To Cupid. His Armes blazoned

Luna he bears, in a cross Saturn plain
A flaming heart transfixed Sol; thus slain
In the wounds orifice it bleeds Mars, from whence
Bloudie drops flow, and under the pretence
For Motto this inscribed more is,
Sanat Amor vulnus armoris.
Thy Arms do speak thee Noble, Cruel too,
Else thou wouldst ne'r so many hearts undo:
How much thou dost degenerate I find,
For thy fair Goddesse Mother was more kind.