APHRA BEHN

LOVE in fantastic triumph sate Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow’d, For whom fresh pains he did create And strange tyrannic power he show’d: From thy bright eyes he took his fires, Which round about in sport he hurl’d; But ’twas from mine he took desires Enough t’ undo the amorous world. From me he took his sighs and tears, From thee his pride and cruelty; From me his languishments and fears, And every killing dart from thee. Thus thou and I the god have arm’d And set him up a deity; But my poor heart alone is harm’d, Whilst thine the victor is, and free!

A THOUSAND martyrs I have made, All sacrificed to my desire, A thousand beauties have betray’d That languish in resistless fire: The untamed heart to hand I brought, And fix’d the wild and wand’ring thought. I never vow’d nor sigh’d in vain, But both, tho’ false, were well received; The fair are pleased to give us pain, And what they wish is soon believed: And tho’ I talk’d of wounds and smart, Love’s pleasures only touch’d my heart. Alone the glory and the spoil I always laughing bore away; The triumphs without pain or toil, Without the hell the heaven of joy; And while I thus at random rove Despise the fools that whine for love.