Classic Poem

1

Prethee, why dost thou love me so?
Or is it but in show?
What is there that your thoughts can pick about me?
If beauty in my face you view,
'Twas ne're writ there unlesse by you,
I little find within, nor you without me.

2

I han't the Rhetorick of the foot,
Nor leane long leg to boot,
Nor can I court with congees, trips, and dances;
I seldom sing, or if I do,
You'll scarce tell where I sing or no,
I can't endure Love-stories and Romances

3

I neither know, nor love to play
And fool my time away;
Nor talk in Dialects to please your fancy:
Nor carve the Capon or the Quaile
But hew it through from head to tail,
A complement to me is Negromancy

4

I boast not of a pedigree,
That Lords or Lordlings be,
Nor do I lace my name with Grandsires story,
Nor will I take the pains to look
For a fools-coat i'th' Heralds book,
My fame's mine own, no monumental glory.

5

I am not fashion'd of the mode,
Nor rant i'th' Gallants rode,
Nor in my habit do observe decorum;
Perfumes shall not my breath bely,
Nor clothes my body glorifie,
They shall derive their honour, 'cause I wore 'um.

6

No frizling nor scarce locks, and yet
Perhaps more hair then wit:
Nor shall Sweet-powders vanity delight you;
Though my hair's little, I'le not carry
A wig for an Auxiliary
If my locks can't, anothers shant invite you.

7

And which is worse, I cannot woe
With Gold as others do,
Nor bait your love with Lordships, Lands, and Towers;
Just so much money I have by,
As serves to spoil my poetry,
Not to expose me to the higher powers.

8

Nay you shan't make a fool of me,
Though I no Statist be,
Nor shall I be so valliant to fight for ye,
I han't the patience to court,
Nor did I e'er do't, but in sport;
I wont run mad for love, nor yet go marry.

9

And yet I know some cause does move,
Though it be not pure love
'Tis for your honours sake that you affect me,
For well you know, she that's my Lass,
Is canoniz'd in every glass,
And her health's drunk, by all that do respect me

10

Then love thou on, I'le tipple till
Both of us have our fill,
And so thy name shall never be forgotten;
I'll make thee Hellens fame survive,
Though she be dead and thou alive,
For though thou'rt not so old, thy heart's as rotten.