What must thou do when love is truly lost?
Speed onwards, hast’ning on to catch it up?
Or stand, forlorn, watch it become a ghost,
knowing from it you can no longer sup?
Aye, to love and feel loss is seen as right
Better that than ne’er to be Venus blest;
Yet the pain of the first is a heart’s blight
The second makes you know true loneliness.
Love, once tasted, is a craven potion
That you always desire with open arms
Rushing along in the false-won notion
That your Lover, your troubles, always calms.
Oh fickle Venus, burn your son’s sharp arrows
And take away Love, leave us to our sorrows.