Out of mere love and arrant devotion, Of marriage I'll give you this galloping notion. It's the bane of all business, the end of all pleasure, The consumption of wit, youth, virtue, and treasure. It's the rack of our thoughts, the nightmare of sleep, That sets us to work before the day peep. It makes us make brick without stubble or straw, And a cunt has no sense of conscience or law. If you needs must have flesh, take the way that is noble: In a generous wench there is nothing of trouble. You come on, you come off -- say, do what you please -- And the worst you can fear is but a disease, And diseases, you know, will admit of a cure, But the hell-fire of marriage none can endure. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR THE NEW YEAR by EDWIN MARKHAM COLD HANDS WARM HEART by KAREN SWENSON THE WILD GAZELLE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE HOUSEKEEPER by CHARLES LAMB HUMAN PLEASURE OR PAIN by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS PARADISE by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN THE SOUL'S MUTINY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 37 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |