Love is ane fervent fire
Kindlit without desire,
Short pleasure, long displeasure,
Repentance is the hire;
Ane pure tressour without measour;
Love is ane fervent fire.
To love and to be wise,
To rage with good advice;
Now thus, now than, so gois the game,
Incertain is the dice;
There is no man, I say, that can
Both love and to be wise.
Flee always from the snare,
Learn at me to beware;
It is ane pain, and double trane
Of endless woe and care;
For to refrain that danger plain,
Flee always from the snare.
ROBERT WEVER
c. 1550
In Youth is Pleasure
IN a harbour grene aslepe whereas I lay,
The byrdes sang swete in the middes of the day,
I dreamèd fast of mirth and play:
In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.
Methought I walked still to and fro,
And from her company I could not go—
But when I waked it was not so:
In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.
Therefore my hart is surely pyght
Of her alone to have a sight
Which is my joy and hartes delight:
In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.