University of Virginia Library



XXI. Away with these selfe louing lads

[1]

Away with these selfe louing lads,
Whom Cupids arrowe neuer glads:
Away poore soules that sigh & weepe
In loue of them that lie & sleepe,
For Cupid is a medooe god,
& forceth none to kisse the rod.

2

God Cupids shaft like destinie,
Doth either good or ill decree:
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward vpon his feet doth go,
What fooles are they that haue not knowne
That loue likes no lawes but his owne?

3

My song they be of Cyntihas praise,
I weare her rings on hollidaies,
On euery tree I write her name,
And euery day I reade the same:
Where honor, Cupids riuall is,
There miracles are seene of his:

4

If Cinthia craue her ring of me,
I blot her name out of the tree,
If doubt do darken things held deere,
Then well fare nothing once a yeere:
For many run, but one must win,
Fooles only hedge the Cuckoo in.

5

The worth that worthinesse should moue
Is loue, which is the bowe of loue,
And loue as well the foster can,
As can the mighty Noble-man:
Sweet Saint, tis true you worthie be,
Yet without loue nought worth to me.