Fortune swears "weakest heartes," the bookes of Cupide's artes.
"Turn'd with her wheel,
Senselesse themselves shal prove. Venture hath place in love.
Aske them that feel!"

This discord it begot atheists, that honour not.
Nature thought good
Fortune shoud ever dwel in Court where wits excel;
Love keepe the wood.

Soe to the wood went I, with Love to live and dye;
Fortunes forlorne.
Experience of my youth made mee thinke humble Truth
In deserts borne.

My saint I keepe to mee, and Joan herself is free,
Joan fair and true!
Shee that doth onely move passions of love with Love.
Fortune! adieu!




A LETTER FROM THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH TO THE KING.


Disgrac'd, undone, forlorn, made Fortune's Sport,
Banish'd your Kingdom first, and then your Court;
Out of my Places turn'd, and out of Doors,
And made the meanest of your Sons of Whores;