Classic Poem

Lust long is faynde a God of loue to bee,
Whose peeuishe power some deeme is dangerous.
A cunning Archer that could neuer see,
Set forth he is, with shaftes right perillous.
A wanton winged boy forsooth he is,
And V ENVS sonne, whom she doth clip and kisse.

Down from the Heauens he shoots the flaming dartes,
That Fancie quickly burnes with quenchlesse fyre:
Bereauing Reason quite in all her partes,
Preferring wyll with doting fond desyre.
Is this a God? no, no, a Diuell sure,
To fylthie lust that doth the weake allure.
For Gods to Vertue, not to vices winne,
Their powers prouoke to gooDand not to yll:
Tis gainst their kinde to foster fylthie sinne,
Eche heauenly grace, doth heauenly giftes fulfyll.
Then you that fayne Dan C VPIDE is a God,
Recante in tyme, least I OVE reach forth his rod.