C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Verses

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,

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:

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,

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;

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.