The broken heart

He is stark mad, whoever says,That he hath been in love an hour,Yet not that love so soon decays,But that it can ten in less space devour;Who will believe me, if I swearThat I have had the plague a year?Who would not laugh at me, if I should sayI saw a flash of powder burn a day?Ah, what a trifle is a heart,If once into love's hands it come!All other griefs allow a partTo other griefs, and ask themselves but some;They come to us, but us love draws;He swallows us and never chaws;By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die;He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.If 'twere not so, what did becomeOf my heart when I first saw thee?I brought a heart into the room,But from the room I carried none with me.If it had gone to thee, I knowMine would have taught thine heart to showMore pity unto me ; but Love, alas!At one first blow did shiver it as glass.Yet nothing can to nothing fall,Nor any place be empty quite;Therefore I think my breast hath allThose pieces still, though they be not unite;And now, as broken glasses showA hundred lesser faces, soMy rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,But after one such love, can love no more.