 | Poems (1983) |  |
205
[Love butt a phantesie light, and vaine]
[1]
Love butt a phantesie light, and vaineFluttering butt in poorest braine,
Birds in chimnies make a thunder
Putting silly soules in wounder
Soe doth this love, this all commaunder
To a weake poore understander;
2
Slight him, and hee'le your servant bee,Adore him, you his slave must bee,
Scorne him, O how hee will pray you,
Please him, and hee'lle sure beetray you,
Lett nott his faulshood bee esteemed
Least your self bee disesteemed.
3
Crush nott your witts to place him high,A thought thing, never seene by eye,
Implore nott heaven, nor deities
They know too well his forgeries
Nor saints by imprications move
'T'is butt the Idolatry of love.
| Poems (1983) | |