Silvia, Perjur'd

She has, ye Gods, forgot the Vows she made,
And, conscious, flies the wretch she has betray'd!
But, if she's yet not past the pow'r of Love,
If Constancy have Charms, or Verse can move,
I'll fetch thy Vertue back, forgetful fair,
And prove that plighted Oaths are something more than air;
In that sad Language I'll my wrongs impart,
So lively will I paint my bleeding heart,
Ev'n thou thy self shalt blush, and think it strange
It shou'd be capable of such a change!
Yes, fair persidious Maid, 'twill make thee pause,
To see all this and know thou art the cause:
For by your Falshood, to soft Peace a Foe,
I'm rais'd to the extremest pitch of woe,
From whence surveying all the numerous fry
Of Men, I see not one so curst as I.
Did Angels know my truth as well as you,
Ev'n they wou'd wonder Man shou'd be so true,
But wonder more thou shou'd'st unfaithful prove
To such an inexhausted fund of Love.
You know, and I shall nere forget the time,
(If Love was Vertue then, why is it now a crime?)
When I lay raptur'd on your panting Breast,
Raptures not lawful here to be exprest;
When by the awful pow'rs above you swore,
Nay, by our mutual love, and that was more,
That to me only you your heart resign'd,
And for my sake rejected all Mankind:
Did I not there, too, vow the same to you?
You heard me, and your own bright Eyes di view.
How zealously I lookt on Heav'n above,
Wish't it unkind to me if I prov'd false to love
Have we not since too often done the same?
With fresh indearments fed th' eternal Flame?
Eternal! — No, 'twas momentany, slight,
A short-liv'd Meteor, a glaring light,
A blaze, an Ignis fatuus of the night;
By which thou'st led me over Bush and Thorn,
Drill'd on by hope, and driven back with scorn:
Sure thou dost think thou at Love's Auction art,
And dost, by Inch of Candle, parcel out thy heart;
Thy Flame so far from lasting, I ev'n doubt
Thou dost but light it up to put it out,
Or sindge us purblind Moths that fly about.
Destructive Sex! for as thou usest me,
So each Man's us'd by some persidious she.
Cruel, or false y'are all; and he is blest,
He only, that excludes you from his Breast,
Nor lets your Tarrier Love dislodge his rest.
O wou'd kind Heav'n my ancient peace restore,
That Liberty which I contemn'd before,
Away, I'd cry, with Love, and think of it no more.