Loves Discoverys.
With much of paine, and all the Art I knew,
Have I endeavor'd hitherto
To hide my love; and yet all will not doe.
The world perceives it, and it may be, she;
Though so discreet and good she be,
By hiding it, to teach that skill to me.
Men without love have oft so cunning growne,
That something like it they have showne,
But none that had it ever seem'd t'have none.
Love's of a strangely open, simple kind,
Can no arts or disguises find,
But thinks none sees it cause it self is blind.
The very eye betrayes our inward smart;
Love of himselfe left there a part,
When through it he past into the heart.
Or if by chance the face betray not it,
But keep the secret wisely, yet,
Like drunkennesse into the tongue 'twill get.