Fury and wrath within me rave, And tempt me to a warrior's grave. - John Conington

O Fortune, cruellest of heavenly powers,
Why make such game of this poor life of ours?

From me you fly! Ah! let me crave,
By these poor tears, that hand you gave—
Since, parting with my woman's pride,
My madness leaves me nought beside—
By that our wedlock, by the rite
Which, but begun, could yet unite,
If e'er my kindness held you bound,
If e'er in my joy you found,
Look on this falling house, and still,
If prayer can touch you, change your will.

A woman's will Is changeful and uncertain still.