To Dr. R. S. my indifferent Lover, who complain'd of my Indifferency

YOu'd little reason to complain of me,
Or my unkindness or indiff'rency,
Since I by many a circumstance can prove,
That int'rest was the motive of your love;
But Heav'n it self doth ever hate th' address,
Whose crafty Motive's only interess;
No more can honest Maids endure to be,
The objects of your wife indiff'rency.
Such wary Courtship only should be shown
To cunning jilting Baggages o'th' Town:
For faithfull Love•s the rhetorick that persuades,
And charms the hearts of silly Countrey Maids.
But when we find your Courtship's but pretence,
Love were not Love in us, but impudence.
At best I'm sure it needs must prove to us
(What e're you think on't) most injurious.
For had I of that gentle nature been,
As to have lov'd your Person, Wit, or Mien,
How many sighs and tears it would have cost,
And fruitless expectations by the Post,
Saying he is unkind; oh, no, his Letter's lost;
Hoping him sick, or lame, or gone to Sea,
Hope any thing but his inconstancy.
Thus what in other Friends cause greatest fear,
To desp'rate Maids, their only comforts are.
This I through all your Blandishments did see,
Thanks to ill nature that instructed me:
Thoughts of your sighs, would plead sometimes for you,
But second thoughts again would let me know,
In gayest Serpents strongest Poysons are,
And sweetest Rose-trees sharpest prickles bear:
And so it proves, for now it do's appear,
Your Flames and Sighs only for Money were.
As Beggers for their gain turn Blind and Lame;
On the same score a Lover you became:
Yet there's a kindness in this false Amour,
It teaches me ne'er to be Mistress more.
Thus Blazing Comets are of good portent,
If they excite the People to repent.