Classic Poem

Woman is by aptitude
destined to servitude;
extremely cruel and proud
she's by no reason bowed
by law nor governance cowed;
of her dowry boastful
of each good way neglectful
of idle paths she's heedful.

She'll do nothing in its day
observes no middle way;
she lies down if she's stroked
and leaps up if provoked;
a white hot flame in ferment
like ice in disappointment,
she'll do no wanted thing,
she's storm without ending.


Woman is full of devil's prattle
and her tongue of empty tattle;
and her distaff as a rattle
she'd beat Arthur in a battle.

Lewd she is and prodigal,
fickle, vain and cruel,
clattering complaints perpetual,
yet she grants what isn't legal.

Full of disdain and violence,
ostentation, arrogance,
envy and covetance,
caprice and instability;
she's eager to do injury,
revels in lies and luxury
and takes revenge extempore.


She'll elevate Eve's throne
higher than Snowdon's crown;
she'll boast the thing she knows not
and what she knows she shows not.


If you'll but attend
to the tales I append
you will understand
that there's no deed unplanned
by a woman's hand.


Helen caused the stitching
of new sails, the rigging
of Greek ships to destroy
the citizens of Troy.

Berenice her brother loved,
of all deeds most disapproved,
for she lay at his side,
her girdle's knot untied.

Her sire was Myrrha's only joy,
Semiramis' her eldest boy
whom she did destroy.

You've all heard of the Danaids
those most murderous newly-weds
who killed their husbands in their beds.

No better were those dames of Thrace
who did the greatest poet deface;
nor can I relate for shame
the wrong linked with Pasiphae's name.

We've heard about the deeds of Phaedra
and the trickery of Rebecca
and the bane of Deianira;
nor has witnessed any era
since the days of Adam
than Eve a naughtier madam.


No arms ever employed,
no fire, no sea has yet destroyed
as many heroes strong
as fall to woman's tongue.

A girl can make her face
shine brighter in a glass;
she'll set her hair and know
how to make it flow;
she'll prink and preen until
she's trimmed with weapons ill
and ready for the kill.

She'll use the wanton gesture,
the languorous eye corner
and each lascivious move
to kill a man with love.

And when comes the moment
for her to give consent,
to avoid the name
of being too easy game,
she'll weep throughout the skirmish
and yet laugh at the finish.

Her bosom she devests,
the groove between her breasts
will fill the eyes with bane
and make you lust again.
It's dangerous for lads
to know her tricks and fads.

For they are the sea monsters,
they are the deep sea dangers,
the ubiquitous destroyers;
for there's no town or city,
temple or cemetery,
no island and no country,
no meadow or mountain side,
no land or ocean wide,
but there bad girls abide.

They are doomed with the art
which the fates impart
of turning men to stone
with a glance alone.
So young and old take care,
don't fall into love's snare.

Sitting on mountain sward
this satire from a bard
of honeyed muse I heard,
and in the shepherds' cote
I got it all by rote.