Against Urania
LO I, Song’s most true lover, plain me soreThat worse than other women she can deceive,For she being goddess, I have given her moreThan mortal ladies from their loves receive;And first of her embraceShe was not coy, and gracious were her ways,That I forgot all virgins to adore;Nor did I greatly grieveTo bear through arid daysThe pretty foil of her divine delays;And one by one to castLife, love, and health,Content, and wealth,Before her, thinking ever on her praise,Until at lastNought had I left she would be gracious for.Now of her cozening I complain me sore,Seeing her uses,That still, more constantly she is pursued,And straitlier wooed,Her only-adorèd favour more refuses,And leaves me to imploreRemembered boon in bitterness of blood.
From mortal woman thou may’st know full well,O poet, that dost deem the fair and tallUrania of her ways not mutable,When things shall thee befallWhat thou art toilèd in her sweet, wild spell.Do they strow for thy feetA little tender favour and deceitOver the sudden mouth of hidden hell?—As more intolerableHer pit, as her first kiss is heavenlier-sweet.Are they, the more thou sigh,Still the more watchful-cruel to deny?—Know this, that in her service thou shalt learnHow harder than the heart of woman isThe immortal crueltyOf the high goddesses.True is his witness who doth witness this,Whose gaze too early fell—Nor thence shall turn,Nor in those fires shall cease to weep and burn—Upon her ruinous eyes and ineludible.