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CUPIDS MASTERPIECE OR, The Free-School of Witty and Delightful Compliments.  
BEING, The Art of Love Refined: and augmen●●● with divers new, pleasant, and delightful com●●●ments and discourses of Love. With sundry p●●●sant and amorous Songs and Sonnets. As also ●●●sies for Rings, Handkerchiefs, Gloves, and o●●●● things, for benefit and delight of young Men 〈◊〉 Maids. With divers other pretty fancies and ●●●tasies, full of Delight and variety of Wit.  
When Hearts and Hands united are,  
What joy with Love then can compare.  
London, Printed for John Andrews, at the White 〈◊〉 at the Upper end of the Old-Baily.   

Cupid's Masterpiece.  

A brief Description of true Love.  
TRue Love is a precious treasure,  
Rich delight, unvalued pleasure;  
men's hearts like to a Maze intwining  
Two firm minds in one combining;  
Foe to faithless vows perfidious,  
True Love is a knot Religious,  
Dead to the sins that flaming rise,  
Through beauty's soul seducing eyes.  
Deaf to gold-inchanting Witches,  
Loves for Virtue, not for riches.  
Such is true Love's boundless measure;  
True Love is a precious treasure.  
This is Love, and worth commending,  
Still beginning, never ending.  
Like a wily Net ensnaring,  
Like a Round shuts up all squaring;  
In and out, whose every Angle,  
More and more doth still entangle.  
Keeps a measure still in moving,  
And is never Light, but loving.  
Twining arms, exchanging kisses,  
Each partaking others blisses.  
Laughing, weeping, still together,  
Bliss in one, is mirth in either.  
Never breaking, ever bending,  
This is Love; and worth commending,   

Instructions for Lovers: ●eaching them, how to demean themselves towards their Sweethearts.  
●Ou must not accost them with a shrug, as if you were lousy: With, your Lady, ●et Lady, or most superexcellent Lady: ●her must you let your words come rumbo forth, ushered in with a good full mouthed, 〈◊〉, as I love you: But you must speak the a-coming language of Love, I do not mean ●e strange Pedantic phrases, used by some ●ants who (aim at wit but make themselves ●k asses by it) praise their Mistresses by the 〈◊〉, Moon, or Stars; whilst the poor Girls ●gine, they mean the signs their Mercer's Perfumers live at. But you must in fine ●l● words, deliver your true affection: praise 〈◊〉 Mistress Eyes, her Lip, her Chin, her ●e, her Neck, her Face, her Hand, her ●t, her Leg, her Waste, her every thing; 〈◊〉 leave your Lilies and your Roses, for your intrie Froes to make Nosegays with.  

Thoughts c Valued may B.  
Searching c Love may B.    

A merry sportive and Delightful Discourse, between a young Gallant, and a curious conceited Lady.  Gent. 
Lady, what think you of a handsome man now?  Lady. 
And a wholesome too, Sir.  Gent. 
That's as you make your bargain; a handsome, wholesome man then, and a kind man, to cheer up your heart, and to lie close to you, to keep you warm; and get two boys at a birth.  Lady. 
Two at a birth, that's nothing Sir, I have known a Cobbler, a poor thin Cobbler, out of mouldy cheese, brown bread, and turnips, do as much as that: Me thinks a Gentleman should scorn to have a poor Mechanic Cobbler outdo him.  Gent. 
What, than you would have me get two dozen at a birth, like Buttons.  Lady. 
You do well to brag Sir, but if you perform this at your marriage, than I will say you are a man indeed.  Gent. 
You are a merry Gentlewoman, and may make a good wife.  Lady. 
Not for you Sir, for than I may chance to get nothing: in what a state am I then Sir?  Gent. 
But for all this, I know you love to hear of a good husband.  Lad. 
You say true Sir, for by my troth I h●ve heard of none this ten years▪ they are so rare, that there are a great many longing women upon their knees, to pray for the dropping down of good husbands from heaven, because there's none upon earth.  Gent. 
But tell me Lady, can you love a man?  Lad. 
Yes, if the man be lovely, honest, and modest.  Gent. 
Then I am the man must make you a wife.  Lad. 
You make me a wife, no Sir no.  Gent. 
Ay a wife, a wife I say; you need not be ashamed on it, for its the best calling a woman can come to.  Lad. 
A grant it Sir, but I mean not to be your wife.  Gent. 
Not mine, I believe it will be the best bargain thou wilt ever make in thy life.  Lad. 
Sir, I do believe you look after wealth, and I mean to have one that will love and respect me for my virtues.  Gent. 
Wealth, yes by my troth, I must have lands, and Lordships too Lady.  Lad. 
Cry ye mercy Sir, I mistook you all this while, did not you say it was for love.  Gent. 
True, but there's two words to a bargain all the world over; and if love be one, I am sure money is the other, else it's no bargain; pardon me Lady, I must dine as well as sup.  Lad. 
Then Sir you may try your fortune, for I am resolved never to be your wife; and so farewell.   

