Ah! Whither, whither shall I fly, A poor unhappy Maid; To hopeless Love and Misery By my own Heart betray’d? - William Congreve

It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind.

Why will mankind be fools, and be deceived? And why are friends’ and lovers’ oaths believed; When each, who searches strictly his own mind, May so much fraud and power of baseness find?

Pious Selinda goes to Pray’rs, If I but ask the Favour;
And yet the tender Fool’s in Tears, When she believes I’ll leave her.Wou’d I were free from Restraint, Or else had Hopes to win her;
Wou’d she cou’d make of me a Saint, Or I of her a Sinner.