Classic Poem

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.