and his Ladie

IF I had béene in Troyan ground
When Ladie Venus tooke hir wound:
IF I in Gréekish campe had béene,
Or clad in armour had béene séene:
If Hector had by mée béene slaine,
Or Prince Aeneas put to paine:
If I the Machin huge had brought,
By Grecian guile so falsely wrought,
Or raysed it aboue the wall,
Of Troie that procurde the fall:
Then could I not thée (Cupid) blame,
If thou didst put mée to this shame.
But I haue alwaies béene as true
To thée and thine in order due,
As euer was there any Wight,
That fayth and truth to Cupid plight.
I neuer yet despise thy lawe,
But aye of thée did stand in awe:
I neuer callde thée Bussard blinde,
I no such fault in thée did finde,
But thought my time well spent to bée
That I imploide in seruing thée.
I wiste thou wert of force and powre
To conquere Princes in an howre
When thou retaindst mée as thy man
I thought my selfe most happie than.
Since this is true that I haue saide,
Good Cupid let mée haue thy aide,
Helpe mée to wreake my wrath aright
And succor mée to worke my spight.
To thée it appertaines of due
Him to assist that is so true:
And thou of reason shouldst torment
Such as by wilfull will are bent
To triumph ouer those that serue
Thée in the field, and neuer swerue,
Go bend thy Bowe with hastie spéede,
And make hir Tigers hart to bléede.
Cause hir that little sets by mee,
Yet still to stand in awe of thée.
Let hir perceiue thy feruent fire,
And what thou art in raging ire,
Now showe thy selfe no man to bée,
Let hir a God both féele and sée.
She forceth not my cutting paine,
Hir vowed othes shee wayes as vaine.
Shée sits in peace at quiet rest,
And scornes at mée so dispossest.
Shée laughes at thée, and mocks thy might,
Thou art not Cupid in hir sight.
Shée spites at mée without cause whie,
Shée forceth not although I die.
I am hir captiue bounde in Giue
And dare not once for lyfe to striue.
The more to thee I call and crie,
To rid mee from this crueltie,
The more shée séekes to worke hir ire,
The more shée burnes with scalding fire.
And all for Cupids sake I bide,
From whose decrées I doe not glide.
Wherefore (I say) go bende thy Bow,
And to hir hart an Arrow throw:
That Dart which breaketh harts of flint
And giues the cruell crasing dint,
Vpon hir crabbed breast bestow,
That shée thy force and powre may know:
That shée a Myrrour may be knowne
To such as be thy deadly fone,
So shall they good example take,
How to abuse men for thy sake.
Let hir (good Cupid) vnderstande,
That I am thine both hart and hande.
And to play quittance force a fire,
That shée may frie with whote desire
Of me, whome earst she put to paine,
And this is all that I would gaine.