No, hang me if I ever marry

Woman, man’s greatest woe, or bliss, Does ofter far, than serve, enslave, And with the Magick of a Kiss, Destroys whom she was made to save.

... She cries I doe not love her, And tells me of her Honor; Then have I no way to disprove her, And my true passion to discover, But streight to fall upon her.

My infant love could humbly wait, When young it scarce knew how To plead; but grown to Man's estate, He is impatient now.

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, We, who improve his golden hours, By sweet experience know That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good A paradise below.

My state is more advanc’d than when I first attempted thee; I su’d to be a Servant then, But now to be made free.

That man is happy in his share, Who is warm clad, and cleanly fed, Whose Necessaries bound his Care, And honest Labour makes his Bed.