A Thousand Martyrs I Have Made

A thousand Martyrs I have made,
     All sacrific'd to my desire;
A thousand Beauties have betray'd,
     That languish in resistless Fire.
The untam'd Heart to hand I brought,
And fixt the wild and wandring Thought.

I never vow'd nor sigh'd in vain
     But both, thô false, were well receiv'd.
The Fair are pleas'd to give us pain,
     And what they wish is soon believ'd.
And thô I talked of Wounds and Smart,
Loves Pleasures only toucht my Heart.

Alone the Glory and the Spoil
     I always Laughing bore away;
The Triumphs, without Pain or Toil,
     Without the Hell, the Heav'n of Joy.
And while I thus at random rove
Despise the Fools that whine for Love.