  IN Cyprus dwelt Anaxarete, A maiden famous for her beauty, With disposition far from sweet, Who looked on flirting as a duty. ’Tis said she scarcely would despise At slaves and such to roll her eyes, ’Till most the men of Cyprus were In love, or half in love with her. Young Iphis was a worthy lad And born of parents poor but proud; He was a credit to his dad, Until one day while in a crowd He chanced a college chum to meet Out walking with Anaxarete; And when she rolled her lovely eyes Poor Iphis gasped in glad surprise. One glance, and Iphis was her slave, All other interests he forgot; Forgot to eat, forgot to shave, And wrote in rhyme a deal of rot To prove his heart was at the feet Of stony-cold Anaxarete; Who met his protests and his tears With cutting jests and crushing sneers. For Ana, as do all coquettes, So soon grew aweary of his wooing, And Iphis took to cigarettes, But still she answered “Nothing doing!” And added—insult ne’er forgotten! She thought his poetry was rotten; And finally to fix his place She slammed the door in Iphis’ face. When Iphis saw that all was past, And knew that he could call no more, He took a rope and made it fast And hanged himself before her door. And, when his funeral passed her place, She thought to mock his pallid face; But Venus, leaning from her throne, Had seen, and turned the maid to stone. At Salamis, her statue still Points to the Moral of this tale— That any maid who flirts to kill Is really quite beyond the pale. And as for lovers; let me say If she is bored, just go away; No gentleman, and this I know, |
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