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How many eyes (poore Love) hast thou to guard
Thee from thy most desired wish, and end?
Is it because some say thou'rt blinde, that barr'd
From sight, thou should'st noe happinesse attend?
Who blame thee soe, smale justice can pretend,
Since twixt thee and the Sunne no question hard
Can be, his sight but outward, thou canst bend
The heart, and guide it freely thus unbar'd.
Art thou, while we both blinde and bold, oft dare
Accuse the of the harmes, our selves should finde:
Who led with folly, and by rashnesse blinde
Thy sacred power doe with a child's compare.
Yet Love, this boldnesse pardon; for admire
Thee sure we must, or be borne without fire.