SONG.

If thou boast an Empire Cupid,
Why do'st thou permit thy State;
Cowardlike as blind as stupid;
To be rul'd by a greater Fate.
Fate in thy affairs seems rectour,
Lovers spite of thee may fall,
Lasse poor child th' ar… no Proctor;
Fate is Governour of a…l.
Neither have thine Arrows power,
Since it was my Celia's eyes,
Blasted me thou canst not bow her,
Save with me she sympathize.
Nor e're was that yet procured
By thine, but b' a nat'ral Art.
Nature 'twas that first inured,
Joyning bodies, well as hearts.