A Song for Maids.  
Maid's they are grown so coy of late,  
Forsooth they will not marry,  
Though they be in their teens & past,  
They say they yet can tarry:  
But if they knew how sweet a thing,  
It were in youth to marry,  
They would sell their Petticoats, Smocks and all,  
Ere they so long would tarry.  
The Lass that is most coy of all,  
I● she had time and leisure,  
Would lay by al● he● several thoughts,  
And turn to love and pleasure.  
Winter nights are long you know,  
And bitter cold the weather,  
Than who is so fond to lie alone,  
When two may lie together.   

A merry complimental wooing between two jeering Lovers.  Man. 
FAirest of all fairs, will you eat a piece of Gingerbread?  Maid. 
You might have more manne●s, or at least more civility, then to scoff at her that never injured you.  Man. 
Scoff, nay, indeed I love you, I vow I burn in love like some penny Faggot.  Maid. 
St. Winitrid forbidden it man may I believe it?  Man. 
Ay, and though I say it that should not, I am affected towards you strangely, there's some thing like thyself comes every night to my bed's side.  Maid. 
And to me every morning, a voice utters these words; Matrimony, Matrimony.  Man. 
Now do I shake all over, and doubt its some spirit that would join us.  M. 
Goodly great ones, may I believe this also.  Man. 
What not believe, Lady I am wholly and solely yours, yea, more than this; your servants, servant.  Maid. 
Now you contradict yourself Sir, how can you be wholly mine, and yet my servants servant?  Man. 
I do but compliment in this Lady: But if thou canst love me, I can love thee; law thee now, I am rich.  Mai. 
Sir, I look not after riches but the person, I must have one that can guide me, for I am foolish yet.  Man. 
Now see the luck of it Lady, I am so too, but doubt not this noddle shall perform all I warrant. I am rich.  Maid. 
But riches create no love, by my virginity, I fear you will flinch.  Man. 
By my virginity, which is as good as yours, I am sure by my virginity, if we men have any such thing as we have, I will not flinch.  Maid. 
Then for the tim● to come, you must not so much as cast a she 〈◊〉 eye after any woman but myself.  Man. 
If I do at any time, then may I lose one of mine own eyes, but i'll keep the other however.  Maid. 
Well sir, i'll take your word.   

A Sonnet in praise and dispraise of Love.  
NOw what is Love, I will thee tell,  
It is the Fountain and the Well,  
Where pleasure and repentance dwell;  
And it is like a Passing Bell,  
That tolls all in to Heaven or Hell:  
This is Love, and this is Love, I hear thee tell.  
Now what is Love, I will thee show,  
A thing that creeps where't cannot go,  
A prize that passeth too and fro,  
A thing for me, a thing for more;  
And he that tries shall find it so:  
This is love, and this is love, sweet friend I trow.   

A merry cross wooing, between Tom the Tailor, and Kate of the Kitchin.  Tom. 
GOod morrow Kate, for that I hear is your name.  Kate. 
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing, they call me Katherine that talk of me.  Tail. 
You lie in faith, for you are called plain Kate, and bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the cursed; but Kate take this of me for thy comfort, I am moved to woo thee for my wife.  Kate. 
Moved, in good time, let him that moved you hither remove you hence, I thought you were a movable.  Tail. 
Why what's a movable?  Kate. 
A Joint-stool.  Tail. 
Right, thou hast hit it; come sit on me then.  Kate. 
Sat on you I that I will, Asses were made to bear.  Tail. 
Come, come, what will you be angry now, you wasp?  Kate. 
If I be a wasp, than thou hadst best beware of my sting, or else pluck it out.  Tail. 
What with my tongue in your tail; not so Kate, I am a Gentleman.  Kate. 
A Gentleman, what's your Coat of Arms pray you, a Coxcomb?  Tail. 
No a come-less Cock, so Kate will be my Hen.  K●te. 
No Hen of yours Sir, you look so like a Crawen.  Tail. 
Nay but Kate, you must not look so sour.  Kate. 
Sour, it's my fashion when I see a Crab, and so farewell.  
Fairer than Diana, chaster than Susanna,  
O let me thy favour merit.  
When as the Fountains, overflow the Mountains,  
Then shalt thou my love inherit.   

