To a Flirt

You’ll get no help from me;

Make me no pool

To train thy looks to take

Some other fool.

No effigy of straw

To set in flame;

That gives another joy

And me the shame.

No tree on which to cut

His name and yours;

To be passed laughing by

In future hours.

I’ll not prepare your nest-

You sly house-sparrow;

Prepare your heart for him-

Like a poor Swallow

Driven away, when I

Have helped his passion;

Condemned and banished at

Love’s quarter session.

You’ll get no help from me,

To make him prove,

With jealous looks and words,

His backward love.