For love, she waits,
All she's got is hate,
Her lips have gates,
That close late,
Her eyes have baits,
That find her no mates.

She looks a saint,
Tho' with taints:
Her neck has dents;
Seen thro' a vent,
In her heart is a pain,
That, she'll forever feign.

She remains a chaste,
Face with a beauty paste,
Love, she begs to taste,
To satiate amorous thirst,
Old age knocks in haste,
But she fears a love heist.