Classic Poem

If all the earth were paper made, to write,
And all the Sea conuerted into incke,
It would not serue to shew Cupidos might:
No head can halfe his bloudy Conquests thinke:
Vnto his yoke he forceth euery wight,
No one away dares for his life to shrinke.
Who most contends, the widest wound receaues,
For Cupid then by force his freedome reaues.

The sage who sayde, that (loue exceeded all)
Pronounst the troth, and spake as we do fynde:
He wist full well, that euery wight was thrall
Vnto the God that feadreth is and blinde:
No Poet him, but Prophet may we call
For that of loue so derely he definde:
For Cupid with a looke doth wound moe hearts,
Then thousand speares, or thousand deadly dartes.

Which Caesar sawe, who sundrio Realmes subdude,
Whereby his fame did reach the stately starres,
For when that he fayre Cleopatra vewde,
He fell to loue, for all his ciuill warres:
In aged brest his youthfyll wounds renewde,
Where Cupids scourge had left him sundry scarres.
That learned Marcus, so renowmde for wit,
For Faustine fayre was rid with louing bit.

Eake Annybal of Carthage manly wight,
That past the Alpes to come to Italy,
Whoso puissance put the Romane hoast to flight:
For all his force and prudent pollicy,
Did stoupe to loue, surprisde with deepe delight,
Of one, a wench bred vp vnciuilly:
And many moe, as fierce as he in fielde,
Cupido forst with tender bowe to yeelde.

And not alone this Archer masters man,
But by this power, doth pierce the golden skies,
And there subdues the greatest now and than:
Such subtill driftes the Godhead doth deuise.
As when that Ioue lovde Leda, like a Swan,
And prickt his plumes to please his Ladies eyes:
Another time became a milke white Bull,
And all to steale away a countrie Trull.

Who hath not hearde how Phebus Daphne lovde?
How mightie Mars was bound in Vulcans chaine?
And cke how Ioue his greatest cunning provde,
When he became a golden showre of rayne.
Endynion he was passingly belovde
Of Phebe, who with him had often laine:
On Latinus hyll, the gastly God of hell,
Pluto him selfe, did like Proserpine well.

May Neptune boast or vaunt aboue the rest?
Dyd he not loue as other Gods haue done?
Hath Cupid neuer rasde his rockie breast?
Could he for all his waucs dame Venus shunne?
No, he hath been by pangs of loue opprest,
The water nymphs his godhead oft haue wonne,
No storme could stint, nor frosen flood remoue,
Nor water wast his flames of burning loue.

To banish him no wile or wit auailes,
No heart so hard, but melts as doth the waxe,
To cure his wound all learned Phisicke failes,
It burnes the breast, as fire consumes the flaxe:
The fort of force must yeeld when loue assailes:
Ech rebels mind with lingring siege he sacks.
No towre so high, no castle halfe so strong,
But loue at last will lay it quite along.

And looke who once is tangled in his net,
And beares his badge fast fixed in his brest,
By no deuise or gile away may get,
But foorth he must, and march among the rest.
By nature so the law of loue is set,
As none hath will or power from him to wrest,
No griefe so great, no toyle or trouble such,
That faithful loucrs thinke to be too much.

No counsell giuen by friend, no feare of foe,
No rulers rod, no dread of threatning law,
No wracke of wealth, nor mischiefe that may grow,
Can cause the wight that loues to stand in awe:
As flattly doth this former story show:
Where you a wench so deepe in fansio saw
As naught saue death might bring her woes to end,
When she had lost her faithfull louing friend.

Wherefore this wrong was great they did this maide:
The brothers were a little not to blame,
That would the wench from fixed fansie staid:
And thought by force to quench her kindled flame.
Loues heate is such, it skornes to be delaide.
With greater easo you may a Tiger tame,
Than win a wight whose liking once is set,
Either to forgoe a friend, or to forget.

Amor vince ogni cosa.