George Peele (1556 – 1596)
English dramatist.
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Villain, a horse--
Villain, I say, give me a horse to fly,
To swim the river, villain, and to fly.
His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
And lovers’ songs be turned to holy psalms;
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are old age’s alms.
My merry, merry, merry roundelay
Concludes with Cupid’s curse:
They that do change old love for new,
Pray gods, they change for worse!
His golden locks time hath to silver turned;
O time too swift! O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth ’gainst time and age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain; youth waneth by encreasing.
What thing is love?—for (well I wot) love is a thing
It is a prick, it is a sting,
It is a pretty, pretty thing;
It is a fire, it is a coal,
Whose flame creeps in at every hole!
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