Love Is the Fart of Every Heart

Sir John Suckling (1609-1642):

If when Don Cupids dart
Doth wound a heart,
    we hide our grief
    and shun relief;
The smart increaseth on that score;
For wounds unsearcht but ranckle more.

Then if we whine, look pale,
And tell our tale,
    men are in pain
    for us again;
So, neither speaking doth become
The Lovers state, nor being dumb.

When this I do descry,
Then thus think I,
    love is the fart
    of every heart:
It pains a man when 't is kept close,
And others doth offend, when 't is let loose.