Poor Hal caught his death standing under a spout
Expecting till midnight when Nan would come out;
But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame,
And cursed was the weather that quench'd the man's flame.
Whoe'er thou art that reads these moral lines,
Make love at home, and go to bed betimes.
Fatal Love
Matthew Prior
(1)
Poem topics: death, home, poor, weather, flame, patience, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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