With Pride she saw her Rivals Sigh and Pine, And vainly cry’d, The lovely Youth is mine! By all thy Charms _I_ do Conjure thee, live; By all the Joys thou canst receive, and give: By each Recess and Shade where thou and I, Loves Secrets did Unfold; And did the dull Unloving World defy: Whilst each the Hearts fond Story told. If all these Conjurations nought Prevail, Not Prayers or Sighs, or Tears avail, But Heaven has Destin’d we Depriv’d must be, Of so much _Youth_, _Wit_, _Beauty_, and of Thee; I will the Deaf and Angry Powers defie, Curse thy Decease, Bless thee, and with thee die. _To_ Lysander, _on some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart then ‘twas worth._ I. Take back that Heart, you with such Caution give, Take the fond valu’d Trifle back; I hate Love-Merchants that a Trade wou’d drive; And meanly cunning Bargains make. II. I care not how the busy Market goes, And scorn to Chaffer for a price: Love does one Staple Rate on all impose, Nor leaves it to the Traders Choice. III. A Heart requires a Heart Unfeign’d and True, Though Subt’ly you advance the Price, And ask a Rate that Simple Love ne’er knew: And the free Trade Monopolize. IV. An Humble _Slave_ the Buyer must become, She must not bate a Look or Glance, You will have all, or you’ll have none; See how Loves Market you inhaunce. V. Is’t not enough, I gave you Heart for Heart, But I must add my Lips and Eies; I must no friendly Smile or Kiss impart; But you must _Dun_ me with Advice. VI. And every Hour still more unjust you grow, Those Freedoms you my life deny, You to _Adraste_ are oblig’d to show, And give her all my Rifled Joy. VII. Without Controul she gazes on that Face, And all the happy Envyed Night, In the pleas’d Circle of your fond imbrace: She takes away the Lovers Right. VIII. From me she Ravishes those silent hours, That are by Sacred Love my due; Whilst _I_ in vain accuse the angry Powers, That make me hopeless Love pursue. IX. _Adrastes_ Ears with that dear Voice are blest, That Charms my Soul at every Sound, And with those _Love-Inchanting_ Touches prest, Which _I_ ne’er felt without a Wound. X. She has thee all: whilst _I_ with silent Greif, The Fragments of thy Softness feel, Yet dare not blame the happy licenc’d Thief: That does my Dear-bought Pleasures steal. XI.