But woman, tis not so easy and free,
The choice to make is not thine to make,
Nor of mine but recourse to Nature;
And we ought to start with us:

That in life as is bound left and right,
Nor is tranquil towards day nor night
As the gales uproot the trees in force,
Though still these trees just grew,
Though still the Earth motions anew;
Alas, where is the reason in all this?
None, for it was simply as such made,
Gone, was it not I who this did bade,
The night to fall and the day to rise,
And the wrongs be right thus to entice
A fellow traveller in a world afar,
Walks by and sees his world in hate,
Then consummates it in all of late,
As solemn it drew so too his return,
Thence back to hearth in his be told,
Then to ask of her in she it supports.

Though we cannot help but feign,
And indeed as is a man their own,
Cannot guarantee error of his own,
But tis just a man for who he is,
Ere once we bear thus we know.

Family, Nature, Works
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