Mock SONG LXX.
[Love is a Fable]
1.
Love is a Fable,
No man, is able,
To say 'tis this, or 'tis That;
And idle passion,
Of such a fashion,
'Tis like, I cannot tell what.
B.
Love is a True thing,
It is no new thing,
To call't by good name, or bad;
A busi'd Action,
Of such a faction,
'Tis like, to make a Man Mad.
2.
Fair in the Cradle,
Fowle in the Sadle,
Alwayes too cold, or too hot.
An arrant Lyer,
Fedd by desire,
It is, and yet, it is not.
B.
Fair in the Whittle,
Fowle in the Spittle,
Alwayes too moist, or too dry:
A very Tell-troth,
Papp't up with Hell Broth,
One knows not wherefore, nor why
3.
Love is a Fellow,
Clad all in Yellow,
The Canker-worme of minde:
A privy mischif,
And such a sly Theif,
No man, knows where, him to find.
B.
Love is a Dam'sell,
Clad to the Hams well,
That wears a worm, in the tayle
A meer pick-pocket
Yet, when we smoke it,
To find it out, we ne're faile.
4.
Love is a wonder
'Tis here, and 'tis yonder,
'Tis common, to all men we know;
A very cheater,
Evere one's better,
Then hange him, and so let him go:
B.
Love is no wonder,
Over or under,
'Tis common, as pissing a bed;
'Twill Cheat and Cozen
Folke by the Dozen
'Tis better to hang, then be fed.
