A Lover upon an Accident necessitating his departure, consults with Reason.

WEepe not▪ nor backward turne your beames
Fond eyes, sad sighes locke in your breath,
Lest on this wind, or in those streames
My griev'd soule flye, or sayle to death.
Fortune destroys me if I stay,
Love kills me if I goe away:
Since Love, and Fortune, both are blind,
Come Reason, and resolve my doubtfull mind.
Flye, and blind Fortune be thy guide,
And 'gainst the blinder God rebell,
Thy love-sick heart shall not reside
Where scorne, and selfe-will'd error dwell▪
Where entrance, vnto Truth is bar'd;
Where Love and Faith find no reward;
For, my just hand may sometime move
The wheele of Fortune, not the spheare of Love,