Accuse no more, oh gentle Swain!
The Nymphs of Coldness or Disdain:
Nature does sure inverted grow;
Let Streams then to their Fountains flow,
Let Men stand off, and Maids make Love,
Stars in excentrick Orbits move:
Let Beggars rule, and Lords go plow,
For Nymphs more gentle are, than Thou!
Thou! who couldst rigidly deny
A Matron's grave Society.

Were she like me, she would resent
The poor evasive Complement;
And for such bold affronting Action,
Demand an ample Satisfaction:
And so she will without Dispute,
For Women's Wrongs are seldom mute.

She says, “You are a Recreant-Knight,
“And not old Dryden's Gentlest-might;
“And for your rich inviting Lady,
“'Tis all as false! as false as may be:
“For had you been engag'd that Time,
“You'd ne'er have staid to measure Rhime;
“Nay, tarried by the Clock whole Hours,
“Avenge this Slight, ye juster Pow'rs!
Hold, Madam! Hold! beseech you, said I,
He might not disappoint a Lady,
Whom he to Wedlock would confine,
And you on him have no Design.

As for his Stay, I grant it true;
But 'twas in mere Revenge for you:
Nor could he 'scape without a Sin,
When spiteful I had lock'd him in.
To pick a Lock, or break a Door,
Might cause a Fate, you would deplore:
But were't to dance in Cheese-cake Basket,
I'm sure he'd do't, as soon as asked.
And pass them with such tender Skips,
“As if he trod on Lover's Lips.

Well, 'tis as good as Meat or Drink,
On the next Interview to think;
How you will cringe, and she will look,
As if you both were Planet struck.
Each eager to revenge their Pain,
Yet neither willing to complain.