Classic Poem

Young and simple though I am,
I have heard ofCupids name:
Guesse I can what thing it is
Men desire when they doe kisse.
 Smoake can never burne, they say,
 But the flames that follow may.

I am not so foule or fayre
To be proud, nor to despayre;
Yet my lips have oft observ'd,
Men that kisse them presse them hard,
 As glad lovers use to doe
 When their new met loves they wooe.

Faith, 'tis but a foolish minde,
Yet, me thinkes, a heate I finde,
Like thirst longing, that doth bide
Ever on my weaker side,
 Where they say my heart doth move.
 Venus , grant it be not love.

If it be, alas, what then?
Were not women made for men?
As good 'twere a thing were past,
That must needes be done at last.
 Roses that are over-blowne
 Growe lesse sweet, then fall alone.

Yet nor Churle, nor silken Gull
Shall my Mayden blossome pull:
Who shall not I soone can tell;
Who shall, would I could as well:
 This I know, who ere hee be,
 Love hee must, or flatter me.