A Thousand Martyrs I Have Made

A thousand martyrs I have made,
       All sacrific’d to my desires;
A thousand beauties have betray’d,
       That languish in resistless fire.
The untam’d heart to hand I brought,
And fixed the wild and wandering thought.

I never vow’d nor sigh’d in vain
       But both, tho’ false, were well receiv’d.
The fair are pleas’d to give us pain,
       And what they wish is soon believ’d.
And tho’ I talk’d of wounds and smart,
Love’s pleasures only touched my heart.

Alone the glory and the spoil
       I always laughing bore away;
The triumphs, without pain or toil,
       Without the hell, the heav’n of joy.
And while I thus at random rove
Despis’d the fools that whine for love.