Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses :: :: University of Virginia Library

You are surpriz'd, I know you blush, and frown,
You tear the Paper, and you hurl it down.
O blame not me, but your own Conqu'ring Eyes,
For from themselves their present troubles rise.
Let them not then, thou dear, prevailing Maid,
Blindly refuse what they have wrote to read.
See here what always in my looks you see,
And mark the Passion that I feel for thee.
The Passion will not a description bear,
Look in my Soul, 'tis fully written there.
My press of Thoughts no way for speech affords,
It can't break out, and scatter into Words.

With no relation will it Justly hold,
I tell it most, to say it can't be told.
Verse after Verse will all but fruitless prove.
Verse after Verse can ne'er declare my Love.
Did I Love less, did I not Love so well,
Then I, perhaps, might all my suff'rings tell;
But oh! I burn to such a high degree,
I scarce have Pow'r to beg a smile from thee.
So, Zealous Men, when in their Souls sincere,
From Meditation cannot fall to pray'r.
Think of the Love I did already show,
Think that the Love will be for ever so,
Think, while I live, that I shall Love thee still,
Think it! Be sure; for, by thy self, I will.
Spight of your scorn, tho' you contemn my flame,
Still shall I own that from your Eyes it came.
Why need I tell you, since too well you know
That I admire you, and must still do so.
Spight of my Soul, spight of all Manly Pow'rs,
Spight of my Self, I find that I am yours.
Vain is all force, I must your Captive be,
I must be thine, ev'n in despight of thee.
For this, you think of no return to make,
Because I give, what you refuse to take.

O still be harsh, the bliss no Man could bear,
If you should grow as kind as you are fair;
If your disdain and scorn so much can move,
How would you Charm with Transport, could you Love!
That would o'ercome me with surprize of bliss,
Too great for Monarchs, by their Crowns, it is,
Yet would I fain to dazling ruin run,
Like the rash Youth, who dar'd attempt the Sun;
Daring as his, does my Ambition fly,
Full of thy Fires, I would run o'er my Sky,
Pursue my great attempt, tho' thunder'd till I Dye.
Proud in the Spicy nest your Bosom frames,
I, Phænix like, would set in glorious flames.
But you are great in Fortune, and will show
Esteem for none, but who like you are so.
Like the Sun's Beams, your radiant Glances hold,
Fixt on no place, but what may turn to Gold.
You have Estates, and I, you know, have none,
I ask them not, they shall be still your own.
They stand beneath the bent of my desires,
For Gold's Reflection makes but seeming fires;
I scorn all such as would for int'rest sue,
My soaring wishes fly at nought but you,
Believe—I Love your self, for, by your self, I do.

Relent then quickly, O thou Charming fair,
And listen kindly to your Lover's Pray'r,
For else—you Mad me, Kill me, with Despair.
Forgive me, Fairest, for I must complain,
How can a wretch, like me, forget his pain,
And lose his torture, while he drags his Chain?
All the unhappy may have leave to grieve,
Despair does in the deepest sorrow live.
Fruitless my cries, fruitless are all my moans,
Fruitless my rising sighs, and my distracted groans.
In vain alas! To move your Soul I try,
In vain alas! I Pine, and Bleed, and Die.
Without redress I bear your proud disdain,
Eccho and you return those Words—in vain.
Can nought this coldness from thy Breast remove,
Soften, and melt thee into warmer Love!
O if you felt my pangs, or if you knew
But half those suff'rings which I bear for you,
Sure, you would pity, and would Love me too.
What pleasures then, what raptures shall I boast,
If your Compassion be not wholly lost!
Believe me, Charmer, by thy self I swear,
By thy dear self, and thou art all that's dear,

