To Faire Ladyes

Ladyes of Founthill, I am come to seeke
My hart amongst you, which I late did leese;
but many harts may be perhaps alike:
Therefore of mine, the proper markes, are theise.
It is not hard, though true as steele it be,
And like ye diomond, cleare from any spot;
Transmixt with many darts you shall it see,
but all by vertue, not by Cupid, shot;
It hath no wings, because it needeth none,
Being now arived and settled where it would;
Wingèd desires and hopes from it gon are,
but it is full of joyes as it can hold.
Faine would I find it where it doth remaine,
but would not haue it though I might againe.