Our poets only then feign Cupid blind,
When children of the sun do dote on night,
Or folly, mounted on Icarian wings,
[1100]Courts queens' affections and does gaze on kings.'
'No,' says Albino, ''tis the contrary.
Love never is more purblind than when earth
Joins house to house, and pedigrees do tie
Scutcheons to scutcheons in pure virtue's dearth.
For regal flames blest goodness only teens,
And virtue ought to court the love of queens.