Sometimes I rail’d again, and wou’d upbraid, Reproachfully, the charming fickle Maid: Sometimes I vow’d to do’t no more, But one, vain, short-liv’d hour, Wou’d Perjure all I’d Sworn before, And Damn my fancy’d Pow’r. Sometimes the sullen fit wou’d last, A teadious live-long day: But when the wrecking hours were past, With what Impatience wou’d I hast, And let her Feet weep my neglect away. Quarrels are the Reserves Love keeps in store, To aid his Flames and make ‘em burn the more. The PENITENT. I. _With Rigor Arm your self, (I cry’d)_ _It is but just and fit;_ _I merit all this Treatment from your Pride,_ _All the reproaches of your Wit;_ _Put on the cruel Tyrant as you will,_ _But know, my tender Heart adores you still._ II. _And yet that Heart has Murmur’d too,_ } _And been so insolent to let you know,_ } _It did complain, and rave, and rail’d at you;_ } _Yet all the while by every God I swear,_ _By every pitying Pow’r the wretched hear;_ _By all those Charms that dis-ingage,_ _My Soul from the extreams of Rage;_ _By all the Arts you have to save and kill,_ _My faithful tender Heart adores you still._ III. _But oh you shou’d excuse my soft complaint,_ _Even my wild Ravings too prefer,_ _I sigh, I burn, I weep, I faint,_ _And vent my Passions to the Air;_ _Whilst all my Torment, all my Care_ _Serves but to make you put new Graces on,_ _You Laugh, and Rally my despair,_ _Which to my Rivals renders you more fair;_ _And but the more confirms my being undone:_ _Sport with my Pain as gayly as you will,_ _My fond, my tender Heart adores you still._ My differing Passions thus, did never cease, Till they had touch’d her Soul with tenderness; My _Rivals_ now are banish’d by degrees, } And with ‘em all my Fears and Jealousies; } And all advanc’d, as if design’d to please. } The City of LOVE.