Classic Poem

Oh, Gentlemen! I'm come — but was not sent ye;
A voluntier — pray, does my size content ye?
Man , I am yours: sex! blest, as heav'n can make you,
And, from this time, weak woman , I forsake you.

Who'd be a wife? when each new play can teach us,
To what fine ends , these lords of ours beseech us.
At first, whate'er they do — they do so charming!
But mark what follows — frightful, and alarming!
They feed, too fast, on love — then, sick'ning , tell us,
They can't, forsooth, be kind , because they're jealous .

Who wou'd be woman , then? to sigh, and suffer?
And wish, and wait, for the slow-coming proffer?
Not I — farewel to petticoats , and stitching ,
And welcome dear, dear breeches , more bewitching!
Henceforth, new-moulded, I'll rove, love, and wander,
And fight, and storm, and charm, like Periander .
Born, for this dapper age , pert, short, and clever,
If e'er I grow a man , 'tis now, or never.

Well, but what conduct suits this transformation?
I'll copy some smart soul of conversation:
Shou'd there be war , I'd talk of fields , and trenches ;
Shou'd there be peace , I'd toast ten fav'rite wenches .
Shou'd I be lov'd — 'gadso — how then — no matter,
I'll bow, as you do — and look foolish , at her.
And so, who knows, that never meant to prove ye,
But I'm as good a man , as any of ye.

Well, 'tis a charming frolick! and I'll do't!
Sirs, have I your consent? what say ye to't?
Yet, hold — perhaps, they'll dread a rival beaux ;
I may be what I seem , for ought they know.
Ladies, farewel! — I shou'd be loth to leave ye,
Cou'd an increase of pretty fellows grieve ye:
Each, like myself, devoted ne'er to harm ye,
And full as fit , no doubt, to serve , and charm ye.