Of the marriage of the Dwarfs.

DEsign or chance makes other wive,
But Nature did this Match contrive;
Eve might as well have Adam fled,
As she deny'd her little Bed
To him, for whom Heaven seem'd to frame,
And measure out this only Dame.

Thrice happy is that humble pair
Beneath the level of all care;
Over whose heads those Arrows flie
Of sad distrust and Jealousie;
Secured in as high extream,
As if the world held none but them.

To him the fairest Nymphs do show
Like moving Mountains topt with snow;
And every Man a Polyph…me
Does to his Galatea seem;
None may presume her faith to prove,
He profers Death that profers Love.

Ah (Chloris) that kind nature thus
From all the world had server'd us,
Creating for our selves us two,
As Love has me for only you.