Classic Poem

Love , a childe, is ever crying;
Please him, and he straight is flying;
Give him, he the more is craving,
Never satisfied with having.

His desires have no measure;
Endless folly is his treasure;
What he promiseth he breaketh,
Trust not one word that he speaketh.

He vows nothing but false matter;
And to cozen you will flatter;
Let him gaine the hand, he'll leave you,
And still glory to deceive you.

He will triumph in your wailing;
And yet cause be of your failing;
These his virtues are, and slighter
Are his gifts, his favours lighter.

Feathers are as firm in staying;
Wolves no fiercer in their preying:
As a childe, then, leave him crying;
Nor seeke him so given to flying.