University of Virginia Library

VENUS CLIPPING THE WINGS OF CUPID.

Venus, clippe thy truante's winge:—
For it is the deadliest thinge
'Twixte the rounde earthe and the skie.
Not the poisonne-staines that lie
Glisteninge in the waninge moone,
On the slipperie serpente stone;
Not the droppe of venome hunge
Coldlie from the aspic's tongue;
Not the witche's eville eye,
As she hurries mutteringe bye;
Nothinge born of sunne or gloome,
Is so deadlie as thatte plume!
For the hearte's no sooner wonne,
Than the truante Love is gone;
Fickle as the Aprille gale.
Then the maidene's cheeke is pale;
And the vermeile-tincturede lippe,
Riche as rosebuddes when they dippe
In the summerre honeye-dewe,
Dyinge, weares the lilye's hue;
Ande, for smiles, the wearie sighe
On its beautie nowe dothe lie;
Ande the farewelle worde is spokenne—
Ande the maidene's heart is brokenne!