Sparkatale

Man's love be like a fowl unnamed disease,

It feeds off that façade and brings alight

A thirst within aroused for sport to please

The falseness of his lusty appetite.

Love's eyes do favour those of golden hue

A maid's fair face may be but her disguise

For beauty be a mask for any shrew

Look with the mind, and not but with the eyes.

Behold the artificial will of men,

Let conscience and thine purity be guides;

Take caution to the golden lies, to pen

The blood of men that gold complexion hides.

I dare not blaze so fondly to assail,

Lest I fall false to untrue beauty's veil.