Classic Poem

O Faithless World, and thy more faithless Part,
a womans heart!
The true shop of variety, where sits
nothing but fits
And feavers of desire, and pangs of love,
which toyes remove.
Why was she born to please, or I to trust
words writ in dust?
Suffering her Eys to govern my despair,
my pain for air;
And fruit of time rewarded with untruth,
the food of youth.
Untrue she was: yet, I beleev'd her eys
(instructed spies)
Till I was taught, that Love was but a scool
to breed a fool.
Or sought she more by triumphs of deniall,
to make a triall
How far her smiles commanded my weakness?
yeild and Confess:
Excuse no more thy folly; but for Cure,
blush and indure
As well thy shame, as passions that were vain:
and think, 'tis gain
To know, that Love lodg'd in a womans brest,
Is but a guest.