And since doom’d by Fate,
    (That well knew his Hate) 20
      That Hee should be blinde;
    For very despite,
    Our Eyes be his White,
      So wayward his kinde.

    If his Shafts loosing,
    (Ill his Mark choosing)
      Or his Bow broken;
    The Moane VENVS maketh,
    And care that she taketh,
      Cannot be spoken. 30

    To VULCAN commending
    Her loue, and straight sending
      Her Doues and her Sparrowes,
    With Kisses vnto him,
    And all but to woo him,
      To make her Sonne Arrowes.

    Telling what he hath done,
    (Sayth she, Right mine owne Sonne)
      In her Armes she him closes,
    Sweetes on him fans, 40
    Layd in Downe of her Swans,
      His Sheets, Leaues of Roses.

    And feeds him with Kisses;
    Which oft when he misses,
      He euer is froward: 
    The Mothers o’r-ioying,
    Makes by much coying,
      The Child so vntoward.

    Yet in a fine Net,
    That a Spider set, 50
      The Maydens had caught him;
    Had she not beene neere him,
    And chanced to heare him,
      More good they had taught him.

AN AMOVRET ANACREONTICK

    Most good, most faire,
    Or Thing as rare,
    To call you’s lost;
    For all the cost
    Words can bestow,
    So poorely show
    Vpon your prayse,
    That all the wayes
    Sense hath, come short: 
    Whereby Report 10
    Falls them vnder;
    That when Wonder
    More hath seyzed,
    Yet not pleased,
    That it in kinde
    Nothing can finde,
    You to expresse: 
    Neuerthelesse,
    As by Globes small,
    This Mightie ALL 20
    Is shew’d, though farre
    From Life, each Starre
    A World being: 
    So wee seeing
    You, like as that,
    Onely trust what
    Art doth vs teach;
    And when I reach
    At Morall Things,
    And that my Strings 30
    Grauely should strike,
    Straight some mislike
    Blotteth mine ODE. 
    As with the Loade,
    The Steele we touch,
    Forced ne’r so much,
    Yet still remoues
    To that it loues,
    Till there it stayes;
    So to your prayse 40
    I turne euer,
    And though neuer
    From you mouing,
    Happie so louing.

LOVES CONQVEST

      Wer’t granted me to choose,
    How I would end my dayes;
      Since I this life must loose,
    It should be in Your praise;
    For there is no Bayes
      Can be set aboue you.