Classic Poem

Phillis , be gentler I advice,
Make up for time mispent,
When Beauty , on its Death-Bed lyes,
'Tis high time to repent.

Such is the Malice of your Fate ,
That makes you old so soon,
Your pleasure ever comes too late,
How early e're begun.

Think what a wretched thing is she,
Whose Stars , contrive in spight,
The Morning of her love shou'd be,
Her fading Beauties Night .

Then if to make your ruin more,
You'll peevishly be coy,
Dye with the scandal of a Whore ,
And never know the joy.