Maxioms by Robert Greene
Then grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' brow,
The amber sweet of love is turn'd to gall!
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Then grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' brow,
The amber sweet of love is turn'd to gall!
Gloomy was Heaven; bright Phoebus did avow
He would be coy, and would not love at all;
Swearing no greater mischief could be wrought,
Than love united to a jealous thought.
