So much as standing on his guard; 160 When horses, being spurr'd and prick'd, Have leave to kick for being kick'd? Or why should you, whose mother-wits Are furnish'd with all perquisites, That with your breeding-teeth begin, 165 And nursing babies, that lie in, B' allow'd to put all tricks upon Our cully sex, and we use none? We, who have nothing but frail vows Against your stratagems t' oppose; 170 Or oaths more feeble than your own, By which we are no less put down? You wound, like <g> Parthians, while you fly, And kill with a retreating eye: Retire the more, the more we press 175 To draw us into ambushes. As pirates all false colours wear T' intrap th' unwary mariner, So women, to surprise us, spread The borrow'd flags of white and red; 180 Display 'em thicker on their cheeks Than their old grandmothers, the Picts; And raise more devils with their looks, Than conjurer's less subtle books; Lay trains of amorous intrigues, 185 In tow'rs, and curls, and perriwigs, With greater art and cunning rear'd, Than <h> PHILIP NYE's thanksgiving beard, Prepost'rously t' entice, and gain Those to adore 'em they disdain; 190 And only draw 'em in, to clog With idle names a catalogue. A lover is, the more he's brave, T' his mistress but the more a slave; And whatsoever she commands, 195 Becomes a favour from her hands; Which he's obliged t' obey, and must, Whether it be unjust or just. Then when he is compell'd by her T' adventures he would else forbear, 200 Who with his honour can withstand, Since force is greater than command? And when necessity's obey'd, Nothing can be unjust or bad And therefore when the mighty pow'rs 205 Of love, our great ally and yours, Join'd forces not to be withstood By frail enamour'd flesh and blood, All I have done, unjust or ill, Was in obedience to your will; 210 And all the blame that can be due, Falls to your cruelty and you. Nor are those scandals I confest, Against my will and interest, More than is daily done of course 215 By all men, when they're under force; When some upon the rack confess What th' hangman and their prompters please; But are no sooner out of pain, Than they deny it all again. 220 But when the Devil turns confessor, Truth is a crime he takes no pleasure To hear, or pardon, like the founder Of liars, whom they all claim under And therefore, when I told him none, 225 I think it was the wiser done. Nor am I without precedent, The first that on th' adventure went All mankind ever did of course, And daily dues the same, or worse. 230 For what romance can show a lover, That had a lady to recover,