Classic Poem

I

Go, thou perpetual whining Lover,
For shame leave off this humble Trade,
'Tis more than time thou gav'st it over,
For sighs and tears will never move her,
By them more obstinate she's made,
And thou by Love, fond, constant Love, betray'd.

II

The more, vain Fop, thou su'st unto her,
The more she does torment thee still,
Is more perverse the more you woo her,
When thou art humblest lays thee lower,
And when most prostrate to her will
Thou meanly begg'st for life, does basely kill.

III

By Heaven 'tis against all Nature,
Honour and Manhood, Wit and Sense,
To let a little Female Creature
Rule on the poor account of Feature,
And thy unmanly patience
Monstrous and shamefull as her Insolence.

IV

Thou may'st find forty will be kinder,
Or more compassionate at least,
If one will serve, two hours will find her,
And half this 'doe for ever bind her
As firm and true as thine own Breast,
On Love and Vertue's double Interest:

V

But if thou canst not live without her,
This onely she, when it comes to't,
And she relent not, (as I doubt her),
Never make more adoe about her,
To sigh and whimper is no boot;
Go, hang thy self, and that will do't.