Poems on Several Occasions | ||
Epigram.
Fy, Delia, talk no more of Love,It galls me to the Heart,
You Threescore are, I doubt above,
For all your plaist'ring Art.
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For though you press me Night and Day,
I can't do that my Soul abhors:
Or by your Art's assistance, though I might
Prevail upon my appetite,
I dur'st not couple, though I swear
With you, of all the World, for fear
Of Cuckolding my Ancestors.
Poems on Several Occasions | ||