The greeting of a Lover to his Dearest, after a long absence.  
WElcome, my best beloved welcome, your sight is life's restorative to me, you are more welcome to me my dearest, than day to the world or rest to the wearied, or gold to the most covetous Miser in the world; such is the joy I find in your happy company: So that this day seems to be a day of jubilée unto me.   

A brief Description of Women.  
ALl you that Women love,  
And like the amorous trade,  
Come learn of me; what Women be,  
And whereof they are made.  
Their hands are made of Rash,  
Their minds are made of Say,  
Their love is like Silk changeable,  
It lasteth but a day:  
Their glory springs from Satin,  
Their vanity from Feather,  
Their beauty is Stand farther off,  
Their conscience is of Leather.  
Of Fustian's their discourse,  
But Canvas fits them best;  
Perpetuana is their folly,  
Their earnest is but jest.  
Their Life is Love and Idleness,  
Their doing is their pleasure,  
They lawless are, yet all their ware,  
They buy by standing measure.  
Their Foreparts are of Rue,  
Their hinder parts of Dockes,  
Of hardest Brasile are their Hearts,  
Their Heads are made of Box.  
Or if in plainer terms,  
Withal you would be dealt,  
Of Beaver are their tender Thighs,  
Their Skins are made of Felt.   

A pleasant Discourse between a Bridegroom and a Bride, on their Bridal night.  Bridegr. 
Will you not come to bed my dear● why do you so delay? come let me help you.  Bride. 
To bed swéet-heart, why are you so sleepy?  Bridegr. 
No, but I shall be worse, if you loo● sad and melancholy; come prithee my dear l●t● to bed: why dost thou blush? let me undress thee, be not coy, but smile.  Bride. 
Alas I feel myself not well my love.  Bridegr. 
It's only bashfulness my dear, il● make you well, there's no such physic as you● husbands warm arms.  Bride. 
Be not so hasty my dearest, we stea● not our content, there's time enough.  Brideg. 
Do you then already cease to love me▪  Bride. 
No think not so, for I do love the● dearly.  Bridegr. 
To bed then I shall give better credit to thee be not so cold a lover.  Bride. 
My passion's now over, and now m● dearest I hast to thy embraces.  Bridegr. 
Welcome my comfort and delight and thus I fold my arms about thee.  Bride. 
And thus about thee my dear bliss, I ●twine like the female I vie.  Bridegr, 
Come then let me kiss thee, let m● kiss again and again, and multiply them to a● infinite increase.  Bride. 
Spare not, for they are thy own, dea● heart.   

The gallant Seaman's resolution concerning Marriage.  
O What strange passions came on board m● that I should marry! was I drunk? Wh● to say truth what can I do at home now? what horrible thing would it be to have horns brought me to Sea, to look as if the Devil were i● the Ship, and all the great Tempests woul● be thought to be of my raising, and should 〈◊〉 the general course of all Merchants: and yet perhaps they are as deep in as myself, that's my comfort. O that a Seaman should live to be married, what need I to have been shackled thus with a wife, and be at charges to keep her for other men's diets, well if I were once rid of this, I would never play the fool again.   

One whose choice was either to be Hanged, or married.  
LO here's the Bride, and there's the Tree,  
Take which of these best liketh thee.  
The choice is bad on either part,  
The Woman's worst; drive on the Cart.   

Dick of the Country his wooing of Joan of the Milk pail.  Dick. 
MY pretty Chicken how dost thou? how fares thy body? Didst not think me almost lost?  Joan. 
I gave thee for dead in good faith love, and was in the humour to marry another man.  Dick. 
Sure thou wast not, thou dost but jest I trow.  Joan. 
Truly I was, and could you blame me, ●s it not a torture think you for a woman to stay ●even years without a husband.  Dick. 
Me thinks my brows begin to bud already, they are very knotty; hast thou grafted a●y thing there? I suspect it shrewdly. How ●omes your belly so big?  Joan. 
It's nothing but a Tympany, I am troubled with.  Dick. 
Come you are a W●ore, i'll have you before a Justice.  Joan. 
Spare me, I pray thee gentle Dick, and hearken to my counsel a little: since thou art a Cuckold (as I do not deny it) choose whether thou wilt wear thy hor●● on thy sore-head, for all men to see, or put them in th● pocket, and let no man see them.  Dick. 
Why then I am a Cuckold it seems: have not I traveled well, and to good purpose? but do so no more, and all is forgotten.  Joan. 
It is so, if you stay at home to keep me warm, but if you leave me, have at your head then.   

