"Love, of mans wandring thoughts the restlesse being, Thou from my mind with glory wast invited, Glory of those faire eyes, where all eyes, seeing Vertues and beauties riches, are delighted; What Angells pride, or what selfe-disagreeing, What dazling brightnesse hath your beames benighted, That fall'n thus from those joyes which you aspired, Downe to my darkened minde you are retired?Within which minde since you from thence ascended, Truth clouds it selfe, Wit serves but to resemble, Envie is King, at others good offended, Memorie doth worlds of wretchednesse assemble, Passion to ruine passion is intended, My reason is but power to dissemble; Then tell me Love, what glory you divine Your selfe can find within this soule of mine?Rather goe backe vnto that heavenly quire Of Natures riches, in her beauties placed, And there in contemplation feed desire, Which till it wonder, is not rightly graced, For those sweet glories, which you doe aspire, Must, as Idea's, only be embraced Since excellence in other forme enioyed, Is by descending to her Saints destroyed."