Из Роберта Геррика. Не люби

   253. Not to love

He that will not love, must be

My Scholar, and learn this of me:

There be in Love as many feares,

As the Summers Corne has eares:

Sighs, and sobs, and sorrowes more

Then the sand, that makes the shore:

Freezing cold, and firie heats,

Fainting swoones, and deadly sweats;  

Now an Ague, then a Fever, 

Both torment Lovers ever.

Wods't thou know, besides all these,

How hard a woman 'tis to please?

How crosse, how sullen, and how soone

She shifts and changes like the Moone.

How false, how hollow she's in heart;

And how she is her owne least part:

How high she's priz'd, and worth but small;

Little thou't love, or not at all.