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...DIRGE OF RORY O'MORE; 1642 by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE SHELTERED GARDEN by HILDA DOOLITTLE ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD WEST by THOMAS GRAY CURE FOR AFFLICTIONS by ARCHILOCHUS PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 65. AL-WAJID by EDWIN ARNOLD BALLAD OF THE UNSUCCESSFUL by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |