But after death is perfect skill, 25 And joy without decay; When sin is gone, that blinds our eyes, And steals our joys away; No crowing cock shall raise us up, To spend the day in vain; 30 No weary labour shall us drive To go to bed again. But for we feel not what we want, Nor know not what we have; We love to keep the body’s life, 35 We loath the soul to save. _Anon._ II _LOVE THE ONLY PRICE OF LOVE._ The fairest pearls that northern seas do breed, For precious stones from eastern coasts are sold; Nought yields the earth that from exchange is freed; Gold values all, and all things value gold. Where goodness wants an equal change to make, 5 There greatness serves, or number place doth take. No mortal thing can bear so high a price, But that with mortal thing it may be bought; The corn of Sicil buys the western spice; French wine of us, of them our cloth is sought. 10 No pearls, no gold, no stones, no corn, no spice, No cloth, no wine, of Love can pay the price. What thing is Love, which nought can countervail? Nought save itself, ev’n such a thing is Love. All worldly wealth in worth as far doth fail, 15 As lowest earth doth yield to heaven above. Divine is Love, and scorneth worldly pelf, And can be bought with nothing but with self. _Anon._ III _A POESY TO PROVE AFFECTION IS NOT LOVE_ Conceit, begotten by the eyes, Is quickly born, and quickly dies; For while it seeks our hearts to have, Meanwhile there reason makes his grave: For many things the eyes approve, 5 Which yet the heart doth seldom love. For as the seeds, in springtime sown, Die in the ground ere they be grown; Such is conceit, whose rooting fails, As child that in the cradle quails; 10 Or else within the mother’s womb Hath his beginning, and his tomb. Affection follows Fortune’s wheels, And soon is shaken from her heels; For following beauty or estate, 15 Her liking still is turned to hate; For all affections have their change, And Fancy only loves to range. Desire himself runs out of breath, And, getting, doth but gain his death; 20 Desire nor reason hath, nor rest, And, blind, doth seldom choose the best: Desire attained is not desire, But as the cinders of the fire.