Classic Poem

Polly ! from me, tho' now a love-sick youth,
Nay, tho' a poet, hear the voice of Truth.
Polly! you're not a beauty, yet you're pretty;
So grave yet gay, so silly yet so witty;
A heart of softness, yet a tongue of satire;
You'ave cruelty, yet ev'n with that good-nature:
Now you are free, and now reserv'd a while;
Now a forc'd frown betrays a willing smile.
Reproach'd for absence, yet your sight deny'd;
My tongue you silence, yet my silence chide.
How would you praise me should your sex defame!
Yet, should they praise, grow jealous, and exclaim.
If I despair, with some kind look you bless;
But if I hope, at once all hope suppress.
You scorn, yet should my passion change or fail,
Too late you'd whimper out a softer tale.
You love, yet from your lover's wish retire;
Doubt yet discern, deny and yet desire.
Such, Polly! are your sex—part truth part fiction;
Some thought, much whim, and all a contradiction.