THE
Maidens Vindication:
Or, An Answer to
O so Ungrateful a Creature.
Shall I be silent, and not write again,
When he against me doth so much complain?
He calls me Cruel, and Ungrateful too,
And sends his Lines abroad to publick view.
No, I to clear my self of such a crime
Will answer him (as his was writ) in Rhime:
The young-Men when they see't, 'tis false they'l cry,
But if the Maids believe it, what care I.
Tune of, Oh so ungrateful a Creature .
|
HOw can you call me ungrateful,
|
or count me cruel to be,
|
Since I was never unfaithful
|
in any thing unto thee?
|
Nor did I ever abuse you,
|
though I did not take your part;
|
If I did scornfully use you,
|
'twas no more than your desert.
|
When your pretended Love-passion
|
you thought to make me believe,
|
And (as it now is the fashion)
|
so my poor heart to deceive:
|
If I had granted the pleasure,
|
and let you tasted the bliss,
|
You'd leave me rob'd of my Treasure:
|
O what a Traytor is this!
|
With many Vows you protested
|
only your Will to obtain,
|
Which if you had you confessed,
|
you could ne'r love me again:
|
Then might I sigh'd and lamented
|
when you to love had gave o're,
|
And too late I might have repented
|
that I believ'd what you swore.
|
Since I perceiv'd your intention,
|
I did your passion disdain,
|
And told you all your invention
|
to pursue it was in vain:
|
When I gave you a denyal,
|
you turn'd your Love into Hate,
|
And like a Lover disloyal,
|
rail'd at me at a sad rate.
|
Cause that you could not deceive me
|
therefore you term me untrue;
|
But the loss never shall grieve me
|
of such a Lover as you.
|
Though in disdain you forsake me,
|
wishing I may be forlorn,
|
All your Wishes but make me
|
laugh at your rigour and scorn.
|
Fickle, unconstant, and roving
|
you are by Nature I see;
|
E'ery fair Maid you are loving,
|
vowing their true-Love to be,
|
Till you have got your desire,
|
and they do prove too too kind,
|
Then you no longer admire,
|
but change as oft as the Wind.
|
Often with vows you have said it,
|
that you can love none but me;
|
But now your words have betray'd it
|
and all your false Treachery:
|
Of those vows you are forgetful,
|
pale-face you now do me call;
|
Tho' there be many deceitful,
|
you are the worst of them all.
|
'Tis not your Hate that shall ever
|
make me at all to despair;
|
Nor will your ill-language ever
|
make me appear the less fair.
|
If I can find out no Lover,
|
but such as you my false friend,
|
Then will I ne'r be no other,
|
but a Maid to my lifes END .
|
|
|
|
|
|