The Power of Love.

In this soft Amrous Age now Love is grown,
 The modish Entertainment of the Town,
 And the fond Beau loves his half score aday,
 The Ladies too almost as Vain as they;
 Spare me, ye cruel Powers, let me not prove,
 The only Victim of a lasting Love. 
I had my share three tedious Years a Slave,
 And knew no Joys but what Phylaster gave;
 When spite of Vows he prov'd unjust at last,
 In distant Shades contending Months I past,
 Thought I could see the Youth at my return,
 With gay Indifference and Unconcern. 
I long'd to know the Temper of my Heart,
 And see if Passion could outlive desert;
 But this my Curiosity has won,
 To know alass! I am again undone:
 I thought my self with Resolution bless'd,
 But the soft Gods came crouding to my Breast. 
The sporting Boys delight in Amorous Pain,
 And flock'd in hast to Revel here again;
 With downy Wings they Fan the couchant Fire,
 And every Spark revives with fresh desire:
 I Gaze and Sigh, and wish I'm just the same,
 As the first Transports of my blooming Flame. 
Almighty Love thy Power to me is known,
 Without new Tortures I'll thy Godhead own;
 But if I'm doom'd to Love may my Fate be,
 (Rather than him) to love each Face I see. 
Tis Sin against the custom of the Nation,
 To love but one and all this while with Passion,
 I'd rather be the shifting Fool in Fashion. 
Then if I'm tortur'd with Variety,
 I shan't be blam'd for Nonconformity.