Classic Poem

Cloe, blooming, sweet as May ,
We must tempt Mamma away;
Still the jealous Dame destroys
All our Schemes of future Joys:
All the Projects we have try'd,
Vainly yet have been apply'd;
At my Bait she now must bite ,
If I guess her Temper right:
She shall have her Lover too;
Trust me, Cloi , this will do.