Female Poems On Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Oh cruel Fate, when wilt thou weary be?
VVhen satisfied with tormenting me?
VVhat have I e're design'd, but thou hast crost?
All that I wisht to gain by Thee, I've lost:
From my first Infancy, thy Spight thou'st shown,
And from my Cradle, I've thy Malice known;
Thou snatch'st my Parents in their tender Age,
Made me a Victim to the furious Rage
Of cruel Fortune, as severe as thee;
Yet I resolv'd to brave my Destiny,
And did, with more than Female Constancy.

Not all thy Malice cou'd extort a Tear,
Nor all thy Rage cou'd ever teach me Fear:
Still as thy Pow'r diminisht my Estate,
My Fortitude did my Desires abate;
In every state I thought my Mind content,
And wisely did thy cross Designs prevent:
Seeing thy Plots did unsuccessful prove,
As a sure Torment next, thou taught'st me Love:
But here thou wer't deceiv'd too, for my Swain
As soon as he perceiv'd, pity'd my Pain:
He met my Passion with an equal Fire,
Both sweetly languisht in a soft Desire:
Claspt in each other's Arms we sate all Day,
Each Smile I gave, he'd with a Kiss repay:
In every Hour an Ages Bliss we reap'd,
And lavish Favours on each other heap'd.
Now sure (thought I) Destiny doth relent,
And her insatiate Tyranny repent:
But how mistaken! how deceiv'd was I!
Alas! She onely rais'd my Hopes thus high,

To cast me down with greater Violence;
For midst our Joys, she snatch'd my Shepherd hence
To Africa: yet tho' I' was neglected,
I bore it better than could be expected:
VVithout Regret, I let him cross the Sea,
VVhen I was told it for his Good wou'd be;
But when I heard the Nuptial Knot he'd ty'd,
And made an Afric Nymph his happy Bride:
My Temper then I could no longer hold,
I curs'd my Fate, I curs'd the Pow'r of Gold;
I curs'd the Easiness believ'd at first,
And (Heaven forgive me) Him I almost curs'd.
Hearing my Loss, to him was mighty Gain;
I check'd my Rage, and soon grew Calm again:
Malicious Fate, seeing this wou'd not do,
Made Strephon wretched, to make me so too.
Of all her Plagues, this was the weightiest Stroke,
This Blow, my resolv'd Heart hath almost broke:
Yet, spight of Fate, this Comfort I've in store,
She's no room left for any Ill thing more.