Classic Poem

Of what mould did Nature frame me,
Or was it her intent to shame me,
That no woman can come near me,
Fair, but her I court to hear me?
Sure that mistress, to whose beauty
First I paid a lover's duty,
Burn'd in rage my heart to tinder,
That nor prayers nor tears can hinder,
But wherever I do turn me,
Every spark let fall doth burn me;
Women, since you thus inflame me,
Flint and steel I'll ever name ye.