The Womens just Complaint: OR, Mans Deceitfulness in Love.
Being a most Pleasant New Play-house Song.
Long time deceiv'd with feigned Vows, at last,
The Females find their Coyness holds not fast;
For Man, that Noble Creature, cannot Love,
Nor fix his Soul on ought but what's above:
'Tis Everlasting joy he Centers on,
And leaves soft Fools, Women to dote upon;
Which once they finding, seem to loose their Care
Of hopes they had, and fall to flat dispair.
To a pleasant New play-house Tune, much in request.
O Love thou art a Treasure,
could Constancy remain,
But for an hour of Pleasure,
we feel an Age of Pain:
How eager is the Lover.
But when his Ioys are over,
Poor Women do discover,
the vow of Men are vain:
Poor Women, &c.
In vain are all their Swearings,
'tis but your Love to gain,
In vain their promis'd Fairings,
their Lusts for to obtain:
T [...]eir Cringing and the [...]r Bowing,
Is worse t [...]en Thee and Thouing,
Poor Women find the Vowing
of men, is all but vain:
Poor Women, &c.
In v [...]n their mean and Carriage,
their promis'd Love they feign,
In vain they promise Marriage,
maids honours for to stain:
In vain their Songs and Dances,
Plays Masquerades Romances,
Poor Women find the Fancies,
and vows of men are vain:
poor Women, &c.
All Wedlock tyes Defieing,
when once their Wills they gain,
Scoffing at, or denying,
what once did cause their pain:
When with a thousand Kisses,
And with as many Wishes,
Poor Women they with blisses,
deceiv'd, which vows are vain:
Poor women, &c.
And whosoe're believes them,
they snare them 'tis most plain,
And when they'r took, deceive them,
and leave them to complain:
Whilst we poor Fools at Mourning,
They our Griefs are scorning,
Poor Women then take warning,
for men are false and vain:
Poor Women, &c.
They breath false sighs to win us,
and Counterfeit Loves pain,
And into Bonds they bring us,
with Flatteries so vain.
By praising of our beauties;
And Swearing 'tis their Duties,
Poor Woman while she mute is,
but find at last all vain:
Poor woman, &c.
Much like to Airy Vapours,
are all the Vows they feign,
Or like Expiring Tapours,
that ne'r will burn again:
But leave us in deep Sorrow,
For joys we did but borrow,
Poor Women bid Good-morrow,
and leave us to Complain:
Poor Women, &c.
'Tis sure the God of Lovers,
made not his Laws in vain,
He better joys discovers,
and makes his precepts plain:
Why them should man delude us,
When he has so Judas'd us,
Poor Women why be screw'd thus,
on things we can't obtain:
Poor women, &c.
Let us then be contented,
let Lordly still remain,
For him he was invented,
let us not wish in vain:
For what though we endeavour,
Yet can deserve him never,
Poor Women wishing ever,
yet all our wishes vain:
Poor women, &c.
Then let us be contented,
and strive no more with pain,
Least we at last repent it,
and past all hopes, Complain:
When there is no Relieving
But still we must be grieving
Poor Women, by deceiving,
men shew their vows are vain:
Poor Women, &c.
Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Hospital-gate, in West-smithfield.