Every poet is full of such catalogues of love symptoms; but fear and sorrow may justly challenge the chief place.  Though Hercules de Saxonia, cap. 3.  Tract. de melanch. will exclude fear from love melancholy, yet I am otherwise persuaded. [5302]_Res est solliciti plena timoris amor._ ’Tis full of fear, anxiety, doubt, care, peevishness, suspicion; it turns a man into a woman, which made Hesiod belike put Fear and Paleness Venus’ daughters,

------“Marti clypeos atque arma secanti
Alma Venus peperit Pallorem, unaque Timorem:” 

because fear and love are still linked together.  Moreover they are apt to mistake, amplify, too credulous sometimes, too full of hope and confidence, and then again very jealous, unapt to believe or entertain any good news.  The comical poet hath prettily painted out this passage amongst the rest in a [5303]dialogue betwixt Mitio and Aeschines, a gentle father and a lovesick son.  “Be of good cheer, my son, thou shalt have her to wife.  Ae.  Ah father, do you mock me now?  M. I mock thee, why?  Ae.  That which I so earnestly desire, I more suspect and fear.  M. Get you home, and send for her to be your wife.  Ae.  What now a wife, now father,” &c.  These doubts, anxieties, suspicions, are the least part of their torments; they break many times from passions to actions, speak fair, and flatter, now most obsequious and willing, by and by they are averse, wrangle, fight, swear, quarrel, laugh, weep:  and he that doth not so by fits, [5304]Lucian holds, is not thoroughly touched with this loadstone of love.  So their actions and passions are intermixed, but of all other passions, sorrow hath the greatest share; [5305]love to many is bitterness itself; rem amaram Plato calls it, a bitter potion, an agony, a plague.

       “Eripite hanc pestem perniciemque mihi;
        Quae mihi subrepens imos ut torpor in artus,
        Expulit ex omni pectore laetitias.”

       “O take away this plague, this mischief from me,
        Which, as a numbness over all my body,
        Expels my joys, and makes my soul so heavy.”

Phaedria had a true touch of this, when he cried out,

[5306] “O Thais, utinam esset mihi
        Pars aequa amoris tecum, ac paritor fieret ut
        Aut hoc tibi doleret itidem, ut mihi dolet.”

       “O Thais, would thou hadst of these my pains a part,
        Or as it doth me now, so it would make thee smart.”

So had that young man, when he roared again for discontent,

[5307] “Jactor, crucior, agitor, stimulor,
        Versor in amoris rota miser,
        Exanimor, feror, distrahor, deripior,
        Ubi sum, ibi non sum; ubi non sum, ibi est animus.”

       “I am vext and toss’d, and rack’d on love’s wheel: 
        Where not, I am; but where am, do not feel.”