CUPID

Nay doting fool, that still dost poor on Books, Though Coach be gone, and golden cloak be lost, Yet Like a God, I tell thee Cupid looks, When old gray beard shows Like a rotten post. It ill becomes and aged man to rail On women thus, that are not now in place, But sure thy words are spent to small avail, They can not blot my mother, nor my raze. That can I do, but you old men, with boys will jest and scoff, And either laugh to scorn our words, or taunt us passed the neck. The greatest Clerks that erst have been, three thousand years ago, When they on Venus talk or treat, takes Cupid's partly you know. TO eir books, their scrolls, their pa ̄ phlets large, makes me ̄ tio ̄ of my name, You need no furt er search for proof, to try out Cupid's fame. Why Sir, you will believe, that Jove and many more Of other Gods in Heaven are, where I have been before? And does not Jove and Mars bear sway? that is true . I told you Sir before, your taunting tonge would bite. NAy Cupid will, go hang himself I tro . Much better were, to fallen on p ynt of knife, Than from rich state, to lead a beggars life.