Fragment: Modern Love
And
what
is
love?
It
is
a
doll
dress'd
up
For
idleness
to
cosset,
nurse,
and
dandle;
A
thing
of
soft
misnomers,
so
divine
That
silly
youth
doth
think
to
make
itself
Divine
by
loving,
nad
so
goes
on
Yawning
and
doting
a
whole
summer
long,
Till
Miss's
comb
is
made
a
perfect
tiara,
And
common
Wellingtons
turn
Romeo
boots;
Then
Cleopatra
lives
at
number
seven,
And
Antony
resides
in
Brunswick
Square.
Fools!
if
some
passions
high
have
warm'd
the
world,
If
Queens
and
Soldiers
have
play'd
deep
for
hearts,
It
is
no
reason
why
such
agonies
Should
be
more
common
than
the
growth
of
weeds.
Fools!
make
me
whole
again
that
weighty
pearl
The
Queen
of
Egypt
melted,
and
I'll
say
That
ye
may
love
in
spite
of
beaver
hats.
