- description
- # P Aire is my love, but not so faire as fickle.
## Overview
This is a chapter extracted from a text file, belonging to the poetry collection [Venus and Adonis, Lucrece, Sonnets, and Pericles (Facsimile Editions)](arke:01KG6S3KNZT62WVVW4VT384KPF). It is labeled "P Aire is my love, but not so faire as fickle." and contains a poem with the same title. The chapter was extracted on 2026-01-30.
## Context
The chapter is part of the [Venus and Adonis, Lucrece, Sonnets, and Pericles (Facsimile Editions)](arke:01KG6S3KNZT62WVVW4VT384KPF) collection, which includes facsimile editions of William Shakespeare's works. This collection is derived from the file [pdf-01KG6Q7Q25RHMFT3SJXPV18VFF.txt](arke:01KG6S2X2EBB305ENM00G16GWA) and is part of the [PDF Workflow Main Test 2026-01-30T00:26:53](arke:01KG6NWQ2H2K4PGG7H4ZHYCZ3Y) collection. It is preceded by the chapter [I Love make me forsworn, how frail I fwere to love?](arke:01KG6S4FQDSEDFG4SZT70GQEMG) and followed by [If Muscke and sweet Poetrie agree,](arke:01KG6S4FQAJGXYQF0QRMRJXS8C).
## Contents
The chapter contains a poem of 24 lines titled "P Aire is my love, but not so faire as fickle.". The poem discusses the fickle nature of love. The chapter also includes image references to `img-0.jpeg` and page references to pages 365 and 366.
- description_generated_at
- 2026-01-30T06:26:00.087Z
- description_model
- gemini-2.5-flash-lite
- description_title
- P Aire is my love, but not so faire as fickle.
- end_line
- 8183
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:23:29.729Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 8153
- text
- Aire is my love, but not so faire as fickle.
Milde as a Douc, but neither true nor muffle,
Frightier then glaffé, and yet as glaffé is brittle,
Soiter then waxé, and yet as Iron ruffy:
A lily pale, with damaske die to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falter to declare her.
Her lips to mine how often hath the loyned,
Fenwume each luffe her other of true lous swearing:
How many tales to please me hath the coyned,
Dreading my lous, the luffe wheteof still fearing.
Yet in the mids of all her pure protellings,
Her faith, her other, her tears, and all were iexflings.
She burnt with lous, as straw with fire flameth,
She burnt out lous, as Boone as straw out burneth:
She fram'd the lous, and yet she foyld the framing,
She bad lous laft, and yet the tell a turning.
Was this a lous, or a Letcher whether
Bad in the belt, though excellent in neither.
B
<!-- [Page 365](arke:01KG6QFYHT9CCH7TK34MXH5QSR) -->
^{}[]
<!-- [Page 366](arke:01KG6QFYHJQ7DG5PY66ME13TCW) -->
- title
- P Aire is my love, but not so faire as fickle.