Farewel to passionate Love

Farewel fond Love! I'l never bow
Slave like unto my fetters I,
Fair Sex! I'l not adore you now
Yet love you as my libertie:
Love grown adust with Melancholy,
To madness turns or extream folly.
About and with your fires I'l play
But with as loose and gentle touch
As boys from hand to hand toss away
Live coals, lest they should burn too much.
Too ne'r his heart who lets love come
Suffers a wilful Martyrdome.
Stout Souldiers in an Enemies land
March not too far sans fear or wit,
E'r they resolve or to withstand,
Or wisely make a safe retreat.
Bodies when joyn'd engaged are,
Piqueering's better sport by far.