Of Ladie Venus, that hauing lost hir Sonne Cupid God of Loue, and desirous to vnderstand of him againe, declares by the way the nature of Loue and affections of the same, by pretie discription as followeth

WHat time the Ladie Venus sought hir little Sonne
That Cupid hight, & found him not, she thus begonne
My friends (quoth she) if any chaunce in open streete
Or crossing pathes, yt wandring amorous Elfe to meete,
That Runnagate (I say) is mine: who so by hap
Shall first bring tidings of the Boy, in Venus lap
Is sure to sit, and haue in price of taken paine.
A sugred kisse. But he that brings him home againe,
A busse? yea not a busse alone doubtlesse shall haue
But like a Friend I will entreate him passing braue.
I tell you tis a proper youth. Marke euery Lun
And member of my straid Sonne that is so trim.
Not sallow white his bodie is, but like to flame,
A fierce and fierie roling eie sets out the same.
A mischieuous wylie hart in Breast the Boy doth beare,
But yet his wordes are Honnie like and sweete to eare.
His talking tongue and meaning minde asunder goe.
Smooth filed stile for little cost he will bestowe.
But being once inflamde with ire and raging wrath,
A cruell canckred dogged hart the Vrchin hath.
False Foxely subtile Boy, and glosing lying Lad,
He sports to outward sight, but inward chafes like mad.
A curled Sconce he hath, with angrie frowning browe.
A little hand, yet Dart a cruell way can throwe.
To shadie A cheron sometime he flings the same,
And deepest damp of hollow Hell those Impes to tame.
Vpon his Carkasse not a cloth, but naked hee
Of garments goes, his minde is wrapt, and not to see.
Much like a fethred Foule he flies, & wags his wings
Now here now there: ye man somtime this Miser wrings
Sometimes againe the Lasse to loue he doth enforce,
Of neither kind, nor man nor maid, he hath remorce:
A little Bow the Boy doth beare in tender hande,
And in the same an Arrow nockt to string doth stand.
A slender Shaft, yet such a one as farre will flie,
And being shot from Cupids Bow will reach the Skie.
A pretie golden Quiuer hangs there albehinde
Vpon his back, wherein who so doth looke, shall finde
A sort of sharpe and lurching shafts, vnhappie Boy
Wherewith his Ladie Mother eke he doth annoy
Sometimes: but most of all the foolish fretting Elfe
In cruell wife doth cruelly torment and vex himselfe.
Doe beate the Boy and spare him not at all, if thou
On him doe chaunce to light: although frō childish brow
And moysted eies the trickling teares like flouds distill,
Beleeue him not, for chiefly then beguile he will.
Not if he smile vnlose his pyniond armes take heede,
With pleasāt home words though he thine eares dos feede
And craue a kisse, beware thou kisse him not at all:
For in his lips vile venom lurcks, and bitter Gall.
Or if with friendly face he seeme to yeelde his Bow
And shafts to thee, his proferde gifts (my Friend) forgo
Touch not with tender hand the subtile flattring Dart
Of Loue, for feare the fire thereof doe make thee smart.

Where this that I haue sayde be true,
Yee Louers I appeale to you.
For ye doe knowe Cupidos toyes,
Yee feele his smarts, yee taste his ioyes.
A fickle foolish God to serue,
I tearme him as he doth deserue.