Caecus amor prolis
With kindenes, lo, the Ape doth kill her whelpe,
Throughe clasping harde, and lulling in her armes.
Even so, the babes, whose nature, Arte shoulde helpe:
The parents fonde doe hazarde them with harmes,
And worke their spoile, and bringe them unto noughte,
When foolishe love forbiddes them to bee toughte.