97 Poem by 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 Heau'ns so often flye.
Close by the place where I for shade did lye,
She chaseing came, but when shee saw me move,
Haue you not seene this way (said she) to hye
One, in whom vertue never grownde did prove?
Hee, in whom Love doth breed, to stirre more hate,
Courting a wanton Nimph for his delight;
His name is Jupiter, my Lord, by Fate,
Who for her, leaves Me, Heaven, his Throne, and light,
I saw him not (said I) although heere are
Many, in whose hearts, Love hath made like warre.