Thus is the good DAIPHANTUS like the fly, Who playing with the candle feels the flame. The smiles of scorn are lovers' misery: That soul's most vex't, is grievèd with his name. Though kind DAIPHANTUS do most love protest; Yet is his cross, still to be thought in jest! Poor tortured lover! Like a perjured soul, Swears till he's hoarse, yet never is believed! (Who's once a villain, still is counted foul!) O woful pity! when with wind relieved, Learns this by wrote, _Though Love unconstant be, They must prove constant, will her comforts see!_ Now to the humble heart of his dread Saint, EURIALÆ, he kneels; but's not regarded! Then to URANIA sighs, till he grows faint: Such is her Wit, in silence he's rewarded! His humble voice, EURIALÆ accuseth! His sighing Passion, URANIA refuseth! Then lifts he up his eyes, but Heaven frowneth! Bows down his head, Earth is a mass of sorrow! Runs to the seas; the sea, it storms and howleth! Hies to the woods, the birds sad tunes do borrow! Heaven, Earth, sea, woods, and all things do conspire He burn in Love, yet freeze in his Desire! The Ladies jest! command him to feign still! Tell him, how, one day, he may be in love! That lover's reason hath not Love's free will! Smile in disdain, to think of that he proves! (O me, DAIPHANTUS! how art thou advised? When he's less pitied, then he is despised!) They hold this but his humour! seem so wise! And many lovers' stories forth do bring! Court him with shadows, whilst he catcheth flies, Biting his fingers till the blood forth spring! Then do they much commend his careless Passion! Call him "a lover of our Courtiers' fashion!" All this they do in modesty; yet free From thinking him so honest, as in truth: Much less so kind, as to love two or three, Him near allied; and he himself a youth! Till with the sweat, which from his sufferings rise, His face is pearled, like the lights his eyes. Then with his look down-cast, and trembling hand, A High Dutch colour, and a tongue like ice, Apart with this EURIALÆ to stand Endeavours he. This was his last device, Yet in so humble strains, this Gallant courts her; The wind being high, his breath it never hurts her! Speechless thus stands he, till She feared him dead, And rubs his temples, calls and cries for aid. Water is fetched and spunged into his head: Who then starts up; from dreaming, as he said, And craving absence of all, but this Saint, He 'gan to court her, but with a heart right faint.