I prithee spare me gentle boy, <br />Press me no more for that slight toy, <br />That foolish trifle of an heart; <br />I swear it will not do its part, <br />Though thou dost thine, employ'st thy pow'r and art. <br /> <br />For through long custom it has known <br />The little secrets, and is grown <br />Sullen and wise, will have its will, <br />And like old hawks pursues that still <br />That makes least sport, flies only where't can kill. <br /> <br />Some youth that has not made his story, <br />Will think perchance the pain's the glory, <br />And mannerly sit out love's feast; <br />I shall be carving of the best, <br />Rudely call for the last course 'fore the rest. <br /> <br />And oh when once that course is past, <br />How short a time the feast doth last; <br />Men rise away and scarce say grace, <br />Or civilly once thank the face <br />That did invite, but seek another place.<br /><br />Sir John Suckling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-prithee-spare-me-gentle-boy/
