There is no room for them beneath the stair
Which is my cellar's space.
Yet with Duke Humphrey we could often fare
With more than ducal grace.
Ah, loves, like books, are fated from the first,
One gets no cup of water for the thirst
The whole stream would not slake;
Another dims with tears the springs that burst
To sunshine for his sake.
When this vain fervour sadly sobers down,