Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MERCURY AND CUPID, by MATTHEW PRIOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MERCURY AND CUPID, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In sullen humour one day jove
Last Line: For heaven's sake, keep your darts! Good night.
Subject(s): Cupid; Flowers; Goddesses & Gods; Heaven; Mercury (mythology); Mythology; Eros; Paradise


IN sullen humour one day Jove
Sent Hermes down to Ida's grove,
Commanding Cupid to deliver
His store of darts, his total quiver;
That Hermes should the weapons break,
Or throw them into Lethe's lake.
Hermes, you know, must do his errand:
He found his man, produced his warrant;
Cupid, your darts -- this very hour --
There's no contending against power.
How sullen Jupiter, just now,
I think I said; and you'll allow,
That Cupid was as bad as he:
Hear but the youngster's repartee.
Come, kinsman (said the little god),
Put off your wings, lay by your rod;
Retire with me to yonder bower,
And rest yourself for half an hour;
'Tis far indeed from hence to Heaven,
But you fly fast; and 'tis but seven.
We'll take one cooling cup of nectar;
And drink to this celestial hector --
He break my dart, or hurt my power!
He, Leda's swan, and Danae's shower!
Go, bid him his wife's tongue restrain,
And mind his thunder, and his rain. --
My darts! O certainly I'll give them:
From Cloe's eyes he shall receive them.
There's one, the best in all my quiver,
Twang! through his very heart and liver,
He then shall pine, and sigh, and rave:
Good lord! what bustle shall we have!
Neptune must straight be sent to sea,
And Flora summoned twice a day:
One must find shells, and t'other flowers,
For cooling grots, and fragrant bowers,
That Cloe may be served in state:
The Hours must at her toilet wait:
Whilst all the reasoning fools below
Wonder their watches go too slow.
Lybs must fly south, and Eurus east,
For jewels for her hair and breast;
No matter though their cruel haste
Sink cities, and lay forests waste;
No matter though this fleet be lost;
Or that lie wind-bound on the coast.
What whispering in my mother's ear!
What care, that Juno should not hear!
What work among you scholar gods!
Phoebus must write him amorous odes:
And thou, poor cousin, must compose
His letters in submissive prose;
Whilst haughty Cloe, to sustain
The honour of my mystic reign,
Shall all his gifts and vows disdain;
And laugh at your old bully's pain.
Dear coz., said Hermes in a fright,
For Heaven's sake, keep your darts! good night.





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