Love like a gipsy lately came, And did me much importune To see my hand, that by the same He might foretell my fortune. He saw my palm, and then, said he, I tell thee by this score here, That thou within few months shalt be The youthful Prince d’Amour here. I smil’d, and bade him once more prove, And by some cross-line show it, That I could ne’er be prince of love, Though here the princely poet.