The Snow-Ball. A Translation. To Madam D— B—

I Dera Snow-balls made, and at me threw;
What can a persecuted Lover do?
What Labyrinths are these in which I rove?
Inextricable are the Schools of Love.
Ev'n Snow, O Irony! to Fire she turns,
And every Vein, with cold struck thorough, burns.
Ah what so cold! yet that she could inspire,
With heat enough to kindle my desire,
Thrown only by her hands it set my heart on fire.
What Antidote can such a Plague remove?
What place can save me from the Charms of Love?
If ev'n the Elements unconstant prove;
If they (like all the World) begin to cheat,
If Contrarieties can so friendly meet,
And cold so naturally bring forth heat;
If Snow it self a hidden Fire contains,
She only, only she can ease my pains;
She captiv'd first my heart, she must unloose my Chains.
But ah! my flames cannot be quenched so,
By virtue of cold Ice, or frozen Snow.