by Robert Greene
Some say Love,
Foolish Love,
Doth rule and govern all the gods:
I say Love,
Inconstant Love,
Sets men's senses far at odds.
Some swear Love,
Smooth-fac'd Love,
Is sweetest sweet that men can have:
I say Love,
Sour Love,
Makes virtue yield as beauty's slave:
A bitter sweet, a folly worst of all,
That forceth wisdom to be folly's thrall.
Love is sweet.
Wherein sweet?
In fading pleasures that do pain?
Beauty sweet,
Is that sweet,
That yieldeth sorrow for a gain?
If Love's sweet,
Herein sweet,
That minutes' joys are monthly woes.
'Tis not sweet
That is sweet
Nowhere but where repentance grows.
The love who list, if beauty be so sour;
Labour for me; Love rest in prince's bower.
Last updated September 24, 2017