In the Person of Woman Kind

Men, if you love us, play no more
The fooles, or Tyrants with your friends,
To make us still sing o're, and o're,
Our owne false praises, for your ends:
Wee have both wits, and fancies too,
And if wee must, let's sing of you.

Nor doe we doubt, but that we can,
If wee would search with care, and paine,
Find some one good, in some one man;
So going thorow all your straine:
Wee shall at last, of parcells make
One good enough for a songs sake.

And as a cunning Painter takes
In any curious peece you see
More pleasure while the thing he makes
Then when 'tis made, why so will wee.
And having pleas'd our art, wee'll try
To make a new, and hang that by.