The False One — In Imitation of that of Horace

Behold, False Maid, yon horned Light,
Which in Heav'ns arched Vault doth range,
And view part of thy self in it;
Yet she but once a Month does change.

The raging Sea, th'uncertain Air,
Or, what does yet more change admit,
Of variation Emblems are;
When thou, and only thou art it.

Philosophers their pains may spare
Perpetual motion where to find;
If such a thing be any where,
'Tis Woman, in thy Fickle mind.

How, off, incentred in thine Arms,
Big with betraying Sighs and Tears,
Last, thou secur'd me, by thy Charms,
From other Lovers natural Fears.

Sighs, that improv'd the honest Flame,
Which made my faithful Bosom pant;
And Tears so gentle, as might claim
Belief, from Hearts of Adamant.

[…] were the Arts seduc'd my Youth,
A Captive to thy wanton will:
[…] with a Falshood, like to Truth,
In the same instant cure, and kill.

O tell the next you will betray,
(I mean that Fool usurps my room)
Low for his sake I'm turn'd away;
[…] the same Fortune he must come.

When I, restored to that Sence
Thou hast distemper'd, sound and free,
Shall, with a very just pretence,
Despise, and laugh at Him, and Thee.