Poem by Michael Drayton

Sonnet 36. Thou Purblind Boy

    Cupid Conjured

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.

1. Sonnet 24. I Hear Some Say
2. Sonnet 48. Cupid, I Hate thee
3. Sonnet 37. Dear, why should You Command Me to My Rest
4. An Ode Written in the Peak
5. Sonnet 57. You Best Discern'd of my Mind's Inward Eyes

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