For thee alone I bear my fierce desires,
And burn, and rave, wild with my raging Fires.
How can true Passion, such as mine, be born!
How can I live, and you make no return!
No,—Scorn'd! henceforth, I will not stoop to live,
But slight that Life, which you deny to give.
Yet, unreveng'd, I will not poorly fall,
For then, my Rival would engross thee all.
No, by my hopes of happy Joys above,
No other Mortal shall possess thy Love,
No meaner Soul deserves the mighty bliss,
I boast a Spirit nobler far than his;
While he, should he possess thee, would be cloy'd,
And slight those Charms which he had late enjoy'd,
My Tides of Passion should for ever rowl,
And with new springing floods o'erflow thy Soul.
'Tis I alone should have the Pow'r to move,
If Love be Merit in the claim to Love.
O could the wretch but keep his wishes warm,
And sigh, as long as you have ways to Charm,
Such is my Passion, such my sacred flame,
Could he but bless thee, I should quit my claim;
Full of thy image would I hast to go,
Thoughtful of thee, to gloomy Groves below;

Still should my wishing Soul thy Charms pursue,
Ev'n in Oblivion's shades rememb'ring you.
But think, ah! think, thy Charms by me possest,
How we might both be to a wonder blest!
O could your Soul excessive fondness show,
O could your Passion for me freely flow,
Eternal Joys would every smile pursue,
And you, while blessing me, should be transported too.
Such are your Charms, such is your Pow'r to move,
I Love you still, and still must urge my Love,
The Passion grows no greater than before,
For it was boundless, and could ne'er be more,
Theirs that encreases, and can hourly flow,
As well may Ebb, but mine can ne'er do so;
I, like a Watch, to a vast height am wound,
In which no slow, no erring motion's found,
But while Life's Wheels shall last, they shall run ever round;
Still in one constant course of Passion move,
From various Figures still to thee I'll rove,
But ne'er, I fear, point out the hour of Love.
To thee I'll write in everflowing strains,
You shall be sung in all the Flow'ry Plains,

And tender Maids, shall, where thy Fame is born,
Admire thy Beauty much, but more, thy Scorn.
Where any Wit in all my Verse shall shine,
You are my Muse, and it is chiefly thine.
When to a pitch my Tow'ring fancy flies,
My Soul's Emotion with my stile must rise.
And Judge, Amasia, by my fonder flight,
That I feel all, and more than all I write.
You cause soft Thoughts, and all their Charming Pow'rs,
'Tis your bright Rays produce those Blooming flow'rs;
Like Summer's Sun, thro' all my Clouds you shine,
And with your Beams, enlighten every line;
You, by strange Pow'r, my young invention move,
Thro' all my Verse there is an Air of Love;
That makes me write, and write alone of you,
Yours is the Poem, and the Poet too.
To you alone does my whole fancy rowl,
You possess all the flowings of my Soul.
Only by thee shall I acquire a name,
While Love, Eternal Love, stands my continu'd Theme;
Thy wond'rous coldness, which my Passion blames,
Still Fires me more than any other's Flames.
Tho' I must ne'er possess the Charms I see,
I'll smile on Fortune, while she frowns on me.

I shall another wretched Midas prove,
And turn what e'er I touch, to the rich Metal, Love.
If I desir'd less fondly than I do,
Then might I all that I have suffer'd shew,
But to that height, that mighty height I burn,
I cannot hope for any kind return.
'Tis you alone urge my conceptions on,
All but soft Notions from my Mind are gone.
To you alone do all my fancies fly,
Those scatter'd Wings which bore me once so high.
Now all my flights but weak, and flutt'ring show.
Not reaching you, they do but flag below.
Such are your Beauties, such your Pow'r to Charm,
Your Eyes burn Hearts, which others cannot warm.
I thro' my Love am so submissive grown,
You call my Crime, what is my chief renown;
Unhappy Passion! which my Soul has mov'd,
And makes me hated, where I would be lov'd.
Now all my Gestures, fond, and humble show,
My Eyes revolt, when Beauty is my foe,
Rack'd with your scorn, let me no longer lie,
Raise me to Life, or urge me on to die.

