81. Upon Love
A crystal vial Cupid brought,Which had a juice in it:Of which who drank, he said, no thoughtOf Love he should admit.
I, greedy of the prize, did drink,And emptied soon the glass;Which burnt me so, that I do thinkThe fire of hell it was.
Give me my earthen cups again,The crystal I contemn,Which, though enchased with pearls, containA deadly draught in them.
And thou, O Cupid! come not toMy threshold,—since I see,For all I have, or else can do,Thou still wilt cozen me.