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.