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...THE CRESCENT MOON by AMY LOWELL THE GREAT RACE PASSES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE RESOLVE by ALEXANDER BROME WEEDS by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY LOCHABER NO MORE by ALLAN RAMSAY ONLY A YEAR' by HARRIET BEECHER STOWE TO THE DAISY (3) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |