But Cupid wounding with his golden wings
The loftie aire, that burned as he went,
Without delay he gaines the shadowed top
Of mount Parnasse, where looking round about
He staies, and waites the meanes to venge himselfe
At pleasure of Apollos proude contempt.
Wherefore out of his quiuer he doth take
Two wounding headed arrowes fatall both:
In colour diuers, and in their effects,
For th’one procureth loue, with burning fire,
The other hate, with cold and frozen ice.
Golden is that, that causeth feruent loue,
Leaden is that, that causeth frozen hate:
And talking with them both, as though they did
Conceiue his wordes, in this sort he did say.
Come speedy out (my louing friendes)
And shew your valour, and your force so high:
In you my trust, and hope doth lie,
That you will shew, whereon my strength depends.
Beate downe Apollos pride,
That heere our honour did deride:
That he may know, how well my words agree
With earnest deedes as shortly he shall see.
Since thou, that art so sharpe and tride
With kindling fire in each louing brest,
Thou shalt Apollos hart molest,
That cruell paines, and smartes he may abide.
And thou that art of bluntie lead,
Strike thou some womans hart so dead
In cruell hate, that she shall neuer feele
The sense of loue, no more then stone, or steele.
Apollo there remained very glad,
Calling the heauens, the elements, and beastes,
The trees, the meades, the springs, the birdes, and fish
To ioy with him in his renowned spoile,
And victorie, by Pythons death he got:
For in this sort with ioyfull face he said.
O heauenly frame,
Whose course, and sweete accents
Giue earthly things their life, that ar
Of natures name.
You circled elements,
So contrarie in secret war,
You beastes, that far