 | Miscellanies in Verse and Prose |  |
118
Amintor to Sylvia.
Unjustly, Sylvia, you my Coldness blame:I wish, my Dear, that I were still the Same.
But Nature seconds not my fond Desires;
The Oil once spent, o'course the Lamp expires.
Love's Food is Luscious, and too apt to fill;
And 'tis the Devil to eat against one's Will.
Your wanton Cupid's an Insatiate Guest,
And thinks that ev'ry Meal must be a Feast.
I play'd my Part as ably as I cou'd;
But thou'rt, i'faith, too hard for Flesh and Blood.
Have Conscience, Fair One, and the Vanquish'd spare;
Grant a short Truce—divert a while the War—
Draw off your Forces from a ravag'd Land,
And seek some Wealthier Province to command.
119
Content at one poor Stream to slake your Flame,
Who, like the glorious Ruler of the Day,
Demand, to quench your Fires, at least a Sea.
Your Beauty too should, like his Beams, design'd
A Gen'ral Good, be to no One Confin'd.
Conceal not then the Lustre of your Charms,
Open to All, the Heaven within your Arms.
Mankind for this alone the Gods Adore,
Because their Bounty's equal to their Pow'r.
| Miscellanies in Verse and Prose | |