Like a pluck'd siren, has the voice and look
Of woman, but below the waist, her limbs
Wither'd and shrunk in to the blackbird's size.
These wretched women, one and all, partake
The nature of the Theban Sphinx; they speak
In doubtful and ambiguous phrase, pretend
To love you truly, and with all their hearts,
Then whisper in your ear, some little want—
A girl to wait on them forsooth, a bed,
Or easy-chair, a brazen tripod too—