"My Orisons are still to please this creature! My Valour sleeps but when She is defended! My Wits still jaded but when I praise her feature! My Life is hers; in her begun and ended! O happy day wherein I wear not willow! Thrice blessed night, wherein her breast's my pillow! "I'll serve her, as the Mistress of all Pleasure! I'll love her, as the Goddess of my soul! I'll keep her, as the Jewel of all treasure! I'll live with her, yet out of LOVE'S control! That all may know, I will not from her part, I'll double lock her in my lips and heart! If e'er I sigh, it shall be for her pity! If e'er I mourn, her funeral draws near! If e'er I sing, her virtue is the ditty! If e'er I smile, her beauty is the sphere! All that I do, is that I may admire her! All that I wish, is that I still desire her!" But peace, DAIPHANTUS! Music is only sweet, When without discord. A consort makes a heaven. The ear is ravished when true voices meet. Odds, but in music, never makes things even. In voices' difference breeds a pleasant ditty, In Love, a difference brings a scornful pity. Whose was the tongue, EURIALÆ defended? Whose was the wit, URANIA did praise? Whose were the lips, ARTESIA'S voice commended? Whose was the heart loved all? all crowned with bays? "Sure 'twas myself! What did I? O I tremble! Yet I'll not weep! Wise men may love dissemble. "Fie, no! Fond Love hath ever his reward! A sea of tears! a world of sighs and groans! Ah me! VITULLIA will have no regard To ease my grief, and cure me of my moans; If once her ear should hearken to that voice, Relates my fortunes in Love's fickle choice. But now, I will, their worth with hers declare, That Truth by Error may have her true being; Things good are lessened by the thing that's rare. Beauty increaseth by a blackness seeing. Whoso is fair and chaste, they, sure, are best! Such is VITULLIA! such are all the rest! "But she is fair, and chaste, and wise." What then, So are they all, without a difference! "She's fair, chaste, wise, and kind, yes, to all men." The rest are so! Number makes Excellence. "She's fair, chaste, wise, kind, rich, yet humble." They three, her equal! Virtue can never stumble. "VITULLIA is the sun; they stars of night!" Yet night is the bosom wherein the sun doth rest. "The moon herself borrows of the sun's light," All by the stars take counsel to be blest. The day's the sun, yet Cupid can it blind; The stars at night, Sleep cures the troubled mind.