Song

BY MARY WROTH

Love, a child, is ever crying,
Please him, and he straight is flying;
Give him, he there more is craving,
Never satisfied with having.

His desires have no measure,
Endless folly is his treasure;
What he promiseth he breaketh;
Trust not one word that he speaketh.

He vows nothing but false matter,
And to cozen you he'll flatter;
Let him gain the hand, he'll leave you,
And still glory to deceive you.

He will triumph in your wailing,
And yet cause be of your failing;
These his virtues are, and slighter
Are his gifts, his favours lighter.

Feathers are as firm in staying,
Wolves no fiercer in their preying.
As a child then leave him crying,
Nor seek him, so giv'n to flying.

Cupid Lost

BY MARY WROTH

-Late in the Forest I did Cupid See
...Colde, wet, and crying he had lost his way,
...And being blind was farther like to stray:
...Which sight a kind compassion bred in me,

I kindly took, and dried him, while that he
...Poor child complain'd he starved was with stay,
...And pined for want of his accustom'd play,
...For none in that wild place his host would be,

I glad was of his finding, thinking sure
...This service should my freedom still procure,
...And in my arms I took him then unharmed,

Carrying him safe unto a myrtle bower
...But in the way he made me feel his power,
...Burning my heart who had him kindly warmed.