Classic Poem

Itt is nott love which you poore fooles do deeme
That doth apeare by fond, and outward showes
Of kissing, toying, or by swearings glose,
O noe thes are farr off from loves esteeme;

Alas they ar nott such that can redeeme
Love lost, or wining keepe those chosen blowes
Though oft with face, and lookes love overthrowse
Yett soe slight conquest doth nott him beeseeme,

'T'is nott a showe of sighes, or teares can prove
Who loves indeed which blasts of fained love
Increase, or dy as favors from them slide;

Butt in the soule true love in safety lies
Guarded by faith which to desart still hies,
And yett kinde lookes doe many blessings hide.