The Praise, and Dispraise of Women.  
WOmen, the woe of Men, cause of Man's fall,  
You whom Philosophers terms Monsters all;  
I love your Sex, even from my heart and soul,  
From my affections, which do both control.  
And I would spend the lives of fifty men,  
If possible, to praise you with my pen,  
And paint your worth; but you yourselves do know,  
To paint yourselves better than I can show:  
But if my praises may your favour win,  
I'll set you forth, and thus I will begin.  
O you are kind, and kinder far than man,  
And equalise your kindness, no man can.  
O you are fair, let me that fair unsay;  
So's a bright night, compared with a stormy day.  
Some say you have no virtue, but they lie,  
For you prove constant in unconstancy.  
Why you are every thing; Man's whole delight,  
I speak for Day; let them that know for Night.   

The merry simple wooing and winning of Joan of the Cream ●ot, by a Country Farmer.  Farm. 
NAy stay, sweet Mistress Joan, here's none but one friend (as they say) desires to speak a cold word or two with you; how do you uéel yourself this frosty morning?  Joan. 
What have you to do to ask, I pray you? I am a cold.  Farm. 
It seems you are hot good Mrs. Joan.  Joan. 
You lie though, I am as cold as ice: feel else.  Farm. 
Nay you ha' cooled my courage Joan, I am past, I ha' done feeling with you.  Joan. 
Done with me, I do defy you so I do, to say you ha' done with me.  Farm. 
O you mistake Joan, I mean not as you mean: no, bring but that Dog that will say that I ever struck him, or any Cat in the town that will swear on a Book, that I have so much as set fire on their tails.  Joan. 
Do you love me then John?  Farm. 
Love you, what need you question that, I sweat as ice, burning in love: well we will be 〈…〉  Joan. 
No haste John to hang true folk, soft fire makes sweet Malt: 
Yet John cheer up thy better Leg before,  
This is a deed is once done, and no more.   john. 
And then 'tis done for ever, as they say,  
For each man hath his hour, each dog his day.  
I'll get my leather doublet new forbusht, and a pair of wisps to swaddle my legs, for we mu●● dance on that day sure, and who can dance in Boots?  Jon. 
Even as you list good John, I am all yours, as they say.  
Thus can Country Swain-lings woe,  
And express as hot their desire;  
Live to love, and love to prove,  
Height and heat of Cupid's fire.  
And a Silibub they'll make,  
While th●ir Lovers sue and seek  
For their love; and do partake,  
Of the bliss that all do seek.   

A May Day Song.  
COme sit we under yonder tree,  
Where merry as the Maids we'll be;  
For to spin out the third of Sands,  
Playing at Questions and Commands.  
Or tell what strange tricks love can do,  
By quickly making one of two.  
Next we will act how lovers woe,  
And sigh and kiss, as Lovers do;  
And talk of Brides, and who shall make,  
That Wedding Smock▪ that Bridal Cake:  
What Poesies for our Wedding Rings,  
What Gloves we'll give, and Riboning:  
Thus having talked, we'll next commend,  
A Kiss or two, and so we'll end.   

To present a pair of Gloves.  
SWeet deign to draw these on thy fair white hands  
And when you wear them think my being stands  
Solely at your appointment. Would that Love,  
(By his great power) would change me to a Glove:  
Your fair hand then should ever more be kissed,  
And I would ever dwell about your wrist.   

An amorous Compliment between a Young Man, and a beautiful Damsel.  Gent. 
Sweet Lady, being wounded by your beauty, I acknowledge it a mercy if you kill me not.  Maid, 
Sir, though I am not guilty of offence, yet rather than I will be accounted a murderer, I will study to preserve so sweet a model as yourself.  Gent. 
Fairest than I tell you, I must love you.  Maid. 
I see no necessity that I should love you, yet I confess you are a proper man.  Gent. 
Prithee do not mock me, do but look in my heart, where you shall see what you cannot despise; there Love hath made you a throne to sit and rule, all my thoughts obeying and honouring you as their Queen.  Maid. 
But who can see this heart you boast of?  Gent. 
Alas it's easy for your eyes to pierce into, but your frowns make it seem cold: But make it yours, and you shall see it spring, and and pay you in a full harvest of content: but mistake not, I say my heart is cold, not my love.  Maid. 
And yet your love is from your heart I warrant.  Gent. 
I say my heart is cold, but yet my heart is fervent still, besides my heart is not my own but yours, you have it; and while you have it, if you keep it not warm in your bosom, how can it but be cold?  Maid. 
Well Sir, notwithstanding your rhetoric, I shall without any art at all give you a final answer; Your suit is hopeless: And so farewell.   

