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So all thofe falfe alarms of strife
Between the husband and the wife,
And little quarrels, often prove
To be but new recruits of love;

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When those who 're always kind or coy,
In time muft either tire or cloy.

Nor are the loudeft clamours, more

Than as they 're 'relish'd, fweet or four;
Like mufick, that proves bad or good,
According as 'tis understood.

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In all amours a lover burns

With frowns, as well as fimiles, by turns;
And hearts have been as oft with fullen

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As charming looks furpris'd and stolen :

Then why should more bewitching clamour
Some lovers not as much enamour?
For difcords make the fweetest airs,
And curfes are a kind of prayers;
Two flight alloys for all those grand
Felicities by marriage gain'd :
For nothing else has power to fettle
The interefts of love perpetual;

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An act and deed that makes one heart

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Become another's counter-part,

And paffes fines on faith and love,

Inroll'd and register'd above,

To feal the flippery knots of vows,
Which nothing elfe but death can loofe.
And what fecurity 's too ftrong

'To guard that gentle heart from wrong,
< VOL. I.

X

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That

That to its friend is glad to pass

Itself away, and all it has,

And, like an anchorite, gives over

This world, for the heaven of a lover?
I grant (quoth she) there are some few
Who take that course, and find it true ;
But millions whom the fame does fentence
To heaven b' another way, repentance.
Love's arrows are but fhot at rovers,
Though all they hit they turn to lovers ;
And all the weighty confequents

Depend upon more blind events

Than gamefters, when they play a fet
With greatest cunning at Piquet,
Put out with caution, but take in
They know not what, unfight unfeen.
For what do lovers, when they 're fast
In one another's arms embrac'd,
But ftrive to plunder, and convey
Each other, like a prize, away?
To change the property of felves,
As fucking children are by elves?
And, if they use their perfons fo,
What will they to their fortunes do?
Their fortunes! the perpetual aims
Of all their ecftafies and flames.

For when the money 's on the book,
And All my worldly goods-but spoke
(The formal livery and feifin
That puts a lover in poffeffion)

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To that alone the bridegroom 's wedded,
The bride a flam that's fuperfeded :
To that their faith is ftill made good,
And all the oaths to us they vow'd;
For when we once refign our powers,
We 've nothing left we can call ours:
Our money 's now become the Mifs
Of all your lives and fervices,
And we, forfaken and poftpon'd,
But bawds to what before we own'd;
Which, as it made y' at first gallant us,
So now hires others to fupplant us,
Until 'tis all turn'd out of doors
(As we had been) for new amours.

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For what did ever heiress yet,

By being born to lordships, get?

When, the more lady fhe 's of manors,

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That, when the time 's expir'd, the drazels

For ever may become his vaffals :

So fhe, bewitch'd by rooks and spirits,
Betrays herself, and all fh' inherits;
Is bought and fold, like ftolen goods,
By pimps, and match-makers, and bawds;

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Until

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Of all your paffionate love-fuits,

Th' effects of all your amorous fancies

To portions and inheritances;

Your love-fick rapture, for fruition

Of dowry, jointure, and tuition;

To which you make address and courtship,
And with your bodies ftrive to worship,
That th' infant's fortunes may partake
Of love too, for the mother's fake.
For thefe you play at purposes,

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And love your loves with A's and B's;

For thefe at Befte and L'Ombre wooe,

And play for love and money too;
Strive who shall be the ableft man
At right gallanting of a fan;
And who the most genteely bred

At fucking of a vizard-bead;

How beft t' accoft us in all quarters,

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'T' our question-and-command new garters;

And folidly difcourfe upon

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All forts of drefles pro and con:

For there's no mystery nor trade,

But in the art of love is made;

And when you have more debts to pay
Than Michaelmas and Lady-day,

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And no way poffible to do 't

But love and oaths, and restless fuit,

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To us y' apply, to pay the fcores

Of all your cully'd paft amours;

Act o'er your flames and darts again,

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And charge us with your wounds and pain;
Which others' influences long fince

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What magical attracts and graces,
That can redeem from Scire facias!

From bonds and ftatutes can discharge,

And from contempts of courts enlarge!

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These are the highest excellences

Of all your true or falfe pretences;

And you would damn yourfelves, and fwear
As much t' an hoftefs dowager,

Grown fat and purfy by retail

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Of pots of beer and bottled ale,

And find her fitter for your turn,

For fat is wondrous apt to burn;

Who at your flames would foon take fire,
Relent, and melt to your defire,

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And, like a candle in the focket,
Diffolve her graces int' your pocket.

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