Love Is

Who's warm bosom is arrowed by cupid
Shouldst hark now to honest counsels my mind
discourses; love's like to unexpected
Whom thou think of least, hearts’ like to combined.
Love's verily 'bout err and forgiveness
Thy bosoms wilt oft' forsooth be broken
But soft forgive, love thou would be dateless
Tis like heavy winter-summer season.
Twain brace o' bosoms must give and give still
The clock is naught, "lub-dub" afire thou grant
Forbearing thy hearts from growing so chill
Keep thy flames going till both fires dost pant.
Tis the troth I speak, mark my words above
Tis that a kind heart defines what's real love.