Classic Poem

Minutes grow tedious, Time too slowly moves,
While Henric 's absent, and Maria loves.
Each Hour's a Week, and ev'ry Day a Year,
And ev'ry of Maria 's Thoughts a Fear:
Not for thy Faith, my Fears are all for Thee,
For that dear Heart that nothing holds but me.
 May I demand, of Love e'er taught Thee yet,
To look on lazy Moments with Regret?
If Love has taught Thee his Account of Time?
If Henric 's Love be such a Love as mine?
If so, my sighs are justify'd by thine;
If so, you cannot frown, and cannot chuse,
But all I sigh, and all I say excuse;
And wish, and speak, and doubt, and act with me,
If Love like mine in a Male Breast can be.
Female our Souls, all Masculine our Love,
Strong is your Sense, feebly your Passions move.
Here shrunk my soul, till my kind careless Pen
Run on to Henric 's Name—I liv'd agen.
Henric more Noble than the rest of Men!
O happy Thought! O blest Maria's Fate!
He loves, does all above the common Rate.

 You busy'd yet with all those great Affairs,
Counsels, Debates, and Policy of Wars;
Safety of Kingdoms, all the Mighty Things,
Worthy my Henric , fit alone for Kings.
This some relief to painful Absence gives,
Diverts the Pangs wherewith Maria strives.

 While You the foaming untam'd Gallia chase,
And all Your Snares around the Tigress place;
Pleas'd thus to see her all at Your Command,
Whene'er You please to move Your Conquering Hand:
Suffer not fond Maria to complain,
That You forget Your own dear am'rous Chain.
 On unfledg'd Vict'ries in the Nest You smile,
And great Designs Your Love and Hours beguile:
Alone my business, and my all is You,
My self, my Wishes, all I have to do;
Your Name alone perswades me to endure;
That gives the Wound, and that applies the Cure:
But there's no Balsom priz'd by me above
The bright Idea of Your Noble Love.

 But if Your Love (pardon the dubious Thought)
If You the gen'rous Flame from Belgia brought,
Why could it not perswade You to delay?
Why could not parting Tears induce Your stay?
How cruel short the pleasing Interview!
Short as 'twas sweet, as short disgustfull too.
Why was I born so Great, or You so Brave?
Were You less so, or were I but a Slave?
My servile Consort I in view might have?
Nor think he's now engag'd, a Conqu'rour now,
Dying, perhaps, with Vict'ry on his Brow,
Wounded, or sick, or e'en I know not how.

 Lost Mons , the worthy Cause, and British Isle,
Forgive the Queen, that on Your Loss could smile;
Th'unwelcome News no sooner reached my Ear,
But straight I knew my Henric was not there:
No Towns are ever lost when he's too near.
You often come indeed too near Your Foes,
Your Breast too oft, too daringly expose;
You are too much a Conquerour for me,
I love You better than the Victory:
Yet I love Conquest, and can wish it too;
But why, methinks, must all be done by You?
Let others take the Danger; Let them stake
Their Lives, and let them Henric 's Glory take——
Ha! What!——What would my fondling Passion do?
Oh, that it might be Great! as Great as now;
And yet incapable to wrong You too!

 What's State, Respect, or what's a Crown to me?
Poor Joys!——How poor's a Queen depriv'd of Thee?
My very Dreams, the softest Bliss I knew,
My Thoughts, my Dreams, are still employ'd with You,
Pleasing at first, now serve t'afflict me too.
My Bed with sad Apprehension shake,
With sudden Shrieks and Cries I start, and wake:
Attendants and officious Guards rush in,
When nothing but her Henric wants the Queen;
Shipwrack'd with Doubts and almost sunk by fear,
Least swelling Neptune so embrace my Dear,
E'en You that took of me so little Care:

 You that expos'd in a small Shallop lay,
Defying Boreas and a Raging Sea,
By cruel, deadly Sheets of Ice enclos'd;
Hunger, and bold obtruding Death oppos'd:
Yet Your Prophetic Valour could inspire
Your glowing Breast with such Heroic Fire;
The Shell, that Caesar and his Fortunes bore,
Was destin'd to attain, and reach'd the Shore;
Can You suppose with me to perish more?

Cease not to fear (said You) but blush to think,
That Henric and his Fortunes here must sink.
Ye Gods!——The Gods were with Thee, and they saw:
These words were follow'd with a sudden Thaw:
And kind Heav'n cast Thee on thy Native Shore,
When nothing less was hop'd, You wish'd no more.

 If I, of more cow'rdly Sex, had seen
What mighty Perils shut my Henric in,
Away had flown my hasty tim'rous Soul;
Nor could that Prophecie, so spoke, recall
My fleeting Breath, restoring as it was,
'T had been, to dying me, of little Force.
The fearful Tale, e'en while I knew You safe,
A strange cold shivering to my Senses gave,
Methought, and wrapt me in a chilly Wave.

 Be kind, my Love, make haste—Be rather slow
And be my kinder Love in being so.
Be kind, and cautious, let me not sustain
Those Dyings, and those Agonies again.
While I implore soft Winds, entreat the Sea
To be as gentle as my Sighs for Thee,
And careful as Maria's Thoughts can be;
Safe as Thy Arms, serene as those You give
Your great Protection to, and wish to live.
Live you Maria 's, she that lives for You.
All Yours—Adieu, my Royal Love, Adieu.