To Cynthia Poem by Francis Kynaston

When I behold the heaven of thy face,
And see how every beauty, every grace
Move, and are there:
As in their Sphere,
What need have I (my Cynthia) to conferre
With any Chalde, or Astrologer:
Since in the Scheme of thy faire face I see
All the Aspects of my nativity.
For if at any time thou should'st cast downe
From thy ferenest brow an angry frowne,
Or shouldst reflect
That dire aspect
Of opposition, or of enmity,
That looke would sure be fatall unto me,
Unlesse faire Venus kinde succeeding ray,
Did much of the malignity allay.
Or if I should be so unfortunate
To see a looke, though of imperfect hate,
I am most sure
That quadrature
Would cast me in a quartan love-sicke fever,
Of which I should recover late, if ever,
Or into a consumption, so should I
Perish at last, although not suddenly.
But when I see those starry Twins of thine,
Behold me with a Sextile, or a Trine,
And that they move
In perfect love
With amorous beams, they plainly do discover,
My Horoscope markt me to be a lover:
And that I onely should not have the honor
To be borne under Venus, but upon her.