There's no dallying with love Though he be a child and blind;
Then let none the danger prove, Who would to himself be kind:
Smile he does when thou dost play,
But his smiles to death betray.Lately with the Boy I sported; Love I did not, yet love feigned;
Had not mistress, yet I courted; Sighed I did, yet was not pained;
Till at last this love in jest,
Proved in earnest my unrest.When I saw my fair one first, In a feigned fire I burned;
But true love my poor heart pierced, When her eyes on mine she turned:
So a real wound I took,
For my counterfeited look.Slighted Love, his skill to show, Struck me with a mortal dart;
Then I learnt that 'gainst his bow, Vain are the weak helps of art;
And thus captived, found that true
Doth dissembled love pursue.
English translator and poet (1618-1702)