html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Ah! Pardon, Madam, if I ever thought
Your smallest Favours could too dear be bought;
And the just greatness of your Servant's Flame,
I did the poorness of their Spirits Name;
Calling their due attendance, Slavery,
Your power of Life and Death, flat Tyranny;
Since now I yield, and do confess, there is
No way too hard that leads to such a bliss.
So when Hippomanes beheld the Race,
Where Loss was Death, and Conquest but a Face,
He stood amazed at the fatal strife,
Wondring that Love shou'd dearer be than Life,
But when he saw the Prize, no longer staid,
But through those very dangers sought the Maid,
And won her too: O may his Conquest prove
A happy Omen to my purer Love;
Which, if the honour of all Victory
In the resistance of the Vanquisht lie,
Though, it may be, the least regarded Prize,
Is not the smallest Trophy of your Eyes.