Trust not that thing called woman: she is worse Than all ingredients crammed into a curse. Were she but ugly, peevish, proud, a whore, Poxed, painted, perjured, so she were no more, I could forgive her, and connive at this, Alleging still she but a woman is. But she is worse: in time she will forestall The Devil, and be the damning of us all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SERVICE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PROSIT NEUJAHR by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE DISAPPOINTMENT by APHRA BEHN THE WARNING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW I AM THE WAY' by ALICE MEYNELL THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 70. THE HILL-SUMMIT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI BANTAMS IN PINE-WOODS by WALLACE STEVENS |