WOMAN, experience might have told me

That all must love thee who behold thee;

Surely experience might have taught,

Thy firmest promises are naught;

But, placed in all thy charms before me,

All I forget, but to adore thee.

O Memory! thou choicest blessing,

When join’d with hope, when still possessing;

But how much cursed by every lover,

Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,

How prompt are striplings to believe her!

How throbs the pulse when first we view

The eye that rolls in glossy blue,

Or sparkles black, or mildly throws

A beam from under hazel brows!

How quick we credit every oath,

And hear her plight the willing troth!

Fondly we hope ’twill last for aye,

When, lo! she changes in a day.

This record will forever stand,

“Woman, thy vows are trac’d in sand.”