Classic Poem

F alse beauty who, although in semblance fair,
R ude art in action, and hast cost me dear,
A s iron harsh, and harder to outwear,
N ame that did spell the end of my career,
C harm that dost mischief, builder of my bier,
O gress who dost thy lover's death require,
Y outh without pity! Womankind, dost hear?
S hould help a man, not drag him in the mire!

M uch better had it been to seek elsewhere
A id and repose, and keep my honour clear,
R ather than thus be driven by despair
T o flee in anguish and dishonour drear.
"H elp, help!' I cry. "Ye neighbours all, draw near;
E ach man fetch water for my raging fire!'
Compassion bids that every true compeer
Should help a man, not drag him in the mire.