Suckling, “I prithee spare me gentle boy”

1

There never yet was woman made,
Nor shall, but to be curst;
And O, that I, fond I, should first,
Of any lover,
This truth at my own charge to other fools discover!

2

You, that have promis’d to yourselves
Propriety in love,
Know women’s hearts like straw do move,
And what we call
Their sympathy, is but love to jet in general.

3

All mankind are alike to them ;
And, though we iron find
That never with a loadstone join’d,
’Tis not the iron’s fault,
It is because near the loadstone it was never brought.

4

If where a gentle bee hath fall’n,
And laboured to his power,
A new succeeds not to that flower,
But passes by,
’Tis to be thought, the gallant elsewhere loads his thigh.

5

For still the flowers ready stand:
One buzzes round about,
One lights, one tastes, gets in, gets out;
All all ways use them,
Till all their sweets are gone, and all again refuse them.