SECOND PHILOSOPHER’ S SONG

IF, O my Lesbia, I should commit,

Not fornication, dear, but suicide,

My Thames-blown body ( Pliny vouches it )

Would drift face upwards on the oily tide

With the other garbage, till it putrefied.

But you, if all your lovers’ frozen hearts

Conspired to send you, desperate, to drown —

Your maiden modesty would float face down,

And men would weep upon your hinder parts.

’ Tis the Lord’ s doing. Marvellous is the plan

By which this best of worlds is wisely planned.

One law He made for woman, one for man:

We bow the head and do not understand.