In The Person Of A Lady To Bajazet,(1) Her Unconstant Gallant. Poem by Ephelia

How far are they deceived, that hope in vain
A lasting Lease of Joys from Love t'obtain?
All the Dear Sweets we're promised, or expect,
After Enjoyment turn to cold Neglect:
Could Love a constant Happiness have known,
That Mighty Wonder had in Me been shown;
Our Passions were so favored by Fate,
As if she meant them an Eternal Date:
So kind he looked, such tender Words he spoke,
'Twas past Belief such Vows should e'er be broke:
Fixed on my Eyes, how often would he say,
He could with Pleasure gaze an Age away.
When Thought, too great for Words, had made him mute,
In Kisses he would tell my Hand his Suit:
So strong his Passion was, so far above
The common Gallantries that pass for Love:
At worst, I thought, if he unkind should prove,
His ebbing Passion would be kinder far,
Than the First Transports of all others are:
Nor was my Love weaker, or less than his;
In him I centered all my hopes of Bliss:
For him, my Duty to my Friends forgot;
For him I lost--alas! what lost I not?
Fame, all the Valuable Things of Life,
To meet his Love by a less Name than Wife.
How happy was I then! how dearly blessed!
When this Great Man lay panting on my Breast,
Looking such Things as ne'er can be expressed.
Thousand fresh Loves he gave me every hour,
While eagerly I did his Looks devour:
Quite overcome with Charms, I trembling lay,
At every Look he gave, melted away;
I was so highly happy in his Love,
Methought I pitied those that dwelt above.
Think then thou greatest, loveliest, falsest Man,
How you have vowed, how I have loved, and then
My faithless Dear, be cruel if you can.
How I have loved, I cannot, need not tell;
No, every Act has shown I loved too well.
Since first I saw you, I ne'er had a Thought,
Was not entirely yours; to you I brought
My Virgin Innocence, and freely made
My Love an Offering to your Noble Bed:
Since when, you've been the Star by which I've steered
And nothing else but you, I loved, or feared:
Your Smiles I only lived by, and I must
When e'er you Frown, be shattered into Dust.
I cannot live on Pity, or Respect,
A Thought so mean, would my whole Frame infect,
Less than your Love I scorn, Sir, to accept.
Let me not live in dull indiff'rency,
But give me Rage enough to make me die:
For if from you I needs must meet my Fate,
Before your Pity, I would choose your Hate.