Now Fye Vpon Thee Wayward Loue, Woe To Venus Which Did Nurse Thee, Heauen And Earth Thy Plagues Doe Proue, Gods And Men Haue Cause To Curse Thee. What Art Thou But Th' Extreamst Madnesse, Natures First And Only Error That Consum'St Our Daies In Sadnesse, By The Minds Continuall Terror: Walking In Cymerian Blindnesse, In Thy Courses Voy'D Of Reason. Sharp Reproofe Thy Only Kindnesse, In Thy Trust The Highest Treason? Both The Nymph And Ruder Swaine, Vexing With Continuall Anguish, Which Dost Make The Ould Complaine And The Young To Pyne And Languishe, Who Thee Keepes His Care Doth Nurse, That Seducest All To Folly, Blessing, Bitterly Doest Curse, Tending To Destruction Wholly: Thus Of Thee As I Began, So Againe I Make An End, Neither God Neither Man, Neither Faiery, Neither Feend. Batte. What Is Loue But The Desire Of The Thing That Fancy Pleaseth? A Holy And Resistlesse Fier, Weake And Strong Alike That Ceaseth, Which Not Heauen Hath Power To Let, Nor Wise Nature Cannot Smother, Whereby Phoebus Doth Begette On The Vniuersall Mother. That The Euerlasting Chaine, Which Together Al Things Tied, And Vnmooued Them Retayne And By Which They Shall Abide: That Concent We Cleerely Find, All Things Doth Together Drawe, And So Strong In Euery Kinde, Subiects Them To Natures Law. Whose Hie Virtue Number Teaches In Which Euery Thing Dooth Mooue, From The Lowest Depth That Reaches To The Height Of Heauen Aboue: Harmony That Wisely Found, When The Cunning Hand Doth Strike Whereas Euery Amorous Sound, Sweetly Marryes With His Like. The Tender Cattell Scarcely Take From Their Damm'S The Feelds To Proue, But Ech Seeketh Out A Make, Nothing Liues That Doth Not Loue: Not Soe Much As But The Plant As Nature Euery Thing Doth Payre, By It If The Male It Want Doth Dislike And Will Not Beare: Nothing Then Is Like To Loue In The Which All Creatures Be. From It Nere Let Me Remooue Nor Let It Remooue From Me.