To be turned out with bedquilt stuffs;
Philosophy would ease my smart,
Would say, “Oh peace, sad female heart.”
But Oh, this is the woe to me,
She would not listen unto he.
If it had been my soaring muse,
That she in wild scorn did refuse,
I could like marble statute rise,
And face her wrath with tearless eyes;
’Twould not have been such a blow to me,