Classic Poem

Love butt a phantesie light, and vaine
Fluttering butt in poorest braine,
Birds in chimnies make a thunder
Putting silly soules in wounder
Soe doth this love, this all commaunder
To a weake poore understander;

2

Slight him, and hee'le your servant bee,
Adore him, you his slave must bee,
Scorne him, O how hee will pray you,
Please him, and hee'lle sure beetray you,
Lett nott his faulshood bee esteemed
Least your self bee disesteemed.

3

Crush nott your witts to place him high,
A thought thing, never seene by eye,
Implore nott heaven, nor deities
They know too well his forgeries
Nor saints by imprications move
'T'is butt the Idolatry of love.