Oh! what a Pleasure it will be to me,
Without concern t’ accuse you of your Treachery!
When I ’ve forgot the wracking Pains I ’ve born,
And able am to talk of you with Scorn!
You ’ve had the better, it is plainly prov’d,
Because I you have out of Reason lov’d;
But by the Conquest you small Honour won,
For I was young, and easily undone.
I, whilst a Child, was cloister’d, knew no hurt,
Discours’d with none but of the vulgar Sort,