H

Called Inconstant.

I.

A ha! you think y'have kill'd my fame; By this not understood, yet common Name: A Name, that's full and proper when assign'd To Woman-kind:

But when you call us so,

It can at best but for a Metaphor go.

2.

Can you the shore Inconstant call,
Which still as Waves pass by, embraces all;
That had as leif the same Waves always love,
Did they not from him move?

Or can you fault with Pilots find

For changing course, yet never blame the wind?

3.

Since drunk with vanity you fell:

The things turn round to you that stedfast dwell;
And you your self, who from us take your flight,
Wonder to find us out of sight.

So the same errour seizes you,
As Men in motion think the Trees move too.

The Welcome.

I.

Go let the fatted Calf be kill'd;

My Prodigal's come home at last;

With noble resolutions fill'd,

And fill'd with sorrow for the past.

No more will burn with Love or Wine: But quite has left his Women and his Swine.

2.

Welcome, ah welcome my poor Heart;
Welcome; I little thought, I'll swear,
('Tis now so long since we did part)
Ever again to see thee here:

Dear Wanderer, since from me you fled, How often have I heard that Thou wer't dead!

3.

Hast thou not found each womans breast
(The Lands where thou hast travelled)
Either by Savages possest,

Or wild, and uninhabited?

What joy couldst take, or what repose In Countrys so unciviliz'd as those?

4.

Lust, the scorching Dog-star, here
Rages with immoderate heat;
Whilst Pride the rugged Northern Bear,
In others makes the Cold too great.
And where these are temp'rate known,
The Soyl's all barren Sand, or rocky Stone.

5.

When once or twice you chanc'd to view
A rich, well-govern'd Heart,

Like China, it admitted You

But to the Frontier-part.

From Par'adise shut for evermore,

What good is't that an Angel kept the Door?

6.

Well fare the Pride, and the Disdain,
And Vanities with Beauty joyn'd,

I ne're had seen this Heart again,
If any Fair one had been kind:

My Dove, but once let loose, I doubt Would ne're return, had not the Flood been out.

The Heart fled again.

I.

Alse, foolish Heart! didst thou not say,
That thou wouldst never leave me more?

Behold again 'tis fled away,

Fled as far from me as before.

I strove to bring it back again,
I cry'd and hollow'd after it in vain.

2.

Even so the gentle Tyrian Dame,

me

When neither Grief nor Love prevail,
Saw the dear object of her flame,

Th'ingrateful Trojan hoist his sail:
Aloud she call'd to him to stay;

The wind bore him, and her lost words away.

3.

The doleful Ariadne so,

On the wide shore forsaken stood:
False Theseus, whither dost thou go?
Afar false Theseus cut the flood.

But Bacchus came to her relief;
Bacchus himself's too weak to ease my grief.

4.

Ah senseless Heart, to take no rest,
But travel thus eternally!
Thus to be froz'n in every breast!
And to be scorcht in every Eye!

Wandring about like wretched Cain,

Thrust out, ill us'd by all, but by none slain!

5.

Well; since thou wilt not here remain,
I'll ev'en to live without Thee try;

My Head shall take the greater pain,
And all thy duties shall supply;
I can more easi❜ly live I know

Without Thee, then without a Mistress Thou.

OR

Womens Superstition.

I.

R I'm a very Dunce, or Womankind
Is a most unintelligible thing:
I can no Sense, nor no Contexture find,

Nor their loose parts to Method bring,
I know not what the Learn'd may see,
But they're strange Hebrew things to Me.

2.

By Customs and Traditions they live,
And foolish Ceremonies of antique date,
We Lovers, new and better Doctrines give.
Yet they continue obstinate;

Preach we, Loves Prophets, what we will,
Like Jews, they keep their old Law still.

3.

Before their Mothers Gods, they fondly fall, Vain Idol-Gods that have no Sense nor Mind: Honour's their Ashtaroth, and Pride their Baal, The Thundring Baal of Woman-kind. With twenty other Devils more, Which They, as We do Them, adore.

4.

But then, like Men both Covetous and Devout, Their costly Superstition loth t'omit,

And yet more loth to issue Moneys out,

At their own charge to furnish it.
To these expensive Deities,

The Hearts of Men they Sacrifice.

The Soul.

I.

Ome dull Philos'opher when he hears me say,
My Soul is from me fled away;

Nor has of late inform'd my Body here,

But in anothers breast does ly,

That neither Is, nor will be I,
As a Form Servient and Assisting there:

2.

Will cry, Absurd! and ask me, how I live:
And Syllogisms against it give;

A curse on all your vain Philosophies,

Which on weak Natures Law depend, And know not how to comprehend Love and Religion, those great Mysteries.

3.

Her Body is my Soul; laugh not at this,
For by my Life I swear it is.

'Tis that preserves my Being and my Breath,
From that proceeds all that I do,

Nay all my Thoughts and speeches too, And separation from it is my Death.

Eccho.

I.

Ir'ed with the rough denials of my Prayer,
From that hard she whom I obey,

I come, and find a Nymph, much gentler here, That gives consent to all I say.

Ah gentle Nymph who lik'st so well,

In hollow, solitary Caves to dwell,

Her Heart being such, into it go,

And do but once from thence answer me so.