Dear Dean, since in cruxes and puns you and I deal, Pray why is a woman a sieve and a riddle? 'Tis a thought that came into my noddle this morning, In bed as I lay, sir, a-tossing and turning. You'll find, if you read but a few of your histories, All women, as Eve, all women are mysteries. To find out this riddle, I know you'll be eager, And make every one of the sex a Belphegor. But that will not do, for I mean to commend 'em; I swear without jest, I an honor intend 'em. In a sieve, sir, their ancient extraction I quite tell; In a riddle I give you their pow'r and their title. This I told you before; do you know what I mean, sir? "Not I, by my troth, sir." Then read it again, sir. The reason I send you these lines of rhymes double, Is purely in pity, to save you the trouble Of thinking two hours for a rhyme as you did last, When your Pegasus cantered in triple, and rid fast. As for my little nag which I keep at Parnassus, With Phoebus's leave, to run with his asses, He goes slow and sure, and he never is jaded While your fiery steed is whipped, spurred, bastinaded. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TIE-DOWN OF A BONSAI by MARVIN BELL MARSHALL WASHER by HAYDEN CARRUTH DESTINY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HOPE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO NANNETTE FALK-AUERBACH by SIDNEY LANIER SPRING DAY: NIGHT AND SLEEP by AMY LOWELL |