For Epicurean love he wisely trolls
450With spiced rarities and frothing bowls.
The cross-adorers he with crossing catches,
Yet strange it is that crossing should join hands.
But, to Sir Love-all, all are equal matches,
Grace, beauty, feature, honour, virtue, lands.
This has a dainty hand; that, lip, or eye,
This chaste, that seeming, that will not deny.
None are love-free, unless uncapable
Of those choice blessings Venus' sole son proffers,