A Paradox

                      I.

Tis true the beauteous Starre

  To which I first did bow

Burnt quicker, brighter far,

  Than that which leads me now;

    Which shines with more delight,

    For gazing on that light

    So long, neere lost my sight.

                    II.

Through foul we follow faire,

  For had the world one face,

And earth been bright as ayre,

  We had knowne neither place.

    Indians smell not their neast;

    A Swisse or Finne tastes best

    The spices of the East.

                    III.

So from the glorious Sunne

  Who to his height hath got,

With what delight we runne

  To some black cave or grot!

    And, heav'nly Sydney you

    Twice read, had rather view

    Some odde romance so new.

                    IV.

The god, that constant keepes

  Unto his deities,

Is poore in joyes, and sleepes

  Imprison'd in the skies.

    This knew the wisest, who

    From Juno stole, below

    To love a bear or cow.