Classic Poem

If Wealth could bribe me, or if Beauty move,
I need not sigh (Lysander) for your Love!
The Croud still follows where I please to pass
Nor need I dread the Censure of my Glass,
The Heaven-born Muses in my Bosom dwell,
Not Sapho's selfe express'd their sense so well,
And what should most engage you to be true,
A Heart that languishes, and dyes for You.
But You (False Man) no Gratitude can warm
And Fatal Kindness sullys every charm.
These Eyes, the Source of all your Joy and Pain,
(For so you swore) now melt in Tears in vain.
The strong Disorders on my Vitals prey,
I weep all night, yet Hate the dawning Day,
The Day restores me to the Cursed Care
To hide a Torment which I cannot bear,
Cheiffly from you, I should the pain conceal,
Who cannot pity, what you cannot feel.
From Fair, to Fair, with Idle vows you rove
And Repetitions of unmeaning Love,
A new pink Cornet makes you wish to day,
A Brillant Buckle takes that wish away,
Harvey, How, Howard, please you in their Turn,
You sigh for Ribands, and for Tippets burn.
Where these are Merits, oh how vain I plead
A tender Heart, and a refflecting Head!
Yet such a Heart, so fond, so nicely true,
Would force Esteem from any Man but You.
By sly Design, or by Affected chance
Can you accuse me of one Guilty Glance?
Too much my Tenderness my Faith secures,
My Cares, my Wishes, and my Soul are yours,
For You I dress, for you to Shades retire
And curse the feeble Charms that Crouds admire.
Take back, ye Gods, this useless pow'r to please,
It gains no Glory, and it gives no Ease!
While at my Feet neglected Lovers lie
'Tis I that languish, and 'tis I that dye.
With silent sorrow they reproach my Scorn,
With more than equal pangs this Heart is torn,
And when I see you ('tis not to be told)
I see you Careless, Insolent, or Cold,
What ere you say, you say with too much ease,
No fear to lose me, nor no Care to please.
Dull common Courtship comes not from the Heart,
No Rapture when we meet, no pain to part.
With what dead weight is then my Soul oppress'd!
Love, Shame, and Indignation rend my Breast,
Fain would I tell — but cannot force my Voice
To say, How I repent my worthless Choice.
Rack'd, and Tormented, ruin'd, and undone,
I see my Doatage — and I yet doat on.
Go Faithless Man, this wretched Victim leave,
I cannot more be lost, or you deceive.
Persue the dirty Paths that lead to Gold
And like a Common Prostitute be sold.
Are these the Steps by which to Power you move?
Is this the Picture of the Man I love?
By Heaven, I will this mean Desire controul,
I'll tear this hated Passion from my Soul,
I will not thus be toss'd — Desire — Despise,
Contemn your Folly, yet adore your Eyes.
For what strange Curse has Nature form'd my Mind
So different from the rest of Womankind?
Shew, Dress and Danceing are their sole delights,
In visits lose the Day, in play they waste the Nigh(ts),
But I had rather from the Croud retir'd,
Be lov'd by One, than be by all admir'd.
Through (?) the World is there no hope to find
One faithfull Partner to a tender mind,
Gentle and Just, and without feigning, Kind?
None, (there) is none, the fond persuit is vain,
A Fan(cy'd) Bliss I never can obtain.