Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canter dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes.
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown.
Loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.