Before _Kind Keeper_ takes another Miss,
By sad Experience weary grown of this.


_The Eleventh Comfort._

Are these the Sov'reigns then that we must own,
Must we before their Golden Calves bow down,
Forgive us Heav'n, if we renounce the Elves,
And make a Common-wealth among our Selves,
Whereby the Laws that we shall there Ordain.
We'll make it Capital to mention Man,
Man! we'll for ever banish from our sight,
Not talk by Day, nor think of them by Night,
We'll shun their Courtship, as we do the Plague,
And loath 'em more than they a Toothless Hagg.


_The Twelfth Comfort._

'Tis not their Sighs, Crying, nor Prayers,
Their subtile Whinings, nor Treacherous Tears,
That shall one kind Return for ever gain,
But when t' oblige us they've done all they can,
We'll laugh, deride, and scorn the Foppish Sex,
And wrank Invention for new ways to vex,
Till they to shun us, prompted by Despair,
Or Drown themselves, or hung in cleanly Air.