Down, wanton, down! Have you no shame 
That at the whisper of Love's name, 
Or Beauty's, presto! up you raise 
Your angry head and stand at gaze? 

Poor bombard-captain, sworn to reach 
The ravelin and effect a breach-- 
Indifferent what you storm or why, 
So be that in the breach you die! 

Love may be blind, but Love at least 
Knows what is man and what mere beast; 
Or Beauty wayward, but requires 
More delicacy from her squires. 

Tell me, my witless, whose one boast 
Could be your staunchness at the post, 
When were you made a man of parts 
To think fine and profess the arts? 

Will many-gifted Beauty come 
Bowing to your bald rule of thumb, 
Or Love swear loyalty to your crown? 
Be gone, have done! Down, wanton, down!