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Poem	I will not love one minute more, I swear! No, not a minute! Not a sigh or tear Thou gett'st from me, or one kind look again, Though thou shouldst court me to 't, and wouldst begin. I will not think of thee but as men do Of debts and sins; and then I'll curse thee too. For thy sake woman shall be now to me Less welcome than at midnight ghosts shall be. I'll hate so perfectly that it shall be Treason to love that man that loves a she. Nay, I will hate the very good, I swear, That's in thy sex, because it doth lie there, - Their very virtue, grace, discourse, and wit, And all for thee! What, wilt thou love me yet?
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