Deluded swain, the pleasure The fickle Fair can give thee, Is but a fairy treasure, Thy hopes will soon deceive thee: The billows on the ocean, The breezes idly roaming, The cloud's uncertain motion, They are but types of Woman. O art thou not asham'd To doat upon a feature? If Man thou wouldst be nam'd, Despise the silly creature. Go, find an honest fellow, Good claret set before thee, Hold on till thou art mellow, And then to bed in glory! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GRAVE OF A POETESS by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS ON PLAYWRIGHT (1) by BEN JONSON THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD by JOHN HENRY NEWMAN THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM by HENRY KIRKE WHITE GRATITUDE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |