Classic Poem

Oh faithless world, and thy most faithless part,
A woman's heart!
The true shop of variety, where sits
Nothing but fits
And fevers of desire, and pangs of love,
Which toys remove.
Why was she born to please, or I to trust
Words writ in dust?
Suff'ring her eyes to govern my despair,
My pain for air,
And fruit of time rewarded with untruth,
The food of youth.
Untrue she was, yet I believed her eyes,
Instructed spies;
Till I was taught, that love was but a school
To breed a fool
Or sought she more than triumphs of denial,
To see a trial
How far her smiles commanded my weakness?
Yield and confess!
Excuse not now thy folly, nor her nature:
Blush, and endure
As well thy shame as passions that were vain;
And think thy gain
To know that love, lodged in a woman's breast,
Is but a guest.