Classic Poem

Must then my folly's, be thy scandall too?
Why sure the Devill hath not much to doe.
My Love, and life, I must confess, are thine,
But not my erroures, they are only mine.
And if my faults should be for thine allow'd,

It will be hard to dissipate the cloud.
But Eves rebellion did not Adam blast,
Untill himself forbidden fruit did tast.
But if those lines, a punishment could call
Lasting, and great, as this dark-Lantherns gall,
Alone, I'de court the torments, with content,

To testify, that thou art Innocent.
So if my Ink, through malice prov'd a stain,
My bloud should justly wash it off again.
But, since that Mint of Slander, could invent
To make that triviall Rime his instrument,

Verse should reveng the quarrell, but he's worse
Then wishes, and below a Poet's curse.
And more then this, wit know's not how to give,
Let him be still himself, and let him live.