Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/507

 412. The Libertine

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.

JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER

1647-1680

413. Return

Absent from thee, I languish still; Then ask me not, When I return? The straying fool 'twill plainly kill To wish all day, all night to mourn.