Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624) Part 23

THE SCOVRGE OF VENVS.

_OR_,

The wanton Lady.

_WITH_

THE RARE BIRTH OF _ADONIS._

Written by _H. A._

_LONDON_

Printed by _Nicholas Okes_ dwelling neere _Holborne-bridge._ 1613.

_To the Reader._

_Gentlemen, if your fancy will permit you to fauour this booke, I shall be thankfull, if not, I can but repent at the charge of the Impression, I meane but little gaine to my selfe, yet much pleasure to you, if it were my owne wit, and you condemne it, I should be ashamed of my publicke intrusion, but since it was the labour of a man wel-deseruing, forbeare open reprehending, for, as I haue heard, 'twas done for his pleasure, without any intent of an Impreion; thus much I excuse him that I know not, and commend that which deserueth well, if I be partiall, I pray patience._

_The Scourge of Venus._

Whilst that the Sunne was climing vp in haste, To view the world with his ambitious eye.

Faire _Myrha_; yet alas, more faire then chaste.

Did set her thoughts to descant wantonly; Nay most inhumane, more then bad, or ill, As in the sequell you may reade at will.

You that haue parents, or that parents be, Depart a s.p.a.ce, and giue not eare at all To the foule tale that here shall vttered be: Some filthy shame let on all other fall, If possibly there can be any such, From nature to degenerate so much.

O then with _Ouid_, I am wonderous glad That this small world of ours is put so farre From those that such incestious people had: So rest thou still in glory as a starre.

That scorning thrusts from other nations quite, And in thy vertues doth thy selfe delight.

And now faire _Myrha_ in her youthly blood Doth on her father dote with fond desire.

Each foule occasion is accounted good, That may increase her filthy l.u.s.tfull fire.

And as this shamefull matter wanted grace, So doubtfully she thus doth plead her case.

Why should not G.o.ds this loue of mine permit?

Or be offended with me for the same?

It doth infringe their sacred lawes no whit, Adding dishonour, or deseruing blame.

I will proceed, good reasons for to proue, 'Tis not vnlawfull to obtaine my loue.

In many countries I do certaine know, The parents with their children married be, Which they do most, their G.o.dlinesse to show, Because their loues increast thereby they see.

Then shal this lucklesse plot of ground remaine, Th'occasion that my loue I not obtaine?

Each night hath Nature set at liberty: All things be c[=o]mon, for she naught restrains: Then let the Daughter with the Father lye, Like president with all things else remaines.

The Kid, the Heifer, and the birds we see, Affect the same of whom they gotten be.

In happy case then such her creatures are, That may do so, and yet do no offence, They be more happy then is mankinde farre: For they by some malicious base pretence Haue made a curbe to hold that still in thrall Which Nature would haue common vnto all.

But yet packe hence thou foule incestious loue, What, wilt vpon thy only father dote?

I ought to loue him; yet as doth behoue, Not that the world therby my shame may note.

O do resolue! the neerenesse of our kin, Cuts off all hope thy wished suit to win.

Did _Cupid_ then ere shoot so yet before?

Can _Vulcan_ forge so foule an arrow now?

Or further: will dame _Venus_ euermore Such cruelty vnto her seruants show?

No, no, I am deceiu'd; for now I see, With poisoned snakes some fury wo[=u]ded thee.

How great (said she) o _Venus_ mayst thou be, How was I rauished this present night, In feeling of your pleasant sports in me?

I clipt a man in prime of his delight, What liuely pleasures did I there conceiue?

No fault (ala.s.se) but they too soone did leaue.

Would _Cynarus_ thou hadst some other name, How fitly mightst thou haue a loue of me?

How n.o.bly mightst thereby increase thy fame, How quickly shouldst a son gaine vnto thee?

I would inforce dull earthly thoughts, to craue, To kisse and clip, and other pastimes haue.

What meane my dreams? haue they effect at all?

May dreames a future chance to vs portend?

Let then to me such dreames more oft befall, In dreames no present witnesse can offend.

In dreames we may as great a pleasure take, As in some sort is found we being awake.

But yet avaunt, packe hence foule filthy fire, Wring out some teares to quench this cursed flame No otherwise the daughter-like require Thy fathers loue, that blazons on thy shame.

Yet put the case he first did seeke to me; No doubt I should to his request agree.

Why should it not then stand right so with him, Since of one nature we partic.i.p.ate?

What if with speech thou chance his loue to win Then maist thou write, _No time is yet too late_.

What thou dost blush to speake, loue bids thee write Belieue me they read more th[=e] we indite.

Resolu'd on this, with trembling hand she takes The pen and paper, framing for to write, Left h[=a]d holds way, whilst right the leter makes Composing what she did in minde indite.

She writes, she doubts, she chageth this for that, She likes, dislikes, & notes she knows not what.

She casts away, and doth begin anew, Yet findes a want in that she framed last She blots, & then againe that thing doth view, And now the first more fits then all that's past.

Father she writes, yet shame did blot it out, Then thus she writes, and casts away all doubt.

I know not what, sends to I know not whom Such health that thou maist only giue to me, Which if I want, my life cannot be long, Euen that same health thy louer sends to thee.

I dare not tell thee who I am for shame, Nor (out ala.s.se) once let thee heare my name.

And if thou aske of me what I desire, Or why so doubtfull I do write to thee, Would namelesse I might tell what I require, Till that my sweet were granted vnto me: Which if to know, thou wouldst make further triall A maiden asketh but a maids deniall.

In token of my wounded heart, I would Within these blotted lines there might apeare My colour pale, my body leane and cold, My watery eyes, my sighes and heauy cheere, Then mightst perceiue I were in loue with thee, And how the flames of loue tormenteth me.