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Matthew Prior - To A Lady
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     Spare, gen`rous victor, spare the slave,
      Who did unequal war pursue;
    That more than triumph he might have,
      In being overcome by you.

     In the dispute whate`er I said,
      My heart was by my tongue belied;
    And in my looks you might have read
      How much I argued on your side.

     You, far from danger as from fear,
     Might have sustain`d an open fight:
   For seldom your opinions err:
     Your eyes are always in the right.

    Why, fair one, would you not rely
     On Reason`s force with Beauty`s join`d?
   Could I their prevalence deny,
     I must at once be deaf and blind.

    Alas! not hoping to subdue,
     I only to the fight aspir`d:
   To keep the beauteous foe in view
     Was all the glory I desir`d.

    But she, howe`er of vict`ry sure.
     Contemns the wreath too long delay`d;
   And, arm`d with more immediate pow`r,
     Calls cruel silence to her aid.

    Deeper to wound, she shuns the fight:
     She drops her arms, to gain the field:
   Secures her conquest by her flight;
     And triumphs, when she seems to yield.

    So when the Parthian turn`d his steed,
     And from the hostile camp withdrew;
   With cruel skill the backward reed
     He sent; and as he fled, he slew.
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