When the fool begins to play the lover
the wiser fool's the fooler of another:
none other than his wiser muse amused
who delights in the foolish fool abused.
A muse provokes the poet when she's mute
her fingers toying with her unstrung lute,
as passions fruit hangs heavy on the vine,
the press of love is filled with foolish wine.
Speak, from the belly of your instrument,
let us hear the depths of your heart's intent,
beat upon the frets of passion's rhythm,
stir up foolish hearts and all those with them
who cast wit aside in passion's favour;
foolish wines breathe the most heady flavour.
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