I think scorn to sigh: methinks I should out-swear Cupid.
Cupid’s butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules’ club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard’s rapier.
He is Cupid’s grandfather, and learns news of him.
Go to; it is a plague That Cupid will impose for my neglect Of his almighty dreadful little might.
O! rimes are guards on wanton Cupid’s hose: Disfigure not his slop.
Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!
Yes, as much love in rime As would be cramm’d up in a sheet of paper Writ o’ both sides the leaf, margent and all, That he was fain to seal on Cupid’s name.
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Regent of love-rimes, lord of folded arms, The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, Sole imperator, and great general Of trotting ’paritors: O my little heart!