THE Crow makes war with the Chameleon;
And, being hurt, to th' laurel straight doth fly:
And, through the fruit he findeth thereupon,
Is healed of hurt, finds food, and lives thereby.
LOVE the Chameleon is; the Crow am I:
And battle wage with him unto the death.
He wounds me deadly; whereupon I his
To thee, my LAURAL! to restore my breath.
Thou me reviv'st. Such virtue 's in thee rife
As thou, at once, dost give me food and life.