Love is the Fart of Every Heart

Sir John Suckling (1609-1642):

356px-Suckling
If when Don Cupids dart
Doth wound a heart,
we hide our grief
and shun relief;
The smart increaseth on that score;
For wounds unsearcht but ranckle more.

Then if we whine, look pale,
And tell our tale,
men are in pain
for us again;
So, neither speaking doth become
The Lovers state, nor being dumb.

When this I do descry,
Then thus think I,
love is the fart
of every heart:
It pains a man when ‘t is kept close,
And others doth offend, when ‘t is let loose.

Sir John Suckling (1640)

 

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