Love in fantastic triumph sat,

Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow’d,

For whom fresh pains he did create,

And strange tyrannic power he shew’d;

From thy bright eyes he took his fire,

Which round about in sport he hurl’d;

But ’twas from mine he took desire

Enough to undo the amorous world.

From me he took his sighs and tears,

From thee his pride and cruelty;

From me his languishments and fears,

And every killing dart from thee;

Thus thou and I the God have arm’d,

And set him up a Deity;

But my poor heart alone is harm’d,

Whilst thine the victor is, and free.