Ars Poetica

LIke to the Indians scorched with the Sunne,

The Sunne which they doe as their God adore:

So am I vs'd by Loue, for euermore

I worship him, lesse fauors haue I wonne.

Better are they who thus to blacknesse run,

And so can onely whitenesse want deplore:

[Then] I who pale and white am with griefes store,

Nor can haue hope, but to see hopes vndone.

Beesides their sacrifice receiu'd in sight,

Of their chose Saint, mine hid as worthlesse rite,

Grant me to see where I my offerings giue.

Then let me weare the marke of Cupids might,

In heart, as they in skin of Phoebus {20} light,

Not ceasing offerings to Loue while I Liue.