Rue
From A Satyr Upon Man by Robert Gould
chosen by Parker
I Who against the fair Sex drew my Pen,
With equal fury now attack the Men;
Whom, if I Spare, on me the Curse befall,
Of being thought the vilest of ‘em all.
Ye injur’d Spirits of that Virgin-train,
Who by unfaithful Lovers once were slain,
Cropt from your Stalks, like Flow’rs, in all your prime,
To languish, fade and dy before your time:
In vain the Nymph was faithful to her Mate,
Your truth cou’d not protect you from your Fate;
Your truth, too cold to melt th’ obdurate mind
Of Man, whose Nature is to be unkind:
If you, chaft shades, e’r condescend to know,
Enthron’d above, what Mortals do below;
O 2
If still you can your Earthly wrongs resent,
And with the perjur’d Wretches lasting punishment,
Assist my Muse in her Satyrick flight;
Lend her but rage, and she shall do you right.
50