An Elegy of a Woman's Heart

Oh faithless world, and thy most faithless part,
A woman's heart !
The true shop of variety, where sits
Nothing but fits
And fevers of desire, and pangs of love,
Which toys remove.
Why was she born to please, or I to trust
Words writ in dust ?
SufFring her eyes to govern my despair,
My pain for air,
And fruit of time rewarded with untruth,
The food of youth.
Untrue she was, yet I believed her eyes,
Instructed spies ;
Till I was taught, that love was but a school
To breed a fool.
Or sought she more than triumphs of denial,
To see a trial
How far her smiles commanded my weakness ?
Yield and confess !
Excuse not now thy folly, nor her nature :
Blush, and endure
As well thy shame as passions that were vain ;
And think thy gain
To know that love, lodged in a woman's breast,
Is but a guest.