And after letting blood, and purging,
Condemn’d to voluntary scourging; 150
Alarm’d with many a horrid fright,
And claw’d by goblins in the night;
Insulted on, revil’d, and jeer’d,
With rude invasion of his beard;
And when your sex was foully scandal’d, 155
As foully by the rabble handled;
Attack’d by despicable foes,
And drub’d with mean and vulgar blows;
And, after all, to be debarr’d
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 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 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