Pass beneath the hand of a foreign lady; Serve a proud rival." Lo, behind her back Slyly laughed Venus, and her archer minion Held the bow slack.
Then, the game played out, "Put away," she whispered, "Wrath and upbraiding, and the quarrel's heat, When the loathed bull surrenders horns, for riving, Low at your feet.
Bride of high Jove's majesty, bride unwitting, Cease from your sobbing; rise, your luck is rare. Your name's the name which half the world divided Henceforth shall bear."
Let me tell Lydè of wedding-law slighted, Penance of maidens and bootless task, Wasting of water down leaky cask, Crime in the prison-pit slowly requited.
Miscreant brides! for their grooms they slew. One out of many is not attainted, One alone blest and for ever sainted, False to her father, to wedlock true.
Praise her! she gave her young husband the warning. Praise her for ever! She cried, "Arise! Flee from the slumber that deadens the eyes; Flee from the night that hath never a morning.
Baffle your host who contrived our espousing, Baffle my sisters, the forty and nine, Raging like lions that mangle the kink, Each on the blood of a quarry carousing.
I am more gentle, I strike not thee, I will not hold thee in dungeon tower. Though the king chain me, I will not cower, Though my sire banish me over the sea.
Freely run, freely sail, good luck attend thee; Go with the favour of Venus and Night. On thy tomb somewhere and some day bid write Record of her who hath dared to befriend thee."
Lady, if you ever paid Forfeit for a heart betrayed, If for broken pledge you were By one tooth, one nail less fair,
I would trust. But when a vow Slips from off your faithless brow, Forth you flash with purer lustre, And a fonder troop you muster.
You with vantage mock the shade Of a mother lowly laid, Silent stars and depths of sky, And high saints that cannot die.
Laughs the Queen of love, I say, Laughs at this each silly fay, Laughs the rogue who's ever whetting Darts of fire on flint of fretting.
Ay, the crop of youth is yours, Fresh enlistments throng your doors, Veterans swear you serve them ill, Threaten flight, and linger still.
Dames and thrifty greybeards dread Lest you turn a stripling's head; Poor young brides are in dismay Lest you sigh their lords away.