To Cynthia On A Short Visit Poem by Francis Kynaston

Giving thee once a visit of respect,
Because I some affaires could not neglect,
Which much concern'd me, brooking no delay,
I onely kist thine hand, and went away:
How aptly Cynthia didst thou then inquire,
Whether I came to thee but to fetch fire:
It was too true, for yet I never came
To visit thee, but I did fetch a flame,
Religious fire, which kindled by thine eyes,
Still made my heart thy beauties sacrifice;
But though I like Prometheus never stole
Cœlestiall fire to give a living soul
To any earthen statue, stone, yet he
More mercy findes from Iove, than I from thee;
Though he to Caucasus be bound for ever,
A ravenous vulture tyring on his liver,
His pain is not augmented, but the same,
But mine like Vestaes never-dying flame,
Although to burne my heart it never cease,
Like oyl of gold yet it doth still increase
An everlasting lampe, for fires that come
From heaven still do burne, but not consume.