Of many loves, the mother’s fresh disgrace. -
“Again, thou harlot! could not all thy pain,
All my reproof, thy wanton thoughts restrain?”
“Alas! your reverence, wanton thoughts, I grant,
Were once my motive, now the thoughts of want;
Women, like me, as ducks in a decoy,
Swim down a stream, and seem to swim in joy.
Your sex pursue us, and our own disdain;
Return is dreadful, and escape is vain.
Would men forsake us, and would women strive