Classic Poem

Phyllis, for shame, let us improve
— A thousand several ways
These few short minutes stol'n by love
— From many tedious days.

Whilst you want courage to despise
— The censure of the grave,
For all the tyrants in your eyes,
— Your heart is but a slave.

My love is full of noble pride,
— And never will submit
To let that fop, discretion, ride
— In triumph over wit.

False friends I have, as well as you,
— That daily counsel me
Vain frivolous trifles to pursue,
— And leave off loving thee.

When I the least belief bestow
— On what such fools advise,
May I be dull enough to grow
— Most miserably wise.

Phyllis, for shame, let us improve
— A thousand several ways
These few short minutes stol'n by love
— From many tedious days.

Whilst you want courage to despise
— The censure of the grave,
For all the tyrants in your eyes,
— Your heart is but a slave.

My love is full of noble pride,
— And never will submit
To let that fop, discretion, ride
— In triumph over wit.

False friends I have, as well as you,
— That daily counsel me
Vain frivolous trifles to pursue,
— And leave off loving thee.

When I the least belief bestow
— On what such fools advise,
May I be dull enough to grow
— Most miserably wise.