Classic Poem

Men that more to the yard nor the church
are oft enclined,
take young mayds now & then att lurch
to try their mind;
But younge maids now adayes are soe coy, th e will not show
when they are in loue,
But for feare I oft say noe, when p er happs they wold
fayne doe if itt wold not proue

If for a time for feare they bee wyllye
and seeme coy,
there is one tha t p er happs may beguile yee,
the blind boy;
heele strike home when he please; to the quicke heele shoot
his shaft w i thout delay;
then theyle sigh & lament when, alas, their owne kind hart
cannott say Nay.

The small fly tha t playeth w i th the candle
oft doth burne;
such young maids as doe loue for to dandle
once, may mourne.
lett flyes burne, & maids mourne, for in vaine you do p er swade
them from their folly;
Nature binds all their kinds now & then to play the waggs
though the seeme holy.