To The Sighing Strephon. [1]

1.

Your pardon, my friend, If my rhymes did offend, Your pardon, a thousand times o'er; From friendship I strove, Your pangs to remove, But, I swear, I will do so no more.

2.

Since your beautiful maid, Your flame has repaid, No more I your folly regret; She's now most divine, And I bow at the shrine, Of this quickly reformèd coquette.

3.

Yet still, I must own, [i] I should never have known, From your verses, what else she deserv'd; Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate, As your fair was so dev'lish reserv'd.

4.

Since the balm-breathing kiss [ii] Of this magical Miss, Can such wonderful transports produce; [iii] Since the "world you forget, When your lips once have met," My counsel will get but abuse.

5.

You say, "When I rove," "I know nothing of love;" Tis true, I am given to range; If I rightly remember, I've lov'd a good number; [iv] Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.

6.

I will not advance, [v] By the rules of romance, To humour a whimsical fair; Though a smile may delight, Yet a frown will affright, [vi] Or drive me to dreadful despair.

7.

While my blood is thus warm, I ne'er shall reform, To mix in the Platonists' school; Of this I am sure, Was my Passion so pure, Thy Mistress would think me a fool. [vii]

8 [viii]

And if I should shun, Every woman for one, Whose image must fill my whole breast; Whom I must prefer, And sigh but for her, What an insult 'twould be to the rest!

9.

Now Strephon, good-bye; I cannot deny, Your passion appears most absurd; Such love as you plead, Is pure love, indeed, For it only consists in the word.