Edward Vere, Earl of Of Women If women could be fair, and yet not fond, Or that their love were firm, not fickle, still, I would not marvel that they make men bond By service long to purchase their good will; But when I see how frail those creatures are, I muse that men forget themselves so far. To mark the choice they make, and how they change, How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan, Unsettled still, like haggards wild, they range, These gentle birds that fly from man to man; Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list? Yet, for disport, we fawn and flatter both, To pass the time when nothing else can please; And train them to our lure with subtle oath, Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease: And then we say, when we their fancy try, To play with fools, O what a fool was I! Sir Walter Raleigh The Shepherd's of Love Melibaus. Shepherd, what's love, I pray thee tell? Faustus. It is that fountain and that well Where pleasure and repentance dwell; It is perhaps that sauncing bell That tolls all into heaven or hell; And this is love, as I heard tell. Melibaus. Yet what is love, I prithee Faustus. say? It is a work on holiday; It is December matched with May, When lusty bloods, in fresh array, Hear ten months after of the play; And this is love, as I hear say. Melibaus. Yet what is love, good shepherd, sain? Faustus. It is a sunshine mixed with rain; It is a tooth-ache, or like pain; It is a game where none doth gain; The lass saith no, and would full fain; And this is love, as I hear sain. Melibaus. Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray? Faustus. It is a yea, it is a nay, A pretty kind of sporting fray; And this is love, as I hear say. |