WHO knoweth not, how often Venus’ son

Hath forced Jupiter to leave his seat?

Or else, how often Neptune he hath won

From seas to sands, to play some wanton feat?

Or, how he hath constrained the Lord of Styx

To come on earth, to practise loving tricks?

If heav’n, if seas, if hell must needs obey,

And all therein be subject unto Love;

What shall it then avail, if I gainsay,

And to my double hurt his pow’r do prove?

No, no, I yield myself, as is but meet:

For hitherto with sour he yields me sweet.

From out my mistress’ eyes, two lightsome stars,

He destinates estate of double kind,

My tears, my smiling cheer; my peace, my wars;

My sighs, my songs; my fear, my hoping mind;

My fire, my frost; my joy, my sorrow’s gall;

My curse, my praise; my death, but life with all.