To a Lady, telling me I should Court applause, if I expected to gain it

If, like a Virgin I should Fame adore,
The more I Court, she would but fly the more.
Courtship for praise, would render me most vain,
For none e'er Courts, but has some hopes to gain.
Fame, if she comes, is welcome; but at worst,
The Poet can't be like the Lover curst.
O'er every sense my Lov'd Amasia Reign'd,
I Courted her, and Courted, she disdain'd.
No other Charmer shall my Mistress be;
For she was Fame, and every thing to me.
Let flatt'ring Fame yield to the flatt'ring Muse;
What I ne'er gain'd, ne'er sought, I cannot lose.
Yet, praise I boast, while the pretence I quit,
For 'tis my Fame, that I ne'er sought it yet.
Let others Court her in a tedious Course,
I'll not pursue, but if I meet her, force.
The God of Verse himself, pursuing, fail'd,
Had He woo'd less, he had, perhaps, prevail'd.
My Charming Daphne, my Amasia lost,
I should not much of bending Laurels boast.
From the chang'd Nymph soft sighing Breezes came;
'Tis Breath, meer Air, that gives the Poet Fame,
How would my Raptur'd vanity run high,
Could I, like Phoebus, hear my Charmer sigh!
But here no pains, no Courtship can succeed;
Amasia sigh? — that would be Fame indeed.