Upon Love.

A Christall Violl Cupid brought,
Which had a juice in it:
Of which who drank, he said no thought
Of Love he sho'd admit.

I greedy of the prize, did drinke,
And emptied soon the glasse;
Which burnt me so, that I do thinke
The fire of hell it was.

Give me my earthen Cups again,
The Christall I contemne;
Which, though enchas'd with Pearls, contain
A deadly draught in them.

And thou O Cupid! come not to
My Threshold, since I see,
For all I have, or else can do,
Thou still wilt cozen me.