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Pagan or unbeliever, yet he liv'd
YOU see we try all shapes, and shifts, and arts, To tempt your favours, and regain your hearts. We weep and laugh, join grief and mirth together, Like rain and sunshine mix'd, in April weather. Your diff'rent tastes divide our poet's cares; One foot the sock, t'other the buskin wears. Thus, while he strives to please, he's forc'd to do't, Like Volscius, hip hop, in a single boot. Critics, he knows, for this may damn his books : But he makes feasts for friends, and not for cooks. Though errant knights of late no favour find, Sure you will be to ladies errant kind. To follow fame, knight errants make profession : We damsels fly to save our reputation : So they their valour shew, we our discretion. To lands of monsters, and fierce beasts they go : We, to those islands, where rich husbands grow: Though they're no monsters, we may make them so. If they're of English growth, they'll heart with patience : But save us from a spouse of Oroonoko's nations : Then bless your stars, you happy London wives, Who love at large, each day, yet keep your lives : Nor envy poor Imoinda's doating blindness, Who thought her husband kill'd her out of kindness.
Death with a husband ne'er had shewn such charms,