Cupid , thy folly bleares sweet Myra's eyes,
For like the blind, that vpwards looke for light,
You fix those fatall starres on Fortunes skies,
As though such planets gaue not Fortune might.

Base Boy, what heart will doe him sacrifice,
That wraps repentance in his greatest pleasure?
And his true seruants vnder Fortune tyes,
As though his owne coyne were no currant treasure?

Must Danaes lap be wet with golden showers?
Or through the seas must buls Europa beare?
Must Leda onely serue the higher Powers?
Base changeling Boy, and wouldst thou haue me sweare,
The well-knowne secrets of Astolpho's cup,
Not to disclose, but with white wax seale up?