Love is a bable

Love is a babel,

No man is able

To say 'tis this or 'tis that;

So full of passions

Of sundry fashions

'Tis like I cannot tell what.

Love's fair in the cradle,

Foul in the fable,

'Tis either too cold or too hot;

An arrant liar,

Fed by desire,

It is, and yet it is not.

Love is a fellow,

Clad oft in yellow,

The canker-worm of the mind

A privy mischief,

And such a sly thief

No man knows which way to find.

Love is a wonder

That's here and yonder,

As common to one as to moe;

A monstrous cheater,

Every man's debtor;

Hang him and so let him go.