Recollecting Marlowe

In a far country once there lived a wench,
buxom and keen, and apt for many sports,
who would, at night on the broad tavern-bench
be most kind and helpful to those out of sorts.
Her name's forgotten, so too is her trade,
for that was a long time ago, and memory's weak;
and not just memory, but other things fade
and we don't always get the things we seek.
Fornication, priests tell us, is a great sin
and we should at all costs avoid committing it;
yet when we show that we can silver win
some warm embrace we always find to fit.
I cannot get these thoughts out of my head,
but do remember now the wench is dead.