The poem
A crystal vial Cupid brought, Which had a juice in it: Of which who drank, he said, no thought Of Love he should admit.
I, greedy of the prize, did drink, And emptied soon the glass; Which burnt me so, that I do think The fire of hell it was.
Give me my earthen cups again, The crystal I contemn, Which, though enchased with pearls, contain A deadly draught in them.
And thou, O Cupid! come not to My threshold,--since I see, For all I have, or else can do, Thou still wilt cozen me.