Classic Poem

The man tha t hath a hansome wiffe
& keepes her as a treasure,
it is my cheefest ioy of liffe
to haue her to my pleasure;

But if tha t man regardless were
as tho he carde not for her,
tho shee were like to venus fayre,
in faith I wold abhor her.

If to doe good I were restrained,
& to doe euill bidden,
I wold be puritan, I sweare,
ffor I loue the thing forbidden.

It is the care tha t makes the theft;
none loues the thing forsaken;
the bold & willinge whore is left
when the modest wench is taken.

Shee dulle tha t is too forwards bent;
not good, but want, is reason;
fish at a feast, & flesh in lent,
are never out of season