Tell me, dearest, what is love?
'Tis a lightning from above,
'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
'Tis a boy they call Desire.
'Tis a grave
Gapes to have
Those poor fools that long to prove.
Tell me more, are women true?
Yes, some are, and some as you;
Some are willing, some are strange,
Since you men first taught to change.
And till truth
Be in both
All shall love to love anew.
Tell me more yet, can they grieve?
Yes, and sicken sore, but live:
And be wise and delay,
When you men are as wise as they.
Then I see
Faith will be
Never till they both believe.
Francis Beaumont.