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I am sieve-like, and can hold Nothing hot or nothing cold. Put in love, and put in too Jealousy, and both will through: Put in fear, and hope, and doubt; What comes in runs quickly out: Put in secrecies withal, Whate'er enters, out it shall: But if you can stop the sieve, For mine own part, I'd as lief Maids should say or virgins sing, Herrick keeps, as holds nothing.

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. An end, on end.