Classic Poem

If Thou that Jilt, which thou hast sworn, wilt be
What e'er Disguise of Art you wear, to Me
A right true Woman prove, and I'll believe
You'll make your utmost Efforts to deceive;
Still truer to their Sex the Women prove,
As falser to their Vows, and to our Love.
And since I cannot Constancy require,
Be private in thy Scapes of loose Desire.
I not thy Pleasures, but the Scandal, dread;
By That we should be both discredited.
Be thine the Guilt, so mine be not the Shame,
Give up thy Virtue, but preserve thy Fame.
To multiply thy Joys, thy Honour save,
Then thou wilt Crouds of pressing Lovers have;
If with feign'd Modesty you gloss Desire,
And by forc'd Coyness kindle up their Fire.
For Men are made, by Prohibition, still
Their warm Desires more eager to fulfil;
Play the coy chaste One, to promote thy Guilt,
And seem the Matron, tho' thou act the Jilt.
For thy own sake, if not for mine, from Sight
Keep thy dark Deed, or do them in the Night,
Since Theft adds Pleasure to the stol'n Delight:
Love's Joys are heightned when in Private done,
And Shew of Virtue makes us more come on:
Let thy Lust wear a Mask then like thy Face,
Like That, but more Men's fierce Desires to raise:
Yet dally not with Lovers, but to make
Their Vigour stronger in the wish'd Attack.
And when they storm, keep on the Vizard still,
And swear they seize the Bliss against your Will.
So Bullies labour to conceal their Shame,
While they, by Noise, would justify their Fame.