FROM
I d e a.
by Michael Drayton
XXXVI.
Cupid Conjured
THOU purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack
To wound her heart, whose eyes have wounded me,
And suffered her to glory in my wrack,
Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee :
By hellish Styx, by which the Thunderer swears,
By thy fair mother's unavoided power,
By Hecate's names, by Proserpine's sad tears
When she was rapt to the infernal bower,
By thine own lovèd Psyche, by the fires
Spent on thine altars, flaming up to heaven,
By all true lovers' sighs, vows and desires,
By all the wounds that ever thou hast given ;
I conjure thee by all that I have named
To make her love, or, Cupid, be thou damned.
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Michael Drayton
