Classic Poem

Did you know, how your Wounds lamented are,
Both by the Brave, the Witty, Proud, and Fair;
Like Lover's Wounds, they wou'd grow your Delight,
And you wou'd not have 'scap'd them, if you might;
Your worst Foes so your best Friends prov'd sure, since
They fought against you, in your Fame's Defence;
For all, that by the best Friends can be done,
Is, to make their Friend's Honour but more known,
At Venture of their own Lives, and their own;
So here you triumph, being beaten there,
Whose Valour gives your Friends, as Foes, still Fear;
Whose Absence, gains the Ladies to you more,
Now, than your Presence ever did before;
And makes Court-Cowards now speak well of you,
Behind your Back, which is a Wonder, so,
That Wonders here, as well as there, you do;
Right, in your Absence, from the Court, you gain,
And of your Wounds make envious Foes complain;
A Conquerour, as here, you there are grown,
Who have more Courage, being worsted, shown,
And for your being Beaten, gain'd Renown;
In losing a Weak Place, so bravely there,
A whole Town now have gain'd, and taken here;
And there, as here, no Danger undergo,
But here, as there, you make Hearts ake for you;
If not your self, the Ladies shou'd you spare,
'Tis Cowardise to put 'em still in Fear;
Consult your Honour, to bear Arms, forbear;
The Play-house Bully, puts up Sword, and All,
Rather than make the Ladies to look Pale;
In Love, as Arms, Men honourably deal,
Who spare their Foes, their Conquests to conceal;
To save a Friend, and spare an Enemy,
Gain o'er themselves the Noblest Victory;
That is, their Passion, which does so rebel
Against their Reason, hon'rably to quell;
Therefore, leave off your tempting Danger so,
Lest your Friend's Fame you call in question, who
Her Love, wou'd but by her Fear for you, show;
That Brave a Coward is, who does not dare
To lose his Fame, his Mistresses to spare;
Then seek not most dishon'rably, that Praise,
Which needs must be your Mistresses Disgrace;
Leave Killing Men, since you, by Fighting, will
Your Mistress, (but by her Fear for you) kill;
On Women spend your Mettle (as you shou'd)
And not on Men, to prove it Right, and Good;
Love you long Sieges, lay them to the Proud,
Or Conqu'ring Female Foes, most cruel still
To Men, most yielding to their Pow'r, or Will,
Who, Friend and Foe, without Distinction kill;
If you seek Danger without Armour there,
More in your Shirt, each Night you may have here;
Encount'ring here a loving Female Foe,
Who will, too hard for you, by yielding, grow;
But you, who love all sorts of Gallantry,
Slight Conquests most, as gain'd most easily;
Danger, and Difficulty, thinking so,
In Love, and Honour, Spurs to them, and you,
Which more your Praise, as more your Venture grow;
Since she, who yields soon, makes your Conquest less,
And Brave Fools, love Things hardest of Access.