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;