Anne Finch

Disarmed with so genteel an air,
The contest I give o’ er;
Yet, Alexander, have a care,
And shock the sex no more.
We rule the world our life’ s whole race,
Men but assume that right;
First slaves to ev’ ry tempting face,
Then martyrs to our spite.
You of one Orpheus sure have read,
Who would like you have writ
Had he in London town been bred,