Classic Poem

She will jilt a lover,
When gray is this head;
And lead a husband by the nose
When I am dead.

No toil shall ever stain her,
All pleasure shall she prove,
And cruelly spread 'round her
The old illusion, love.

For I was trapped and taken
Many a time, that way;
How easily can woman
Man's weakest trait betray!

You young men of the future,
She now shall show you all
What silly slaves of habit
You are, when instincts call:

Yes, she shall bear you captive
In chains of bitter rue,
To me, the only lover
Whose will she chose to do!

She will be jilting lovers,
When grey is this head;
And lead a husband by the nose
When I am dead.