Classic Poem

Now fie on love, it ill befits,
Or man and woman know it,
Love was not meant for people in their wits,
And they that fondly show it
Betray their too much feathered brains,
And shall have only Bedlam for their pains.
To love is to distract my sleep,
And waking, to wear fetters;
To love is but to go to school to weep;
I'll leave it for my betters.
If single love be such a curse,
To marry is to make it ten times worse.