html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Madam, though meaner Beauties might,
Perhaps, have need of some such slight;
Who to excuse their Rigour, must
Say they our Passions do mistrust,
And that they wou'd more pity shew,
Were they but sure our Loves were true.
You shou'd those petty Arts despise,
Secure of what is once your Prize.
We to our Slaves no Frauds address,
But as they are, our Minds express.
Tell me not then I cannot Love,
Say, rather, you it ne'er can move;
Who can no more doubt of your Charms,
Than I resist such pow'rful Arms:
Whose numerous force that I withstood
So long, was not through any hope I cou'd
Escape their pow'r; but through despair,
Which oft makes Courage out of fear.
I trembling saw how you us'd those
Who tamely yielded without blows:
Had you but one of all them spar'd,
I might, perhaps, have been ensnar'd,
And not have thus, e're I did yield,
Call'd Love's whole Force into the Field.
Yet now I'm Conquer'd, I will prove
Faithful as they that never strove.
All flames in matter, where too fast
They do not seize, the longer last.
Then blame not mine for moving slow,
Since all things durable are so.
The Oak that's for three hundred Years
Design'd in growing, one out-wears.
Whilst Flowers for a Season made
Quickly spring up, and quickly fade.