Now What Is Love

Now what is Love,

I pray thee, tell?

It is that fountain and that

Where pleasure and repentance dwell;

It is, perhaps, the sauncing

That tolls all into heaven or hell;

And this is Love, as I hear tell.

Yet what is Love,

I prithee, say?

It is a work on holiday,

It is December matched with May,

When lusty bloods in fresh

Hear ten months after of the play;

And this is Love, as I hear say.

Yet what is Love, good shepherd, sain?

It is a sunshine mixed with rain,

It is a toothache or like pain,

It is a game where none hath gain;

The lass saith no, yet would full fain;

And this is Love, as I hear sain.

Yet, shepherd, what is Love,

I pray?

It is a yes, it is a nay,

A pretty kind of sporting fray,

It is a thing will soon away.

Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may;

And this is Love, as I hear say.

Yet what is Love, good shepherd, show?

A thing that creeps, it cannot go,

A prize that passeth to and fro,

A thing for one, a thing for moe,

And he that proves shall find it so;

And shepherd, this is Love,

I trow.