XIX.
[If Cupid were a childe, as Poets faine]
The Author in this passion reproueth the vsuall description
of loue, which olde Poetes haue so long
time embraced: and proueth by probabilities,
that he neither is a childe (as they say) nor blinde,
nor winged like a birde, nor armed archer like
with bowe & arrowes, neither frantike, nor wise,
nor yet vncloathed, nor (to conclude) anie God at
all. And yet whē he hath said al he can to this end,
he cryeth out vpon the secret nature and qualitie
of Loue, as being that, whereunto he can by no
meanes attaine, although he haue spent a long &
tedious course of time in his seruice.
If
Cupid were a childe, as Poets faine,
How comes it then that Mars doth feare his might?
If blind; how chance so many to theire paine,
Whom he hath hitte, can witnesse of his sight?
If he haue wings to flie where thinkes him best,
How happes he lurketh still within my brest?
If bowe and shaftes should be his chiefest tooles,
Why doth he set so many heartes on fire?
If he were madde, how could he further fooles
To whet theire wits, as place and time require?
If wise, how could so many leeze theire wittes,
Or doate through loue, and dye in frantike sittes?
If naked still he wander too and froe,
How doth not Sunne or frost offend his skinne?
If that a God he be, how falles it so,
That all wants end, which he doth once beginne?
O wondrous thing, that I, whom Loue hath spent,
Can scarcely knowe him self, or his intent.
