Classic Poem

Such a Lover am I:
'Tis too late to deny
That for a refusall I never can dye;
Yet my Temper is such,
And that's very much,
My Passion Re-Kindles at every Touch;
But if once I doe find
My M istres s vnkind,
Why then her past favours are quite out of mind.

My Courage Il'e Keepe,
'Tis Childish to weepe;
I'le not be disordered, awake nor a-sleepe;
ffor if like a fond Swaine
I should pine & complaine,
She'l scornfully Trivmph, & laugh at my payne,
Or if I shold crave
In Revenge the Cold Grave:
He that Dyes for a woman, can nere be that brave.
Hang Cupid and Venus! nere menc i on them more!
Such pitifull Powers I scorne to adore!
Since I by Kind Nature my Libertye have,
'Twere base that such Bugbares should make me their slaves:
I manfully acknowledge my selfe farr above
That childish Idoletry, miscalled Love.

Mars, Baccus, Apollo, are much more divine,
Theire Biusinesse farr Nobler, much brisker their wine.
A wedded Condic i on contributes noe ease;
Wife, Children, and Servants, disorder their peace.
When heartye ffreinds fayl, my true Comforts of Life,
I then may turne desperate, & thinke of a Wife.