Love a woman? You're an ass.
'Tis a most insipid passion
To choose out for your happiness
The idlest part of God's creation.
Let the porter and the groom,
Things designed for dirty slaves,
Drudge in fair Aurelia's womb
To get supplies for age and graves.
Farewell, woman! I intend
Henceforth every night to sit
With my lewd, well-natured friend,
Drinking to engender wit.
Then give me health, wealth, mirth, and wine,
And if busy Love intrenches,
There's a sweet, soft page of mine
Does the trick worth forty wenches.
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not wishing to be picky, but may I point out a typo?
From guest Pip (contact)
... sorry, but shouldn't it be "worth forty wenches"?
(Makes more sense to me - Mod) -
Young Wilmot knew a thing or two, it seems.
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