The Young Man's Sonnet.  
IS she not wondrous fair? But I do see,  
She is too much too fair, too sweet for me.  
Just as the Sun me thinks, I see her face,  
Which I must gaze upon, but not embrace.  
So sure 'tis heaven's pleasure she should be sent,  
As pure to heaven again, as she was lent.  
And bids us we would hope for bliss,  
Not to profane her with a mortal kiss.  
Al●● how cold my Love doth grow, how hot;  
O how I love her, how I love her not.  
So doth my Ague Love torment by turns,  
As now it freez's, now again it burns.   

Coridon and Phill●da, the Shepherd and the Shepherdess.  Phil. 
Shepherd why do you follow me thus?  Cor. 
How can I but follow sweet when my heart is with you.  Phil. 
With me, tell me then where and how I shall restore it.  Cor. 
It hangs upon your eyes and being there scorched with disdain▪ it flies for ease to your Rosy lips, but being beaten thence also by your harsh denials, fain would it come here for harbour; for pity then (fair Nymph) receive it, and if you can, teach it the hardness of your own.  Phil. 
Well then if my heart be so hard as you make it, it glads me that its strong enough to be a fence to my honour.  Cor. 
What the sheep to be guarded, when there's no Wool near?  Phil. 
Can the sheep he safe when there is a Dog of prey within, I cannot cherish in my breast, the man that would wrong my chastity.  Cor. 
Then cherish me, who never attempted to cast the least spot on your white innocence.  Phil. 
The more fool you, perhaps if you had, it needed not to have come to this.  Cor. 
Yes, you may remember, although I 〈…〉  Phil. 
Well Shepherd, look you never on me more, for I cannot love at all; or if at all, not you: let this suffice you.  Cor. 
O this distracts me more: but since my presence offends you, I must obey: but when I am dead the Martyr of your beauty, if I thought you would shed one poor tear on my untimely grave, and say I was unfortunate, to love where I might not be loved again, my ashes would find rest: And farewel the fairest, but yet the cruelest Shepherdess alive.   

The delicate wooing between Oliver and Rebecca.  Oliv. 
THou art a brave wench Rebecca, come kiss me: wilt thou be a Lady?  Rebec. 
Sir, I have no such ambition.  Oliv. 
I'll buy thee a Parrot to morrow and a Monkey, here take this Ring.  Rebec. 
Pray keep it, and let me tell you my mind.  Oliv. 
And i'll tell thee then, I know thou lovest me; and prithee tell me plainly, when shall we matrimony it, I know thou dotest on my good parts, speak, dost not? prithee be not bashful.  Rebec. 
Then know I do not love you.  Oliv. 
Then I have lost all my labour.  Rebec. 
I question not but it will appear so, for I must tell you the truth; I cannot love you: and let this suffice you.   

This Song in her praise.  
THese Eyes which set my fancies all on fire,  
These crisped Hairs which held my heart in chains;  
That dainty Hand that conquers my desire  
That Wit which of my heart doth hold the reins.  
O Eyes, that pierce our eyes without remorse,  
O Heart, of worth to wear a royal crown,  
O Head, that conquers more than Caesar's force,  
O Wit, that turns the world even upside down:  
Then Love be judge, what heart can thee withstand;  
Such Eyes, such Hair, such Wit, and such a Hand.   

A Letter from a Home spun Lover.  
DEarest Duckling, be it known unto you, and to all men; that I have pissed blood three days and three nights since I last saw you, and received that unwomanly answer from you: blind Cupid forgive you, for I am utterly undone by you.   

Here follows their wooing.  Clow. 
O Jug, how do I love thee?  Jug. 
Nay, thou knowest best, but I fear I shall never die with loving you.  Clow. 
No Jug, but I warrant thou wouldst if thou hadst but a bit of me.  Jug. 
Pray why should you think so? did you ever see me cast a sheep's eye at you? or did my nose bleed in your company? And as she spoke it bled.  Clow. 
How now Jug, who's in love now?  Jug. 
Not I upon my honesty, however you 〈…〉    

A Table.  

In the Second Part.  
1 A pastoral Song.  
2 Patient Griselda.  
3 A Song between truth and ignorance.  
4 Judith and Holofernes.  
5 In praise of the English Rose.   

In the Third Part.  
1 A Maiden's choice twixt age and youth.  
2 As I came from Walsingham.  
3 The winning of Cales.  
● Of Edward the third and a Countess.  
● The Spanish Ladies Love.  
● A farewell to love.  
● The Lover by his gifts thinketh to conquer Chastity.  
● The woman's answer.   
FINIS.