The ANTIDOTE

When I see the bright Nymph who my Heart does inthral, When I view her soft Eyes, and her languishing Air, Her Merit so Great, my own Merit so Small, It makes me Adore, and it makes me Despair.

But when I consider that she squanders on Fools All those Treasures of Beauty with which she is stor'd; My Fancy it damps, and my Passion it cools, And it makes me despise what before I ador'd.

Thus, sometimes I despair, and sometimes I despise; I love, and I hate, but I never esteem, The Passion grows up, when I view her bright Eyes, Which my Rivals destroy, when I look upon them.

How wisely does Nature Things so diff'rent unite! In such odd Compositions our Safety is found; As the Blood of the Scorpion is a Cure for the Bite; So her Folly makes Whole, Whom her Beauty does Wound.