Classic Poem

A female friend advis'd a swain
Whose heart she wish'd at ease,
" Make love thy pleasure, not thy pain,
Nor let it deeply seize.

Beauty, where vanities abound,
No serious passion claims:
Then, till a phaenix can be found,
Do not admit the flames."

But griev'd, she finds all his replies
(Since prepossess'd when young)
Take all their hints from Silvia's eyes,
None from Ardelia's tongue.

Thus, Cupid, all their aim they miss,
Who would unbend thy bow;
And each slight nymph a phaenix is,
If thou would'st have it so.