A Thousand Martyrs

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 fixed the wild and wandering thought.

I never vowed nor sighed in vain
   But both, though false, were well receiv'd.
The fair are pleased to give us pain,
   And what they wish is soon believ'd.
And though I talked of wounds and smart,
Loves 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
Despise the fools that whine for Love.