Classic Poem

Quoth Strephon to Flora, your charms I adore,
You're witty, you're pretty, you're pleasing all o'er,
Your lips are like rubics, your cheeks like the rose,
And your breath far more sweet than Arabia blows.
Yet tho' charming, alas! your delight is to teize,
Yet all she reply'd, was, Sir, just as you please.

Oh! think, he return'd, of the pains I endure,
And as you're the cause, O extend me the cure;
My passion's so strong, that my rest I forsake,
And a paleness o'erspreads now my once rosy cheek.
No longer be coy then, but give me some ease,
Yet she careless reply'd still, Sir, just as you please.

Enrag'd that she paid him no greater regard,
When his passion he knew was deserving reward;
He boldly advancing, saluted the fair,
And vow'd that such treatment no longer he'd bear.
No longer declar'd he would sue on his knees,
Yet all she reply'd still, was just as you please.

Then seizing her hand he straight led her along,
While she careless ne'er said he was right or was wrong;
He took her to church, and there made her his wife,
And vow'd he would love her as long as he'd life:
No longer she thinks that his passion can teize,
Tho' she answers him still, Sir, 'tis just as you please.