Farewell false love, the oracle of lies, a mortall foe, & enimie to rest: An envious boy, from whom all cares arise, A bastard vile, a beast, with rage possest: A way of error, a temple full of treason, in all effects contrarie unto reason. A poisoned serpent covered all with flowers, Mother of sighes, and murtherer of repose, A sea of sorows from whence are drawen such showers, As moisture lend to every griefe that growes, A schole of guile, a net of deepe deceit, A guilded hooke that holds a poisoned baite. A fortresse foyld which reason dyd defend, A Syren song, a feaver of the minde, A maze wherein affection findes no ende, A raging cloud that runnes before the winde, A substance like the shadow of the Sunne, A goale of griefe, for which the wisest runne. A quenchlesse fire, a nurse of trembling feare, A path that leades to perill and mishap, A true retreat of sorrow and dispaire, An idle boy that sleepes in pleasures lap, A deepe mistrust of that which certaine seemes, A hope of that which reason doubtfull deemes. Sir Walter Ralegh (c.1554-1618)
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