You, my bright Sun of Beauty, light me here,
Just as you make them, all my Days appear,
Like you, when Clouded, or like you, when clear.
For, still of lov'd Amasia shall I sing,
With thy dear Name shall all the Vallies ring,
To you alone shall all my Numbers flow,
And all my Verse shall be adorn'd with you;
To you no Mortal can due Trophies raise,
Above my Thoughts, much more above my praise;
You shall be fam'd, wherever Swains can read,
In ev'ry City, ev'ry Flow'ry Mead,
And you shall live, when many Ages dead;
Whilst I, my self, shall likewise deathless grow,
Esteem'd for Love, Immortal Love of you;
For that alone I shall be nam'd aloud,
For 'tis thro' that, I rise above the Crowd.
Me Fortune plac'd not with her wealthy heirs,
Yet sure my Soul sits as Sublime as theirs.
With bold Ambition I to greatness move,
For only you shall e'er my flames approve,
I am not poor, who have a World of Love.
The haughty Tyrants, and the humble Swains,
In ev'ry Court, and throughout all the Plains,

Blest with my Verse, shall soft Emotions find,
And every Beauteous Virgin shall be kind.
With me no Man shall ever equal be,
No Mortal Lover shall be great, like me.
On Love's bright Throne I shall in Triumph sit,
Like mighty Dryden on the Throne of Wit.
O'er Earth and Seas our lasting praise shall fly,
The greatest Poet, He, the greatest Lover, I.
While Winds shall blow, & while the Seas shall roar,
Whilst Billows beat against the foamy shore,
Till Day, and Night, and all things are no more.
While Heav'n and Earth shall last, while Stars shall shine,
Thy constant Lover shall be ever thine.
Such Love, so great, can't be by Mortal born,
How then, Amasia, shall I bear your scorn!
Above all thought my wond'rous Passions move,
Hear, good and gracious Pow'rs! all Pow'rs above!
For I am Sick, quite Mad, and Lost in Love.
When e'er from thee my suff'ring Heart is giv'n,
May I by Dæmons to despair be driv'n,
Dash't against Rocks, and struck with bolts from Heav'n.
O thou Regardless, Happy, Charming fair,
You can't imagine how belov'd you are,

Nor know I how to tell you, but I know,
I Love, as never Mortal Man lov'd so.
I Love you, for (by Love it self 'tis true,)
Above what e'er Romantick Lovers knew,
I Love you now, as I shall ever do.
My Flames are such as to the Gods are giv'n,
I Love Amasia as I Love my Heav'n.
How could I wish you would Love Sylvius so!
That you would this return of Passion show,
That you would Love him—Just as Heav'n Loves you.
Oh! when you know but half my mighty ill,
You may relent, Amasia, yes, you will.
When once my racking griefs are understood,
You will relieve me, for I know you good.
When you but find what thro' your scorn I bear,
You will the blessings of a Goddess share,
You will be Heav'nly kind, as Heav'nly Fair.
Then, you no more will use your Sylvius so,
To doubt those truths, which, well as Heav'n, you know.
No room for falshood my desire affords,
You rule my Thoughts, then sure you rule my words.
Speak, is my Passion unsincere believ'd,
Or can you think you can be e'er deceiv'd!

You all my tender Declarations blame,
And you deny that I have felt a flame,
Deny at least, that from your Eyes it came.
'Tis then decreed, that I must rack my Mind,
To prove my Passion, when you prove unkind.
Believe, Amasia, who does truly Love,
Can't by expressions half his Passion prove.
True Flames can never, never be exprest,
He, who speaks most imperfect, speaks them best.
How shall I, all my racks, and suff'rings shew?
You know I Love you, and Love none but you;
Love you! Like truth—I Love you Heavenly well,
How, not my Tongue, no, nor my Eyes can tell:
If it could be that Man could Love you more,
Feel fiercer pangs than I have felt before,
O I would spend an Age, to tell the story o'er.
Heav'n Witness for me what my flights should be,
All made of Love, and all adorn'd with thee,
'Till Ecchoing Hills proclaim that thou alone art She.
As some poor Youth, who, by his Parents crost,
Submits himself to be by Billows tost,
Submits to all the threatnings of the Sea,
For those, he knows, are less inrag'd than they:

