Approacheth he the meloncholy lass,
And asketh ‘Why art thou so sunken sad?’
Replieth she, ‘My mis’ry is a man.
‘Men are, I fear, a false and faithless band,
And shame on she who care not curse that clan.’
With this, the tears accross her cheeks began;
Dark pools made they ‘pon landing in her lap.
With sympathy, he sets down where she’s sat,
And says ‘A judgement most unjust is that.
‘Nay, black and boorish be not ev’ry man;
‘Say not so, save that I thou thinkest am.’