IN THE QUAKER

Women are Will o' th' Wisps, 'tis plain,
The closer they seem, still the more they retire;
They teaze you, and jade you,
And round about lead you,
Without hopes of shelter,
Ding dong, helter skelter,
Through water and fire;
And, when you believe every danger and pain
From your heart you may banish,
And you're near the possession of what you desire,
That instant they vanish,
And the devil a bit can you catch them again.

By some they're not badly compared to the sea,
Which is calm and tempestuous within the same hour,
Some say they are Sirens, but, take it from me,
They're a sweet race of angels o'er man that has pow'r,
His person, his heart, nay his reason to seize,
And lead the poor devil wherever they please.