He then them tooke, and, tempering goodly well 85 Their contrary dislikes with loved meanes, Did place them all in order, and compell To keepe themselves within their sundrie raines*, Together linkt with adamantine chaines; Yet so as that in every living wight 90 They mix themselves, and shew their kindly might. [* _Raines_, kingdoms.] So ever since they firmely have remained, And duly well observed his beheast; Through which now all these things that are contained Within this goodly cope, both most and least, 95 Their being have, and daily are increast Through secret sparks of his infused fyre, Which in the barraine cold he doth inspyre. Thereby they all do live, and moved are To multiply the likenesse of their kynd, 100 Whilest they seeke onely, without further care, To quench the flame which they in burning fynd; But man, that breathes a more immortall mynd, Not for lusts sake, but for eternitie, Seekes to enlarge his lasting progenie. 105 For having yet in his deducted spright Some sparks remaining of that heavenly fyre, He is enlumind with that goodly light, Unto like goodly semblant to aspyre; Therefore in choice of love he doth desyre 110 That seemes on earth most heavenly to embrace, That same is Beautie, borne of heavenly race. For sure, of all that in this mortall frame Contained is, nought more divine doth seeme, Or that resembleth more th’immortall flame 115 Of heavenly light, than Beauties glorious beam. What wonder then, if with such rage extreme Frail men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to see, At sight thereof so much enravisht bee? Which well perceiving, that imperious boy 120 Doth therewith tip his sharp empoisned darts, Which glancing thro the eyes with* countenance coy Rest not till they have pierst the trembling harts, And kindled flame in all their inner parts, Which suckes the blood, and drinketh up the lyfe, 125 Of carefull wretches with consuming griefe. [* Qu. from? WARTON.] Thenceforth they playne, and make full piteous mone Unto the author of their balefull bane: The daies they waste, the nights they grieve and grone, Their lives they loath, and heavens light disdaine; 130 No light but that whose lampe doth yet remaine Fresh burning in the image of their eye, They deigne to see, and seeing it still dye. The whylst thou, tyrant Love, doest laugh and scorne At their complaints, making their paine thy play; 135 Whylest they lye languishing like thrals forlorne, The whyles thou doest triumph in their decay; And otherwhyles, their dying to delay, Thou doest emmarble the proud hart of her Whose love before their life they doe prefer. 140