Why doth man covet a woman’s breast?
‘Tis it not nothing but an inflated chest?
Is it a pillow for a Knight’s head to rest?
Or ‘tis it a trophy to which success will attest?
When a fair sprightly wench doth cause a male ripple
‘Tis it the stare that’s so fair or the cast of her nipple?
‘Twas a man ever born who at once would not chuckle
If doth given the chance to woo and too suckle?
Yet,
Hath not man learned the perils of enticing cleavage
Been led astray by the bosom and fell prey to bereavege
Doth not man understand that ‘tis been from the start
Not the heft of the chest, but the size of the heart
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