Away with these self-loving lads
Whom Cupid’s arrow never glads!
Away poor souls that sigh and weep,
In love of those that lie asleep!
For Cupid is a meadow god,
And forceth none to kiss the rod.
Sweet Cupid’s shafts, like destiny,
Do causeless good or ill decree;
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his wing doth go!