Classic Poem

That no fair woman will, wonder not why,
Clap (Rufus) under thine her tender thigh;
Not a silk gown shall once melt one of them,
Nor the delights of a transparent gemme.
A scurvy story kills thee, which doth tell,
That in thine armpits a fierce goat doth dwell.
Him they all fear full of an ugly stench:
Nor 's 't fit he should lye with a handsome wench;
Wherefore this noses cursed plague first crush,
Or cease to wonder, why they fly you thus.