ABSTRACT
First may the yawning Earth her Bosome rend, 585 And let me hence to Hell alive descend; Or die the Death I dread no less than Hell, Sow'd in a Sack, and plung'd into a Well; Ere I my Fame by one lewd Act disgrace, Or once renounce the Honour of my Race. 590 For know, Sir Knight, of gentle Blood I came, I loath a Whore, and startle at the Name. But jealous Men on their own Crimes reflect, And learn from thence their Ladies to suspect: Else why these needless Cautions, Sir, to me? 595 These Doubts and Fears of Female Constancy? This Chime still rings in ev'ry Lady's Ear, The only Strain a Wife must hope to hear.
