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John Dryden - Prologue to the Princess of Cleves
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Ladies! (I hope there`s none behind to hear) 
I long to whisper something in your ear: 
A secret, which does much my mind perplex,— 
There`s treason in the play against our sex. 
A man that`s false to love, that vows and cheats, 
And kisses every living thing he meets; 
A rogue in mode,—I dare not speak too broad,— 
One that—does something to the very bawd. 
Out on him, traitor, for a filthy beast! 
Nay, and he`s like the pack of all the rest: 
None of them stick at mark; they all deceive. 
Some Jew has changed the text, I half believe; 
Their Adam cozened our poor grandame Eve. 
To hide their faults they rap out oaths, and tear; 
Now, though we lie, we`re too well bred to swear. 
So we compound for half the sin we owe, 
But men are dipt for soul and body too; 
And, when found out, excuse themselves, pox cant them, 
With Latin stuff, Perjuria ridet amantum. 
I`m not book-learned, to know that word in vogue, 
But I suspect `tis Latin for a rogue. 
I`m sure, I never heard that screech-owl hollowed 
In my poor ears, but separation followed. 
How can such perjured villains e`er be saved? 
Achitophel`s not half so false to David. 
With vows and soft expressions to allure, 
They stand, like foremen of a shop, demure: 
No sooner out of sight, but they are gadding, 
And for the next new face ride out a padding. 
Yet, by their favour, when they have been kissing, 
We can perceive the ready money missing. 
Well! we may rail; but `tis as good e`en wink; 
Something we find, and something they will sink. 
But, since they`re at renouncing, `tis our parts 
To trump their diamonds, as they trump our hearts.
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