Classic Poem

P HYLLIS , you rob me every day,
It is my foolish love that lets you,
The cunning, too, that you display,
Wherein your lying maid abets you!

She hints of ring or mirror lost,
Of scent all gone, or missing jewel,
Or smuggled silk at trifling cost,
To miss so rare a chance were cruel!

You need a cask of wine—the best
To help some witch's charm (or gullet?),
Or else an unexpected guest
Has come and you want pike or mullet.

I pray you, Phyllis, show some small
Regard for truth, and frankly use me,
Remembering, if I give my all,
Whate'er I ask you can't refuse me.