Classic Poem

I.

Since , Silly Fool! all your Excuse,
Why me, nay my Love, you refuse,
Is, Fear of losing your Good Name,
More, than to lose your Maidenhead;
Know, Poets can restore your Fame,
When that is gone, nay you are Dead;

II.

Since Best Men speak most Ill of those,
Who Honour for 'em will not lose;
If you then wou'd keep your Good Name,
And Honour, give it up to me,
Whose Pride 'tis, to save Women's Fame,
When made by their Love, its Trustee;

III.

Your Secrets to me then expose,
If you wou'd not your Honour lose;
For she, who thinks her Friend unjust,
E'er try'd, gives him Cause to be so;
Knaves are made Just, by their Foes Trust,
Distrust makes Knaves, of Just Friends too;

IV.

Make thy Best Secret, mine alone,
By none else, shall it e'er be known;
For I no Secret e'er reveal'd,
But what my Friends wou'd keep from me;
Which, when from Friends it is conceal'd,
They then are made to tell it, free;

V.

Our Breach of Faith's made by Distrust,
Confiding in Knaves, makes 'em just;
More to the Shame, it wou'd be said,
Of Thee, thy Beauty, Fame, or Wit;
That thou shou'dst have thy Maidenhead,
In spight of thee, me, thy Friends, yet.