  By Lord Falkland. Forsaken dames with less concern reflect On their inconstant hero's cold neglect Than we (provoked by this ungrateful age) Bear the hard fate of our abandoned stage. And curse the feeble virtue of our charms: Curse your false hearts, for none so false as they, And curse the eyes that stole those hearts away. Remember, faithless friends, there was a time, (But oh the sad remembrance of our prime!) When to our arms with eager joys ye flew, And we believed your treach'rous hearts as true As e'er was nymph of ours to one of you. But a more powerful Saint Fraught with sweet sins, and absolutions too: To her are all your pious vows addressed; She's both your love's and your religion's test, The fairest prelate of her time, and best. We own her more deserving far than we, A just excuse for your inconstancy. Yet 'twas unkindly done to leave us so; First to betray with love, and then undo, A horrid crime you're all addicted to. Too soon, alas! your appetites are cloyed, And Phillis rules no more when once enjoyed. But all rash oaths of love and constancy With the too short, forgotten pleasures die; Whilst she, poor soul, robbed of her dearest ease, Still drudges on with vain desire to please; And restless follows you from place to place, For tributes due to her autumnal face. Deserted thus by such ungrateful men, How can we hope you'll e'er return again? Here's no new charm to tempt ye as before, Wit now's our only treasure left in store, And that's a coin will pass with you no more. You who such dreadful bullies would appear,— True bullies! quiet when there's danger near,— Show your great souls in damning poets here. FOOTNOTES: |
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