Classic Poem

Cupid blessed bee thy might,
Lett thy triumph see noe night,
Bee thou justly god of love
Who thus can thy glory move,
Harts obay to Cupids sway,
Prinses non of you say nay;
Eyes, lett him direct your way
For without him you may stray;
Hee your secrett thoughts can spy
Beeing hid els from each eye;
Lett your songs bee still of love,
Write noe satirs which may prove
Least offensive to his name;
If you doe you will butt frame
Words against your selves, and lines
Wher his good, and your ill shines,
Like him who doth sett a snare
For a poore betrayed hare
And that thing hee best doth love
Lucklesly the snare doth prove;
Love the king is of the mind,
Please him, and hee will be kind;
Cross him you see what doth com,
Harmes which make your pleasures tomb;
Then take heed, and make your blis
In his favour, and soe miss
Noe content, nor joy nor pease
Butt in hapines increase.
Love command your harts and eyes
And injoy what pleasure tries;
Cupid govern, and his care
Guard your harts from all dispaire.