Love'S A Thing, As I Do Hear, Ever Full Of Pensive Fear; Rather Than To Which I'll Fall, Trust Me, I'll Not Like At All. If To Love I Should Intend, Let My Hair Then Stand An End: And That Terror Likewise Prove Fatal To Me In My Love. But If Horror Cannot Slake Flames Which Would An Entrance Make Then The Next Thing I Desire Is, To Love And Live I' Th' Fire.