html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }The Man, who sharpen'd first the warlike Steel,
How fell and deadly was his iron Heart,
He gave the Wound encount'ring Nations feel,
And Death grew stronger by his fatal Art:
Yet not from Steel, Debate and Battle rose,
'Tis Gold o'erturns the even Scale of Life,
Nature is free to all, and none were Foes,
Till partial Luxury began the Strife.
Let Spoil and Victory adorn the Bold,
While I inglorious neither hope nor fear,
Perish the Thirst of Honour, Thirst of Gold,
E're for my Absence Delia lose a Tear:
Why shou'd the Lover quit his pleasing Home,
In search of Danger on some foreign Ground?
Far from his weeping Fair ungrateful roam,
And risk in every Stroke a double Wound:
Ah better far, beneath the spreading Shade,
With chearful Friends to drain the sprightly Bowl,
To sing the Beauties of my darling Maid,
And on the sweet Idea feast my Soul:
Then, full of Love, to all her Charms retire,
And fold her blushing to my eager Breast,
Till, quite o'ercome with Softness, with Desire,
Like me she pants, she faints, and sinks to rest.