Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
Make the upcoming hour overflow with joy, and let pleasure drown the brim.
Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
I had as lief have been myself alone.
O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.