Classic Poem

What is vrtue, when all's done,
Withered breast, shaking knees?
Cold thoughts sitting in the sun,
If it only bring you these?

Men love virtue — so they say,
So they say, but what they do
Kisses half your soul away,
And takes virtue out of you!

When you die, they'll say, " Poor thing! "
When I'm dead, they'll lean above;
One will kiss me, one will bring
A posy for the sake of love.

When we're both dead, gone far hence,
Will it matter what we've been?
On your virtues and my sins
Grass will grow as quick and green.