Love is a bable, 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 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's fair in cradle, Foul in fable, 'Tis either too cold or too hot; An arrant liar, Fed by desire, It is and yet it is not. Love is a wonder That's here and yonder, As common to one as to moe; A monstrous cheater, Ev'ry man's debtor; Hang him and so let him go.