Poems by Matthew Stevenson | ||
To the foul and false.
Wish not to know this Woman, she is worseThan all Ingredients made into a curse.
Were she but Ugly, Peevish, Proud, a Whore,
Perjur'd, and Painted, so she were no more.
I could forgive her, and connive at this,
Alleaging, still she but a woman is:
But she is worse, and may in time fore-stall
The Devil, and be the damning of us all.
Poems by Matthew Stevenson | ||