Classic Poem

Why sigh you swain? this passion is not comon;
Is't for your kids, or Lambkins? Sh : For a woman.
Nymp. How faire is shee that on so sage a brow
Prints lowring looks? Shep : Just such a toy as thou.
Nymp. Is shee a maid? Sh : What man can answer that?
Nymp. Or widdow? Sh : No. Nym : What then? Sh. I know not what.
Saint-like shee lookes, a Syren if shee sing.
Her eyes are starres, her mind is every thing.
Nymp. If shee be fickle, Shepheard leave to wooe
Or fancy mee. Sh : No thou art woman too;
Nymp. But I am constant. Sh : Then thou art not faire.
Nympp. Bright as the morning. Sh . Wavering as the Ayre.
Nymp. What grows upon this cheeke? Sh : A pure Carnation.
Nymp. Come tast a kisse. Sh . O sweet, ├┤ sweet Temptation.
Cho. Ah Love, and canst thou never loose the feild?
Where Cupid layes a seige, the towne must yeild.
He warmes the chiller blood with glowing fire,
And thaws the Icy frost of cold desire.