The Young-Mans Vindication
AGAINST
The Virgins Complaint.
She rail'd against Young-men in a passion great,
But he more mildly seems with her to treat,
Young-men are not so bad as she would make them,
Some Maids are full as bad, how e're you take them,
To the Tune of, The Virgins complaint; Or, Cupids Courtesie.
The answer to
depp of Love.
|
SWeet Virgin hath disdain
|
mov'd you to passion,
|
Ne'r to love man again,
|
but for the fashion:
|
Was your abuse so great
|
beyond all measure,
|
That you can quite forget,
|
to think of pleasure?
|
Though one false-hearted man,
|
not to be named,
|
Made you look pale and wan,
|
must all be blamed?
|
As if scarce one Were good,
|
in a whole City,
|
Your peevish angry mood,
|
I can but pitty.
|
Men are not half so bad,
|
as you would make them,
|
More Maidens may be had,
|
if you forsake them;
|
Therefore I tell you plain,
|
be not disdainful,
|
If Cupid shoot again,
|
you'l find it painful.
|
Young-men had need beware,
|
least they be taken,
|
And drawn into a snare,
|
and so forsaken.
|
Many Maids prove untru
|
take it for certain,
|
'Twill be too late to rue,
|
of a bad bargain.
|
MAidens false-hearted are,
|
I can report it,
|
Their craft they will not spare,
|
when they are courted:
|
They'l bend unto your vow,
|
their wits are nimble,
|
It's very hard to know,
|
when they dissemble.
|
They'l Powder, Prank and Paint,
|
with each new fangle,
|
Sometimes sit like a Saint,
|
for to intangle:
|
Their pretty wanton eyes,
|
are so alluring,
|
Life and death in them lies,
|
killing and curing.
|
Their beauty's like a charm,
|
lovers intrancing,
|
No man receives more harm,
|
then by their glancing,
|
Like Syrens they will sing,
|
their voices ravish,
|
They make the Ecchoes ring,
|
their tongues are lavish.
|
By such alluring baits,
|
young men are taken,
|
And then it is their fates,
|
to be forsaken:
|
For these enticing Girls,
|
are so unconstant,
|
They're won and lost again,
|
all in an instant.
|
I have experience had,
|
of their false dealing,
|
Some of them are so bad,
|
they're not worth stealing,
|
If one in half a score,
|
prove to be vertuous,
|
She shall have Suitors store,
|
her love is precious.
|
Now tell me which are best,
|
young-men or Maidens,
|
I think 'tis here confest,
|
both have their failings:
|
Therefore be rul'd by me,
|
scorn not a young-man,
|
There's as much truth in him,
|
as in a Woman.
|
Virgins take my advice,
|
be not disdainful,
|
Neither be coy and nice,
|
squemish nor scornful:
|
'Tis but a pettish strain,
|
for to love no man,
|
If e're you love again,
|
pray love a young-man.
|
I am resolved now,
|
though some miscarry,
|
I'le have a Virgin too,
|
with her i'le marry:
|
From love i'le not refpain,
|
though it be common,
|
But when I love again,
|
i'le love a Woman.
|
|
|
|
|
|