See, Alinda, how Fortune and Love have interleagued
themselves to be thy foes, and to make thee their subject, or else an
abject, have inveigled thy sight with a most beautiful object. A-late
thou didst hold Venus for a giglot, not a goddess, and now thou shalt
be forced to sue suppliant to her deity. Cupid was a boy and blind;
but, alas, his eye had aim enough to pierce thee to the heart. While I
lived in the court I held love in contempt, and in high seats I had
small desires. I knew not affection while I lived in dignity, nor
could Venus countercheck me, as long as my fortune was majesty, and my
thoughts honor; and shall I now be high in desires, when I am made low
by destiny? I have heard them say, that Love looks not at low
cottages, that Venus jets[1] in robes not in rags, that Cupid flies so
high, that he scorns to touch poverty with his heel. Tush, Alinda,
these are but old wives' tales, and neither authentical precepts, nor
infallible principles; for experience tells thee, that peasants have
their passions as well as princes, that swains as they have their
labors, so they have their amours, and Love lurks as soon about a
sheepcote as a palace.
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