Classic Poem

What poore astronomers are they
Take women's eyes for stars,
And set their thoughts in battell ray
To fight such idle warres,
When in the end they shall approve
'Tis but a jeast drawne out of loue.

And love itselfe is but a jeast
Devisde by idle heads
To catch yong fancies in the neast.
And lay it in fooles beds;
That being hatcht in beauties eyes,
They may be flidge ere they be wise.

But yet it is a sport to see
How wit will run on wheeles,
While will cannot perswaded be
With that which reason feeles;
That womens eyes and starres are odde
And love is but a fained God.

But such as will run mad with will.
I cannot cleare their sight,
But leave them to their studie still
To looke where is no light;
Till time too late we make them trie
They study false astronomic.