Leaven.

Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all
Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall.

Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all
Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall.

What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve:
The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.

Love is a syrup; and whoe'er we see
Sick and surcharg'd with this satiety,
Shall by this pleasing trespass quickly prove
There's loathsomeness e'en in the sweets of love.

Look upon Sappho's lip, and you will swear
There is a love-like leaven rising there.

Love scorched my finger, but did spare
The burning of my heart,
To signify in love my share
Should be a little part.

Little I love, but if that he
Would but that heat recall,
That joint to ashes should be burnt
Ere I would love at all.