A THOUSAND martyrs I have made,   All sacrificed to my desire, A thousand beauties have betray'd   That languish in resistless fire: The untamed heart to hand I brought, And fix'd the wild and wand'ring thought.

I never vow'd nor sigh'd in vain,   But both, tho' false, were well received; The fair are pleased to give us pain,   And what they wish is soon believed: And tho' I talk'd of wounds and smart, Love's pleasures only touch'd my heart.

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