To Prince Maurice

Maurice coulst thou but Joygn
To the Rich Elme thy sheltring vine
Thou wer't a Prince thy Grapes should muster
Not Branches only but in Cluster
But now (Alas) Thy Could Adress
Blasts all Those hopes of Happines
She's fled she's gon to Others kind
Thus woemen mock th'unconstant wind
And you may catch the One in hand
As well as t'other to Command
Take but a Slippery Eele by th'Tayle
You may ore it as soon prevaile
Then what remains thy thoughts to feed
But that th'whol Sex is falce indeed.
Hadst thou not had More-Ice than Fier
Thou hadst not fayld of thy Desier
But sung an Anthom in the wido's Quier
Tres sum though three thou'rt called thou art but One
So Stil must rest content to lie alone.