O, the Devil Take You All!

Foolish, idle toys,
That nature gave unto us,
But to curb our joys,
And only to undo us;
For since Lucretia's fall,
There are none chaste at all;
Or if perchance there be
One in an empery,
Some other malady
Makes her far worse than she.
Out upon ye all!

'Twere too much to tell
The follies that attend ye;
He must love you well
That can but discommend ye;
For your deserts are such,
Man cannot rail too much;
Nor is the world so blind,
But it may easily find
The body, or [the] mind,
Tainted in womankind.

O, the devil take you all!