University of Virginia Library

An Answer to Ephelia's Letter to Bajazet.

Madam, if y're deceiv'd, it is not by my cheat,
For all Disguizes are below the Great.
What Man or Woman upon earth can say,
I ever us'd 'em well above a day?
How is it then that I inconstant am?
It changes not that always is the same.
In my dear self I centre every thing,
My Servants, Friends, my Mistress, and my King;
Nay Heaven and Earth to that one point I bring.
Well manner'd, honest, generous, and stout,
Names by dull Fools to plague Mankind found out,
Should I regard I must my self constrain,
And 'tis my Maxim to avoid all pain.
You fondly look for what none e'er could find,
Deceive your self, and then call me to mind:
And by false Reasons would my Falshood prove,
For 'tis as natural to change as love.
You may as justly at the Sun repine,
Because alike it does not always shine.
No glorious thing was ever made to stay,
My Blazing Star but visits and away:
As fatal too it shines as those i'th'Skies,
'Tis never seen but some great Lady dies.
The boasted favour you so precious hold,
To me's no more than changing of my Gold.
What e'er you gave I paid you back in bliss,
Then where's the Obligation pray of this?
If heretofore you found grace in my eyes,
Be thankful for it, and let that suffice:
But Women Beggar-like still haunt the door,
Where they've receiv'd a Charity before.
O Happy Sultan, whom we Barbarous call,
How much refin'd art thou above us all?
Who envies not the joys of thy Serale?
Thee like some God the trembling Crowd adore?
Each man's thy Slave and womankind thy Whore
Methinks I see thee underneath the shade
Of Golden Canopy supinely laid.
Thy crowding Slaves all silent as the Night,
But at thy nod all active as the Light.
Secure in sullen sloth thou there dost reign,
And feelest the joys of Love without the pain.
Each Female courts thee with a wishing Eye,
While thou with awful pride walkst careless by;
Till thy kind pledge at length marks out one Dame,
Thou fanciest most to quench thy present Flame.
Then from thy Bed submissive she retires,
And thankful for the Grace no more requires.
No loud reproach, nor foul unwelcom sound
Of Womens Tongues thy sacred Ear does wound:
If any do, a nimble Muse streight ties
The True-loves Knot, and stops her foolish cries.
Thou fearest no injur'd Kinsmans threatning Blade,
Nor Midnight Ambushes by Rivals laid:
While here with aking Hearts our Joys we taste,
Disturb'd by Swords like Damocles his Feast.