Poem by Francis Beaumont

Fie on Love

Now fie on foolish love, it not befits
Or man or woman know it.
Love was not meant for people in their wits,
And they that fondly show it
Betray the straw, and features in their brain,
And shall have Bedlam for their pain:
If simple love be such a curse,
To marry is to make it ten times worse. 

1. The Conclusion
2. The Examination of His Mistress's Perfections
3. A Funeral Elegy on the Death of the Lady Penelope Clifton
4. To My Dear Friend M. Ben Jonson, on His Fox
5. Ad Comitissam Rutlandiæ

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