Some say love, foolish love,
doth rule and govern gods.
I say love, inconstant love,
sets men's senses far at odds.
Some swear love, smooth-face 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 vorst of all,
that forceth wisdom to be folly's thrall.
Love is sweet.
In fading pleasures that do pain.
Wherein sweet? Is that sweet,
that yieldeth sorrow for a gain?
If love's sweet, herein sweet,
that minute's joys are monthly woes.
'Tis not sweet, that is sweet nowhere
but where repentance grows.
Then love who list, if beauty be so sour:
Labour for me; love rest in prince's bower.