Classic Poem

In vain would lovers hide their infant smart
From me, a master in the amorous art;
I read their passion in their mien and eyes,
O'erhear their whispers, and explain their sighs.
This skill no Delphian oracles bestow'd,
No augurs taught me, and no victims show'd;
But love my wrists with magic fillets bound,
Lash'd me, and, lashing, mutter'd many a sound.
No more then, Marathus, indifference feign,
Else vengeful Venus will enhance your pain!
What now, sweet youth, avails your anxious care,
So oft to essence, oft to change your hair?
What though cosmetics all their aid supply,
And every artifice of dress you try;
She's not oblig'd to braids, to gems, to clothes,
Her charms to nature Pholoe only owes.
What spells devote you? say, what philters bind?
What midnight sorceress fascinates your mind?
Spells can seduce the corn from neighbouring plains,
The headlong serpent halts at magic strains;
And did not cymbals stop thy prone career,
A spell thee, Luna, from thy orb would tear!
Why do I magic for your passion blame;
Magic is useless to a perfect frame:
You squeez'd her hands, your arms around her threw,
Join'd lip to lip, and hence your passion grew.
Cease then, fair maid, to give your lover pain;
Love hates the haughty, will avenge the swain.
See youth vermilions o'er his modest face!
Can riches equal such a boy's embrace?
Then ask no bribe — when age affects the gay,
Your every smile let hoary dotage pay;
But you your arms around the stripling throw,
And scorn the treasure monarchs can bestow.
But she who gives to age her charms, for pay,
May her wealth perish, and her bloom decay!
Then when impatience thrills in every vein,
May manhood shun her, and the young disdain!
Alas! when age has silver'd o'er the head,
And youth, that feeds the lamp of love, is fled,
In vain the toilette charms; 'tis vain to try,
Gray scanty locks with yellow nuts to dye;
You strip the tell-tales vainly from their place,
And vainly strive to mend an aged face.
Then in thine eyes while youth triumphant glows,
And with his flowers thy cheeks my fair one sows,
Incline thine heart to love, and gentle play;
Youth, youth has rapid wings, and flies away!
The fond old lover vilify, disdain;
What praise can crown you from a stripling's pain?
Spare then the lovely boy; his beauties die;
By no dire sickness sent him from the sky:
The gods are just; you, Pholoe, are to blame;
His sallow colour from your coyness came.
O wretched youth! how oft, when absent you,
Groans rend his breast, and tears his cheeks bedew?
" Why dost thou rack me with contempt? (he cries)
The willing ever can elude their spies.
Had you, O had you felt what now I feel,
Venus would teach you from your spies to steal.
I can breathe low, can snatch the melting kiss,
And noiseless ravish love's enchanting bliss;
At midnight can securely grope my way;
The floor tread noiseless, noiseless turn the key.
Poor, fruitless skill! my skill if she despise;
And cruel from the bed of rapture flies.
Or if a promise haply I obtain,
That she will recompense at night my pain;
How am I dup'd? I wakeful listen round,
And think I hear her in each casual sound.
Perish the wiles of love, and arts of dress!
In russet weeds I'll shrowd my wretchedness.
The wiles of love, and arts of dress are vain,
My fair to soften, and admittance gain."
Youth, weep no more; your eyes are swoln with tears;
No more complain; for, oh! she stops her ears.
The gods, I warn you, hate the haughty fair,
Reject their incense, and deny their prayer.
This youth, this Marathus, who wears your chains,
Late laugh'd at love, and ridicul'd its pains.
The' impatient lover in the street would stay,
Nor dreamt that vengeance would his crimes repay.
Now, now he moans his past misdeeds with tears,
A prey to love, and all its frantic fears:
Now he exclaims at female scorn and hate;
And from his soul abhors a bolted gate.
Like vengeance waits you; trust the' unerring muse,
If still you're coy, and still access refuse:
Then, how you'll wish, when old, contemn'd of all,
But vainly wish, these moments to recal!