A Brother’s Love

Love is fickle, love is cruel,

Hence it makes men fight a duel,

O’er what is pretty, what is fair,

And one is petty, he does dare,

The other who is vain,

“Come thou hence, 

At you I leer!

See this place where you’ll be slain,

And dost thou whither in your fear?

For my lady is the fairest,

And I truly do not carest,

You shall not conquer me!”

And at this the other knight,

He doth declare, “We shall see!”

And so upon each other,

These brothers, they do charge,

But of course to all it’s known,

The only woman who could love them is their mother.

Is this not a silly fight?

Upon good people, will it not blight?

And so do I say,

As come I away from there this day,

Love is fickle, love is cruel,

And he who loves is but a fool.