Classic Poem

Tyrant Cupid! I'le appeale
From thee, to all the publick weale
Of gods in Parliament.
They all shall know thy mock,
How thou madest me love a rock,
That knew not to relent.

Didst thou not by thy art,
Make me give her an heart,
That had none of her own?
So she to please thy pride,
By me must be supply'd,
And I must live with none.

Nay, when I serious was,
To beg but one poor grace,
I could not that obtain:
While he that lesse did love,
When he no suit did move,
Did two unasked gain.

Judge all you gods if these
Be not deep injuries:
Then if you quit this Elf,
Set me again but free,
And all the world shall see,
I'le whip the boy my self.