Emblem I.7: A fickle Woman wanton growne

A fickle Woman wanton growne,
Preferres a Crowd, before a Crowne.

FOole! Dost thou hope, thine Honours, or thy Gold,
Shall gaine thee Love? Or, that thou hast her heart
Whose hand upon thy tempting Bay layes hold?
Alas! fond Lover, thou deceived art.
She that with Wealth, and Titles, can be wonne,
Or woo'd with Vanities, will way ring bee;
And, when her Love, thou most dependest on,
A Fiddle-sticke shall winne her heart from thee.
To Youth and Musicke, Venus leaneth most;
And (though her hand she on the Scepter lay)
Let Greatnesse, of her Favours never boast:
For, Heart and Eye, are bent another way.
And lo, no glorious Purchace that Man gets,
Who hath with such poore Trifles, woo'd, and wonne:
Her footing, on a Ball, his Mistresse sets,
Which in a moment slips, and she is gone.
A Woman, meerely with an Out side caught,
Or tempted with a Galliard, or a Song,
Will him forsake (whom she most lovely thought)
For Players and for Tumblers, ere't be long.
You, then, that wish your Love should ever last,
(And would enjoy Affection without changing)
Love where your Loves may worthily be plact;
And, keepe your owne Affection, still from ranging.
Vse noble Meanes, your Longings to attaine;
Seeke equall Mindes, and well beseeming Yeares:
They are (at best) vaine Fooles, whom Follie gaine;
But, there is Blisse, where, Vertue most endeares:
And, wheresoe're, Affection shee procures,
In spight of all Temptations, it endures.