Phillis, give this humour over,
We too long have time abused;
I shall turn an errant rover
If the favour's still refused.
Faith 'tis nonsense out of measure,
Without ending thus to see
Women forced to taste a pleasure
Which they love as well as we.
Let not pride and folly share you,
We were made but to enjoy;
Ne'er will Age or Censure spare you
E'er the more for being coy.
Never fancy time's before you;
Youth believe me will away;
Then, alas! who will adore you,
Or to wrinkles tribute pay?
All the swains on you attending
Show how much your charms deserve;
But, miser-like, for fear of spending
You amidst your plenty starve.
While a thousand freer lasses,
Who their youth and charms employ,
Though your beauty theirs surpasses,
Live in far more perfect joy.
