CALLED INCONSTAN T.

HA

A! ha! you think you've kill'd my fame,
By this not understood, yet common, name;
A name that's full and proper, when affign'd
To woman-kind;

But, when you call us fo,

It can at best but for a metaphor go.

Can you the fhore inconftant call,

Which ftill, as waves pafs by, embraces all;
That had as lief the fame waves always love,
Did they not from him move?

Or can you fault with pilots find

For changing courfe, yet never blame the wind?

Since, drunk with vanity, you fell,

The things turn round to you that stedfaft dwell

And you yourself, who from us takey
Wonder to find us out of fight.

So the fame error feizes you,

your flight,

As men in motion think the trees move too.

G%

THE

WELCOME.

O, let the fatted calf be kill'd ;.
My prodigal's come home at laft,-

With noble refolutions fill'd,

And fill'd with forrow for the past :

No

No more will burn with love or wine;
But quite has left his women and his swine.

Welcome, ah! welcome, my poor heart!
Welcome! I little thought, I'll fwear
('Tis now fo long fince we did part)
Ever again to fee thee here:

Dear wanderer! fince from me you fled,
How often have I heard that thou wert dead!

Haft thou not found each woman's breaft

(The lands where thou haft travelled) Either by favages poffeft,

Or wild and uninhabited ?

What joy could'st take, or what repose,
In countries fo unciviliz'd as those ?

Luft, the fcorching dog-ftar, here
Rages with immoderate heat;
Whilst pride, the rugged Northern bear,
In others makes the cold too great:
And, where these are temperate known,
The foil 's all barren fand or rocky stone.

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 Paradife fhut for evermore,

What good is 't that an angel kept the door?

Well

Well fare the pride, and the difdain,
And vanities, with beauty join'd ;;

I ne'er had seen this heart again,

If any fair-one had been kind:

My dove, but once let loose, I doubt

Would ne'er return, had not the flood been out.

THE HEART FLED AGAIN.

ALSE, foolish heart! didst thou not say,

never me

Behold! again 'tis fled away,

Fled as far from me as before.

I ftrove to bring it back again;
I cry'd and hollow'd after it in vain..
Ev'n fo the gentle Tyrian dame,
When neither grief nor love prevail,
Saw the dear object of her flame,
Th' ingrateful Trojan, hoist his fail:
Aloud fhe call'd to him to stay;

The wind bore him and her loft words away..

The doleful Ariadne fo,

On the wide shore forfaken stood:

"Falfe Thefeus, whither doft thou go?" Afar falfe Thefeus cut the flood.

But Bacchus came to her relief;

Bacchus himself 's too weak to eafe my grief.

Ah!!

Ah! fenfelefs heart, to take no rest,
But travel thus eternally !

Thus to be froz'n in every breast!

And to be fcorch'd in every eye!

Wandering about like wretched Cain,
Thruft-out, ill-us'd, by all, but by none flain!

Well, fince thou wilt not here remain,

I'll e'en to live without thee try;
My head shall take the greater pain,
And all thy duties fhall fupply:

I can more eafily live, I know,
Without thee, than without a mistress thou.

WOMEN'S SUPERSTITION.

O

RI'm a very dunce, or woman-kind
Is a moft unintelligible thing:

I can no fenfe nor no contexture find,
Nor their loose parts to method bring:
I know not what the learn'd may fee,
But they're ftrange Hebrew things to me.

By customs and traditions they live,
And foolish ceremonies of antique date;
We lovers, new and better doctrines give,

Yet they continue obftinate:

> Preach we, Love's prophets, what we will, Like Jews, they keep their old law still,

13

Before

Before their mothers' Gods they fondly fall,
Vain idol-gods, that have no fenfe nor mind :
Honour 's their Afhtaroth, and pride their Baal,
The thundering Baal of woman-kind :
With twenty other devils more,

Which they, as we do them, adore.

But then, like men both covetous and devout,
Their coftly fuperftition loth tomit-
And yet more loth to iffue monies out,

At their own charge to furnish it

To these expensive Deities

The hearts of men they facrifice.

SOME

THE SOUL.

OME dull philofopher-when he hears me fay
My foul is from me fled away,

Nor has of late inform'd my body here,
But in another's breaft does lie,

That neither is, nor will be, I,

As a form fervient and affisting there

Will

cry, "Abfurd!" and ask me how I live;
And fyllogifms against it give.

A curfe on all your vain philosophies,
Which on weak Nature's law depend,
And know not how to comprehend
Love and Religion, those great mysteries!

~Her