Classic Poem

Bless us, here's a doe indeed!
That she must so much Courtship need
Scorn sits so handsome on this face,
With such an unaffected grace,
That I could wish my sex were chang'd to be
A Lover onely of your cruelty

Women, men say, are Fooles they know,
But what are they that call us so,
When their Sighes and Amorous ware,
But more serious Follies are.
What time wee spend to curle and dress our haire,
You spend to thinke us, though we are not, fayre.
What prittie dotage call you this,
To weep and groan and glance and kiss;
Unkindness makes your Heart to break,
And not a word of sence to speake,
And court the Careless, when with farr less paine,
Some wholsome Milkmayd would say yours againe.