Classic Poem

Ladies, fly from love's smooth tale,
Oaths steep'd in tears do oft prevail;
Grief is infectious, and the air
Inflamed with sighs will blast the fair.
Then stop your ears, when lovers cry,
Lest yourselves weep, when no soft eye
Shall with a sorrowing tear repay
That pity which you cast away.

Young men, fly, when beauty darts
Amorous glances at your hearts:
The fix'd mark gives the shooter aim,
And ladies' looks have power to maim;
Now 'twixt their lips, now in their eyes,
Wrapt in a smile or kiss, love lies:
Then fly betimes, for only they
Conquer love that run away.