Classic Poem

Your Muse, pray, on Miss Pussy turn,
Write of her handsome Face;
But Cats I don't admire so,
They're well in proper place.

Their Place, I think, is to catch Mice;
And when they that have done,
How they those little Creatures tease,
Play, Gripe, and let them run.

Will not it grieve the tender Mind,
To see a poor Mouse smart?
Oh! never let your Lover thus
Play with your youthful Heart.

For like to Cats that watch for Mice,
Men watch t' ensnare the Heart;
Like Cats they too will Maidens tease,
And Triumph in their Smart.

You do not love religious Books,
So here my leave I'll take;
And wish that God, thro' Christ his Son
Your very Heart might break .

Oh! do not think I cruel am,
And so my wish despise;
A broken Heart the Lord does love —
A pleasing Sacrifice.