I beheld her, on a Day, When her looke out-flourisht May: And her dressing did out-brave All the Pride the fields then have: Farre I was from being stupid, For I ran and call'd on Cupid; Love if thou wilt ever see Marke of glorie, come with me; Where's thy Quiver? bend thy Bow: Here's a shaft, thou art to slow! And (withall) I did untie Every Cloud about his eye; But, he had not gain'd his sight Sooner, than he lost his might, Or his courage; for away Strait hee ran, and durst not stay, Letting Bow and Arrow fall, Nor for any threat, or Call, Could be brought once back to looke. I foole-hardie, there up tooke Both the Arrow he had quit, And the Bow: with thought to hit This my object. But she threw Such a Lightning (as I drew) At my face, that tooke my sight, And my motion from me quite; So that there, I stood a stone, Mock'd of all: and call'd of one (Which with griefe and wrath I heard) Cupids Statue with a Beard, Or else one that plaid his Ape, In a Hercules-his shape. |