Love is the sickness of the thought! Conceit of pleasure, dearly bought! A restless Passion of the mind! A labyrinth of errors blind! A sugared poison! fair deceit! A bait for fools! a furious heat! A chilling cold! a wondrous passion Exceeding man's imagination! Which none can tell in whole, or part, But only he that feels the smart. Love is sorrow mixt with gladness! Fear, with hope! and hope, with madness! Long did I love, but all in vain; I loving, was not loved again: For which my heart sustained much woe. It fits not maids to use men so! Just deserts are not regarded, Never love so ill rewarded! But "all is lost that is not sought!" "Oft wit proves best, that's dearest bought! Women were made for men's relief; To comfort, not to cause their grief. Where most I merit, least I find: No marvel! since that love is blind. Had She been kind, as She was fair, My case had been more strange and rare. But women love not by desert! Reason in them hath weakest part! Then, henceforth, let them love that list, I will beware of "Had I wist!" These faults had better been concealed, Than to my shame abroad revealed. Yet though my youth did thus miscarry, My harms may make others more wary. Love is but a youthful fit, And some men say "It's sign of wit!" But he that loves as I have done; To pass the day, and see no sun: Must change his note, and sing _Erravi!_ Or else may chance to cry _Peccavi!_ The longest day must have his night, Reason triumphs in Love's despite. I follow now Discretion's lore; "Henceforth to like; but love no more!" Then gently pardon what is past! For LOVE draws onwards to his last. "He walks," they say, "with wary eye; Whose footsteps never tread awry!" My Muse a better work intends: And here my Loving Folly ends. After long storms and tempests past, I see the haven at the last; Where I must rest my weary bark, And there unlade my care and cark. My pains and travails long endured, And all my wounds must there be cured. Joys, out of date, shall be renewed; To think of perils past eschewed. When I shall sit full blithe and jolly, And talk of lovers and their folly. Then LOVE and FOLLY, both adieu! Long have I been misled by you. FOLLY may new adventures try! But REASON says that "LOVE must die!" Yea, die indeed, although grieve him; For my cold heart cannot relieve him! Yet for her sake, whom once I loved, (Though all in vain, as time hath proved) I'll take the pain, if She consent! To write his Will and Testament. _LOVE's last Will and Testament._ [Illustration]