Thou purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack To wound her heart, whose eyes have wounded me, And suffer'd her to glory in my wrack, Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee: By hellish Styx, by which the Thund'rer 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 loved Psyche, by the fires Spent on thine alters flaming up to heav'n, By all true lovers' sighs, vows, and desires, By all the wounds that ever thou hast giv'n: I conjure thee by all that I have nam'd To make her love, or, Cupid, be thou damn'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DANCERS by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY HIS PRAYER FOR ABSOLUTION by ROBERT HERRICK SONNET ON FAME (2) by JOHN KEATS A MORNING HYMN by CHARLES WESLEY MYRRHA by VITTORIO AMEDEO ALFIERI WHY PLAGUE ME, LOVES? by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS |