He that will not love, must be My Scholar, and learn this of me: There be in Love as many feares, As the Summers Corne has eares: Sighs, and sobs, and sorrowes more Then the sand, that makes the shore: Freezing cold, and firie heats, Fainting swoones, and deadly sweats; Now an Ague, then a Fever, Both tormenting Lovers ever. Wods't thou know, besides all these, How hard a woman 'tis to please? How crosse, how sullen, and how soone She shifts and changes like the Moone. How false, how hollow she's in heart; And how she is her owne least part: How high she's priz'd, and worth but small; Little thou't love, or not at all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN LOVE GOES by SARA TEASDALE ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 51 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT FAITH AND DESPONDENCY by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE SONG OF THE CAMP by BAYARD TAYLOR ON THE RHINE by MATTHEW ARNOLD COMPENSATION by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE NOT UNDERSTOOD by THOMAS BRACKEN |