Classic Poem

M ADAM

Accept this Billetdoux;
'Tis meant in earnest, and to you — —
Believe for once what's writ in Rhime,
And pardon my presumptuous Crime.

The Proverb says, 'Tis wrong to sport
With what may give a serious Hurt;
And Men below, and Gods above,
All own th' Omnipotence of Love — —
Love, long the Subject of my Jest,
But now the Tyrant of my Breast,
But now enabled to controul,
As thy Vice-gerent, all my Soul. — —

'Twas at my Aunts one Ev'ning late
Upon thy Knees the Rover sate — —
Too well he knew me for his Foe!
Too soon design'd my Overthrow!
As thick as Hail his Arrows came — —
For Cupid 's Darts (I find it true)
Not only wound, but burn us too.

Say Muse, what Points those Arrows bore,
Which did what none could do before?
When Cloe destin'd is to sway,
Love from her Eyes purloins a Ray — —
When Myra 's Pow'r some Youth must know,
He with her Girdle strings his Bow — —
Ah, had he only us'd such Arms
On me, who sought more lasting Charms!
But when he shot Amelia 's Words,
I felt worse than a thousand Swords.

O couldst thou, in thy Breast, design
A Passion to ressemble mine,
The bare Idea on thy Mind
Would leave a lasting Mark behind — —
O think Amelia what I felt
When first my Soul began to melt!
I saw a Troop of Cupids Frisk
On every Card you play'd at Whisk — —
Then first I wish'd a Gamester's Skill,
To cut an Ace when thou should'st deal — —
Then ev'ry pleasing Way I sought
To recommend me to thy Thought.

Let Fancy seign! let Pity guess!
For what, alas, can Words express?
My Judgment and my Flame agree,
And all my Wishes mount to thee;
To thee, from whom alone must flow
My lasting Bliss, or lasting Woe.