But this bright sun of joy eclipsèd was,
And pitchy clouds their glorious sky did smutch:
Then Venus' joys were like to Venice glass,
Poor glass-like toys that perish with a touch.
A guardian's anger, or a parent's frown,
1340Nips love's fresh blossoms and a wish uncrown.
The jealous matron, from her tow'ring loft,
O'erlooked th' ambitious trees which hemmed them in;
O'erheard their vows, their sighs, and language soft;
And saw how Cupid leapt from skin to skin,