Love's Hyperboles

If Love had lost his shafts, and Jove down threw
His thunder-bolts, or spent his forked fire,
They only might recovered be anew
From out my heart, cross-wounded with desire.
Or if debate by Mars were lost a space,
It might be found within the self-same place.

If Neptune's waves were all dried up and gone,
My weeping eyes so many tears distill,
That greater seas might grow by them alone:
Or if no flame were yet remaining still
In Vulcan's forge, he might from out my breast
Make choice of such as should befit him best.

If Aeolus were deprived of his charge,
Yet soon could I restore his winds again,
By sobbing sighs, which forth I blow at large
To move her mind, that pleasures in my pain.
What man but I could thus incline his will,
To live in love, that hath no end of ill?