The Inconstant.

I Never yet could see that face
Which had no dart for me;
From fifteen years, to fifties space,
They all victorious be.
Love thou'rt a Devil; if I may call thee One,
For sure in Me thy name is Legion.

Colour, or Shape, good Limbs, or Face,
Goodness or Wit in all I find.
In Motion or in Speech a grace,
If all fail, yet 'tis Womankind;
And I'm so weak, the Pistol need not be
Double or treble charg'd to murder Me.

If Tall, the Name of Proper slays;
If Fair, she's pleasant as the Light;
If Low, her Prettiness does please;
If Black, what Lover loves not Night?
If yellow hair'd, I Love, lest it should be
Th'excuse to others for not loving Me.

The Fat, like Plenty, fills my heart;
The Lean, with Love makes me too so.
If Streight, her Bodie's Cupids Dart
To me; if Crooked, 'tis his Bow.
Nay Age it self does me to rage encline,
And strength to Women gives, as well as Wine.

Iust half as large as Charitie
My richly-landed Love's become;
And judg'd aright is Constancie,
Though it take up a larger room:
Him, who loves always one, why should they call
More Constant, then the Man loves Always All?

Thus with unwearied wings I flee
Through all Loves Gardens and his Fields;
And, like the wise, industrious Bee,
No Weed but Honey to me yields!
Honey still spent this diligence still supplies,
Though I return not home with laden Thighs.

My Soul at first indeed did prove
Of pretty strength against a Dart;
Till I this Habit got of Love;
But my consum'd and wasted Heart
Once burnt to Tinder with a strong Desire,
Since that by every Spark is set on Fire.