O that no day would ever more appeare,
But clowdy night to governe this sad place,
Nor light from Heaven these haples roomes to grace
Since that light's shadow'd which my Love holds deare.
Let thickest mists in envy master here,
And Sunne-borne day for malice show no face,
Disdaining light, where Cupid, and the race
Of Louers are dispisd, and shame shines cleere.
Let me be darke, since barr'd of my chiefe light,
And wounding Jealousie commands by might,
But stage-play-like diguised pleasures give:
To me it seemes, as ancient fictions make
The Starres, all fashions, and all shapes partake,
While in my thoughts true forme of Love shall live.