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.