I heard of late that Love was fall’n asleep
   Too late, alas, I find it was not so.
Methought, I saw the little villain weep, 
   But thief he laughs at them that wail in woe.
I dreamt his bow was broke and he was slain:
But lo, awaked, I see all whole again.

His blinking eyes will ever be awake, 
   His idle head is full of laughing toys, 
His bow and shafts are tickle things to take, 
   It is no meddling with such apish boys.
For they shall find that in his fetters fall, 
Love is a deadly thing to deal withal. 

Yet where the wretch doth take a happy vein,
   It is the kindest worm that ever was,
But let him catch a coy conceit again,
   In frantic fits, he doth a fury pass.
So that, in sum, who hopes of happy joy, 
Take heed of Love, it is a parlous boy.