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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
Verses
By Sir John Suckling (1609–1642)
 
I AM confirmed a woman can
Love this, or that, or any man:
This day she’s melting hot,
To-morrow swears she knows you not;
If she but a new object find,        5
Then straight she’s of another mind.
  Then hang me, ladies, at your door,
  If e’er I doat upon you more.
 
Yet still I love the fairsome—why?
For nothing but to please my eye:        10
And so the fat and soft-skinned dame
I’ll flatter to appease my flame;
For she that’s musical I’ll long,
When I am sad, to sing a song.
  Then hang me, ladies, at your door,        15
  If e’er I doat upon you more.
 
I’ll give my fancy leave to range
Through everywhere to find out change;
The black, the brown, the fair shall be
But objects of variety;        20
I’ll court you all to serve my turn,
But with such flames as shall not burn.
  Then hang me, ladies, at your door,
  If e’er I doat upon you more.
 
 
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