CYNTHIADES: TO CYNTHIA (2) 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 confer
With any Chaldee or Astrologer:
Since in the scheme of thy fair face I see
All the aspects of my nativity.

For if at any time thou should'st cast down
From thy serenest brow an angry frown,
Or should't reflect
That dire aspect
Of opposition, or of enmity,
That look would sure be fatal unto me,
Unless fair Venus' kind succeeding ray,
Did much of the malignity allay.

Or if I should be so unfortunate
To see a look though of imperfect hate,
I am most sure
That quadrature
Would cast me in a quartan love-sick 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 only should not have the honour
To be borne under Venus, but upon her.

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