Upon Love.

Love is a circle, that doth restless move
In the same sweet eternity of Love.

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

That love 'twixt men does ever longest last
Where war and peace the dice by turns do cast.

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

Where love begins, there dead thy first desire:
A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.

Love bade me ask a gift,
And I no more did move
But this, that I might shift
Still with my clothes my love:
That favour granted was;
Since which, though I love many,
Yet so it comes to pass
That long I love not any.