A Paradox

Tis true the beauteous Starre
  To which I first did bow
Burnt quicker, brighter far,
  Than that which leads me now;
    Which shines with more delight,
    For gazing on that light
    So long, neere lost my sight.

                    II.
Through foul we follow faire,
  For had the world one face,
And earth been bright as ayre,
  We had knowne neither place.
    Indians smell not their neast;
    A Swisse or Finne tastes best
    The spices of the East.

                    III.
So from the glorious Sunne
  Who to his height hath got,
With what delight we runne
  To some black cave or grot!
    And, heav'nly Sydney you
    Twice read, had rather view
    Some odde romance so new.

                    IV.
The god, that constant keepes
  Unto his deities,
Is poore in joyes, and sleepes
  Imprison'd in the skies.
    This knew the wisest, who
    From Juno stole, below
    To love a bear or cow.