Poem by Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea

The Unequal Fetters

Cou'd we stop the time that's flying
 Or recall itt when 'tis past
Put far off the day of Dying
 Or make Youth for ever last
To Love wou'd then be worth our cost.

But since we must loose those Graces
 Which at first your hearts have wonne
And you seek for in new Faces
 When our Spring of Life is done
It wou'd but urdge our ruine on

Free as Nature's first intention
 Was to make us, I'll be found
Nor by subtle Man's invention
 Yeild to be in Fetters bound
By one that walks a freer round.

Mariage does but slightly tye Men
 Whil'st close Pris'ners we remain
They the larger Slaves of Hymen
 Still are begging Love again
At the full length of all their chain.

1. A Miller, His Son, and Their Ass
2. Reformation
3. Life's Progress
4. A Description of One of the Pieces of Tapistry at Long-Leat
5. Moral Song

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