Classic Poem

Faith, 'tis not worth thy pains and care
To seek t'ensnare
A heart so poore as mine:
Some fooles there be
Hate libertie,
Whom with more ease thou maist confine.

Alas! when with much charge thou hast
Brought it at last
Beneath thy power to bow,
It will adore
Some twenty more,
And that, perhaps, you'l not allow.

No, Cloris more will prove
The curse of love,
And now can boast a heart
Hath learn'd of thee
Inconstancie,
And cozen'd Women of their art.