This Poor Turtledove

Who can but pity this poor turtledove,
Which was so kind and constant to her love?
And, since his death, his loss she doth deplore;
For his dear sake she’ll never couple more.
When others’ wanton blood doth nimbly flow,
Warmed with the spring, hers then runs cool and slow.
Nor Valentine, though ’tis a tempting tide,
Can make her sayher chaste resolve’s aside—
Not like that wanton and licentiousbird
Who, losing one, a second, and a third,
Like that prodigious, bedlam, Belgic beast,
Who had a score of husbands at the least:
A bitter thralldom she deserves to have,
Who, being freed so oft, would be a slave!
Shame of her sex! O, let her loathéd name
Be ne’er enrolléd in the book of fame;
But let Alcestis’s and Artimitius’s story
Be still remembered to her endless glory.
Some Deborahs and Annas sure have been,
But in this age of ours, few such are seen.
Then, ladies, imitate this turtledove,
And constant be unto one only love.

Then if your husbands rant it high, and game,
Be sure you double not their guilt and shame!
Leave off Hyde Park, Hanes, Oxford John’s and Kate
Spring, Mulberry Garden: let them have a date.
Buy not these follies at so dear a rate.
These places, I know only by their names,
But ’tis these places which do blast your fames.
Who would with their dear reputation part
To eat a scurvy cheescake or a tart?
For such poor follies who abroad would roam?
Have we not better every day at home?
They say, to plays and taverns some do go;
I say, no modest ladies will do so.
Though countess, duchess, or Protector’s daughter
Those places haunt, their follies run not after.
Be modest then, and follow mine advice:
You’ll find that virtue’s pleasanter than vice.
Yet anchorites I would not have you turn,
Nor halcyons, nor be your husband’s urn;
But chastely live, and rather spend your days
In setting forth your great Creator’s praise;
And, for diversion, pass your idle times
As I do now, in writing harmless rhymes.
Then, for your honors’ and your fair souls’ sake,
Both my example and my counsel take.
In fine, love God, the fountain of all good,
Next those ahead by marriage, grace, and blood,
To let’s live here, in chaste and virtuous love,
As we’ll go on eternally above.
Then O, my God, assist me with Thy grace,
That, when I die, I may but change my place.