III A Poesy to Prove Affection Is Not Love
Conceit, begotten by the eyes,
Is quickly born, and quickly dies;
For while it seeks our hearts to have,
Meanwhile there reason makes his grave:
For many things the eyes approve, 5
Which yet the heart doth seldom love.
For as the seeds, in springtime sown,
Die in the ground ere they be grown;
Such is conceit, whose rooting fails,
As child that in the cradle quails; 10
Or else within the mother’s womb
Hath his beginning, and his tomb.
Affection follows Fortune’s wheels,
And soon is shaken from her heels;
For following beauty or estate, 15
Her liking still is turned to hate;
For all affections have their change,
And Fancy only loves to range.
Desire himself runs out of breath,
And, getting, doth but gain his death; 20
Desire nor reason hath, nor rest,
And, blind, doth seldom choose the best:
Desire attained is not desire,
But as the cinders of the fire.
As ships in ports desired are drowned; 25
As fruit, once ripe, then falls to ground;
As flies, that seek for flames, are brought
To cinders by the flames they sought:
So fond Desire, when it attains,
The life expires, the woe remains. 30
And yet some poets fain would prove
Affection to be perfect love;
And that Desire is of that kind,
No less a passion of the mind,
As if wild beasts and men did seek 35
To like, to love, to choose alike.
Sir Walter Raleigh.