And what is love?

And what is love? It is a doll
dressed up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and
dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so
divine
That silly youth doth think to
make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on
Yawning and doting a whole
summer long,
Till Miss's comb is made a
perfect tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn
Romeo boots;
Till Cleopatra lives at Number
Seven,
And Antony resides in
Brunswick Square.
Fools! if some passions high have
warmed the world,
If queens and soldiers have
played deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be more common than
the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me whole again that
weighty pearl
The queen of Egypt melted, and
I'll say
That ye may love in spite of
beaver hats.