To his false Mistress.
C ELIA your tricks will now no longer pass;
And I'm no more the fool that once I was.
I know my happier rival does obtain
All the vast bliss for which I sigh in vain.
Him, him you love, to me you use your art;
I had your looks, another had your heart:
To me you're sick, to me of spies afraid;
He finds your sickness gone, your spies betray'd:
I sigh beneath your window all the night;
He in your arms possesses the delight.
I know you treat me thus, false fair, I do;
And, oh! what plagues me worse, he knows it too;
To him my sighs are told, my letters shewn,
And all my pains are his diversion grown.
Yet, since you could such horrid treasons act,
I'm pleas'd you chose out him to do the fact:
His vanity does for my wrongs atone,
And 'tis by that I have your falsehood known.
What shall I do! for, treated at this rate,
I must not love, and yet I cannot hate:
I hate the actions, but I love the face;
Oh! were thy virtue more, or beauty less!
I'm all confusion, and my soul's on fire,
Torn by contending reason and desire:
This bids me love, that bids me love give o'er;
One counsels best, the other pleases more.
I know I ought to hate you for your fault;
But, oh! I cannot do the thing I ought.
Canst thou, mean wretch! canst thou contented prove
With the cold relics of a rival's love?
Why did I see that face to charm my breast?
Or, having seen, why did I know the rest?
Gods! if I have obey'd your just commands,
If I've deserv'd some favour of your hands,
Make me that tame, that easy fool again,
And rid me of my knowledge and my pain:
And you, false fair! for whom so oft I've griev'd,
Pity a wretch that begs to be deceiv'd;
Forswear yourself for one who dies for you;
Vow, not a word of the whole charge was true;
But scandals all, and forgeries, devis'd
By a vain wretch neglected and despis'd,
I too will help to forward the deceit,
And, to my power, contribute to the cheat:
And thou, bold man, who think'st to rival me,
For thy presumption I could pardon thee,
I could forgive thy lying in her arms,
I could forgive thy rifling all her charms:
But, oh! I never can forgive the tongue
That boasts her favours, and proclaims my wrong.
C ELIA your tricks will now no longer pass;
And I'm no more the fool that once I was.
I know my happier rival does obtain
All the vast bliss for which I sigh in vain.
Him, him you love, to me you use your art;
I had your looks, another had your heart:
To me you're sick, to me of spies afraid;
He finds your sickness gone, your spies betray'd:
I sigh beneath your window all the night;
He in your arms possesses the delight.
I know you treat me thus, false fair, I do;
And, oh! what plagues me worse, he knows it too;
To him my sighs are told, my letters shewn,
And all my pains are his diversion grown.
Yet, since you could such horrid treasons act,
I'm pleas'd you chose out him to do the fact:
His vanity does for my wrongs atone,
And 'tis by that I have your falsehood known.
What shall I do! for, treated at this rate,
I must not love, and yet I cannot hate:
I hate the actions, but I love the face;
Oh! were thy virtue more, or beauty less!
I'm all confusion, and my soul's on fire,
Torn by contending reason and desire:
This bids me love, that bids me love give o'er;
One counsels best, the other pleases more.
I know I ought to hate you for your fault;
But, oh! I cannot do the thing I ought.
Canst thou, mean wretch! canst thou contented prove
With the cold relics of a rival's love?
Why did I see that face to charm my breast?
Or, having seen, why did I know the rest?
Gods! if I have obey'd your just commands,
If I've deserv'd some favour of your hands,
Make me that tame, that easy fool again,
And rid me of my knowledge and my pain:
And you, false fair! for whom so oft I've griev'd,
Pity a wretch that begs to be deceiv'd;
Forswear yourself for one who dies for you;
Vow, not a word of the whole charge was true;
But scandals all, and forgeries, devis'd
By a vain wretch neglected and despis'd,
I too will help to forward the deceit,
And, to my power, contribute to the cheat:
And thou, bold man, who think'st to rival me,
For thy presumption I could pardon thee,
I could forgive thy lying in her arms,
I could forgive thy rifling all her charms:
But, oh! I never can forgive the tongue
That boasts her favours, and proclaims my wrong.