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.