Classic Poem

C O ming a tender Girl from School,
Marrying, I met a thund'ring Tool:
But fit for Love's Embraces grown,
I've got a Man that's next to none.
The first with Youth's too vig'rous Warmth inspir'd,
With Love's untasted Joys my Weakness tir'd.
My second grunting Spark, cold to Love's Charms,
He fills my Bed, 'tis true, but not my Arms.
When I'd no Appetite, Love cloy'd me;
Now I've a Mind to't, 'tis deny'd me.
Oh! Hymen, Hymen, for my Quiet,
Contract my Stomach, or enlarge my Diet.