University of Virginia Library

Alexander Neuells Answere to the same.

It is not cursed Cupids Dart:
Nor Venus cancred Spyght,
It is not vengeance of the Gods
That wretched harts doth smyght,
With restlesse rage of carefull Loue.
No, No, thy Force alone
Affection fond, doth styr these flames.
Thou causest vs to mone
And waile, & curs our wretched stats.
Our thryse vnhappy plights,
Our sighes, & powdred sobs wt tears,
Our greuous gronyng Sprights,
Thy hateful Malice doth procure:
O Fancye flamyng Feend
Of Hel. For thou in outwarde shape,
And colour of a frende
Dost by thy Snares & slymed Hooks
entrap the wounded Harts:
From whence these Hellike torments spryng,
& euer greauyng Smarts.
Whence Gripe of minde, wt chaunged chere
Whēce face besmeard wt teares.
Whēce thousād mischiefs more, wherwt
suche Mysers liues outweares.
Our gasyng eyes on Bewties bayt
do worke our endles bane.
Our eyes I say doo woorke our woo,
Our eyes procure our paine.
These are the Traps to vexed mynds
Here Gyns and Snares do lye.
Here fyre & flames by Fancie framde,
In brest doo broyle and frye.
O Googe the Bayte sone spyed is,
Soone vewd their wanton lookes.
Wheron to feede, and yet to shun,
The priuy lurkyng hookes,
Their pain, Their toile, Their labour is
There There lyes endles strife.
O happye than that Man account,
Whose well directed Lyfe
Can fly those yls, which fancy stirs,
And lyue from Bondage free.
A Phœnix ryght on yearth (no doubte)
A Byrde full rare to see.