by Christopher Marlowe
It lies not in our power to love,or hate,
For will in us is over-ruled by fate.
When two are stript, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win.
And one especially do we affect,
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect,
The reason no man knows, let it suffice,
What we behold is censur'd by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight,
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?