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A! ha! you think you've kill'd my fame,

By this not understood, yet common, name i
A name that 's full and proper, when assign'd
To woman-kind ;

But, when you call us fo,
It can at best but for a metaphor go.

Can you the shore inconftant call,
Which still, as waves pass by, embraces all;
That had as lief 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 ?

Since, drunk with vanity, you fell,
The things turn round to you that stedfast dwell.;.
And you yourself, who from us take your flight,

Wonder to find us out of sight.

So the fame error leizes you,
As men in motion think the trees moye too.



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My prodigal's come home at last,With noble resolutions fillid,

And fillid with sorrow for the past :


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 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 wert dead!

Haft thou not found each woman's breast

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

Or wild and uninhabited ?
What joy could'st take, or what repose,
In countries so unciviliz'd as those ?

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 temperate known, The soil 's all barren sand 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 Paradise shut for evermore,
What good is 't that an angel kept the door


Well fare the pride, and the disdain,

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.



TALSE, foolish heart! didst thou not say,

That thou would'st never leave me more ?: Behold! again 'tis filed 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.
Ev'n so the gentle Tyrian dame,

When neither grief nor love prevail,
Saw the dear object of her flame,

Th’ingrateful Trojan, hoist his fail :

Aloud she callid to him to stay ;
The wind bore him and her loft words away..
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.

Ah! Ah! senseless heart, to take no reft,

But travel thus éternally!
Thus to be froz’n in every breast !

And to be scorch'd in every eýe !

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

Well, since thou wilt not here remain,

I'll e’en to live without theè try; My head fall take the greater pain,

And all thy duties shall fupplý:

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

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R I'm a very dunce, or woman-kind

Is a most unintelligible thing:
"I can no sense nor no contexturé find,

Nor their loose parts to method bring:
I know not what the learn'd may fee,

But they 're strange 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 obstinate :
Preach we, Love's prophets, what we will,
Like Jews, they keep their old law ftill,



Before their mothers' Gods they fondly fall,
Vain idol-gods, that have no fenfe nor mind :
Honour 's their Ashtaroth, 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 costly superstition loth tłomit-
And yet njore loth to issue monies out,

At their own charge to furnish it
To these expensive Deities
The hearts of men they sacrifice.



TOME dull philosopher--when he hears me fay

My soul is from me fled away,
Nor has of late inform'd my body here,

But in another's breast does lie,

That neither is, nor will be, I,
As a form servient and assisting thereo

“ Absurd l" and ask me how I live;
And fyllogisms against it give.
A curse on all your vain philosophies,

Which on weak Nature's law depend,

And know not how to comprehend Love and Religion, those great mysteries !


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