Trifles :: :: University of Virginia Library

The various suppliants which address
Their pray'rs to heaven on bended knees,
All hope alike for happiness,
Yet each petition disagrees.
Fancy, not judgment, constitutes their bliss;
The wise, no doubt, will say the same of this.

Ye Gods, if you remember right,
Some eighteen years ago,
A form was made divinely bright,
And sent for us t' admire below:
I first distinguish'd her from all the rest,
And hope you'll therefore think my title best.

I ask not heaps of shining gold,
No, if the Gods vouchsafe
My longing arms may her infold,
I'm rich, I'm rich enough!
Riches at best can hardly give content;
But having her, what is there I can want?

I ask not, with a pompous train
Of honours, all th' world t' outbrave;
The title I wou'd wish to gain,
Is,—Her most fav'rite slave:

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To bow to her, a greater bliss wou'd be
Than kings and princes bowing down to me.

To rule the world with power supreme,
Let meaner souls aspire;
To gain the sov'reignty from them
I stoop not to desire:
Give me to reign sole monarch in her breast,
Let petty princes for the world contest.

Let libertines, who take delight
In riot and excess,
Thus waste the day, thus spend the night,
Whilst I to joys sublimer press:
Clasp'd in her snowy arms such bliss I'd prove,
As never yet was found, or felt in love.

In short, I ask you not to live
A tedious length of days;
Old age can little pleasure give,
When health and strength decays:
Let but what time I have be spent with her's,
Each moment will be worth a thousand years.