To a LADY: She refusing to continue a Dispute with me, and leaving me in the Argument. An ODE.

To a LADY: She refusing to continue a Dispute with me, and leaving me in the Argument.

An ODE.

I.

Spare, Gen'rous Victor, spare the Slave, Who did unequal War pursue; That more than Triumph He might have, In being overcome by You.

II.

In the Dispute whate'er I said, My Heart was by my Tongue bely'd; And in my Looks You might have read, How much I argu'd on your side.

III.

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.

IV.

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.

V.

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.

VI.

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.

VII.

Deeper to wound, See shuns the Fight: She drops her Arms, to gain the Field: Secures her Conquest by her Flight; And triumphs, when She seems to yield.

VIII.

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.