Howe'er, concern'd, he thinks on Friends behind,
Weeps with each show'r, and sighs with ev'ry Wind;
His Native soil with sad remorse he leaves,
A soil, less safe than the tumultuous Waves;
When first he hears the dreadful Oceans roar,
And Tempests louder than he fear'd before,
With wat'ry Eyes he views the less'ning shore.
So, I, when urg'd by your unkind disdain,
In absence hop'd to find a Calmer Main,
But Storms of Thought thus drove me back again.
Think! How we parted, we did ne'er embrace,
I spread no balmy Kisses o'er your Face.
Prest not your hand, nor did I sigh, or swear,
I did not speak, for oh! You would not hear.
I should have look'd, and gaz'd, and talk'd a while,
Murmur'd, and Kist; and then receiv'd a smile;
I should have melted, when my silence broke,
Farewel—farewel—with fonder looks have spoke.
In softer Voice I should those Accents tell,
And bid a thousand, thousand times, Farewel;
With trembling Lips I should have drawn from you,
With trembling Lips, and with Eyes trembling too,
Forc'd my fixt feet, and groan'd a long Adeiu.

Sure, lov'd Amasia will my Flames approve,
Sure you will make me some returns of Love.
How happy then must ravish'd Sylvius be,
Who now is fill'd with Anxious Thoughts of thee!
Thy Beauteous form still dances in my sight,
By day in Visions, and in Dreams by night.
Oft my wild Thought thy darling Image frames,
Oft do I see thee wanton on the streams.
Where you look always so divinely Fair,
Where, in such Charms you to my view appear,
You seem a brighter Venus risen there;
O'er the calm Floods with Wings of Rays you fly,
An Angel posting thro' a Cloudy Sky.
My flames more raging from the Waters grow,
And while I see the Dear, Deluding show,
I bless my self that I could fancy so.
Oft, when alone, and in my silent Bed,
I think, Ah! whither is Amasia fled,
Where is the Beauteous, Lovely, Fatal Maid.
Then, thro' my Curtains, strait I see you come,
And fill, with shinings, all the gloomy room.
With airy flights, and with deluding Eyes,
You loosly dance where your fond Lover lies,
And I, to seize you, all in Transport rise.

Then how I catch! then, how I rave to find,
That you could go, and leave me there behind,
I spend my Breath, and rack my troubled Mind.
Like swelling Waves, my Thoughts come raging on,
A second rises, e'er the first is gone,
They rowl, and dash me, when their rowling's done.
Then, mad with all my Anxious griefs and pain,
I lie dejected on my Bed again,
And gaze to find you, but I gaze in vain.
Then, do I strive, but no repose can take,
For, Thoughts of you my short'ned slumbers break,
And rack me equally as when awake.
Restless I drag each tedious Minute there,
For all my Joys are vanish'd with my Fair.
'Tis too much Love has wrought my Rigid fate,
And do I Love you? Is that cause for hate!
Command me all things, and your lover prove,
Command me all,—but to forbear my Love.
That is the only thing I cannot do,
And that alas! is all requir'd by you.
Believe, Amasia, Cruel fair believe,
I shall die yours, since yours I cannot live,
And this is all I ask you now to give.

While glimmering Tapers light my Darken'd room,
And my near Friends to see my end are come,
While now, all pale, and in my pangs I lie,
I beg, Amasia may sit Mourning by;
Ev'n then, my Passion will be Nobly great,
My flames more raging, tho' in fainter heat,
Not rising brighter, than they then shall set.
I shall embrace you in my trembling Arms,
And there admire your lovely, fatal Charms,
Those Fairest Eyes, which I esteem Divine,
Those Fatal Eyes, which do so brightly shine,
And have such Pow'r to rule the looks of mine.
All over Rapture, while all over pain,
I'll look, and sigh, and then I'll look again,
Still will I gaze, with ravishment, on thee,
And thy dear, lovely Face shall be the last I see.