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.