Mary Wroth
Juno, still jealous of her husband Jove,
Descended from above, on earth to try
Whether she there could find his chosen love
Which made him from the Heaven so often fly,
Close by the place, where I for shade did lie
She chafing came; but when she saw me move
'Have you not seen this way,' said she 'to hie
One in whom virtue never ground did prove,
He in whom love doth breed to stir more hate,
Courting a wanton Nymph for his delight.
His name is Jupiter, my Lord by fate,
Who for her, leaves me, eaven, his throne, and light.'
'I saw not him,' said I, 'although here are
Many in whose hearts love hath made like war.'