Classic Poem

VI.
Faine would I my love disclose,
Aske what honour might denye;
But both love and her I lose,
From my motion if shee flye.
Worse then paine is feare to mee:
Then hold in fancy, though it burne;
If not happy, safe Ile be,
And to my clostred cares returne.

Yet, o yet, in vaine I strive
To represse my school'd desire;
More and more the flames revive,
I consume in mine owne fire.
She would pitty, might shee know
The harmes that I for her endure:
Speake then, and get comfort so:
A wound long hid growes past recure.

Wise shee is, and needs must know
All th' attempts that beauty moves:
Fayre she is, and honour'd so
That she, sure, hath tryed some loves.
If with love I tempt her then,
'Tis but her due to be desir'd:
What would women thinke of men,
If their deserts were not admir'd?

Women, courted, have the hand
To discard what they distaste:
But those Dames whom none demand
Want oft what their wils imbrac't.
Could their firmnesse iron excell,
As they are faire, they should be sought:
When true theeves use falsehood well,
As they are wise, they will be caught.