To a Lady: She Refusing to Continue a Dispute with Me

SPARE, gen'rous Victor, spare the slave.
Who did unequal war pursue ;
That more than triumph he might have,
In being overcome by you.

In the dispute whate'er I said,
My heart was by my tongue belied ;
And in my looks you might have read
How much I argu'd on your side.

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.

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.

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.

But she, howe'er of vict'ry sure,
Contemns the wreath too long delay'd ;
And, arm'd with more immediate power,
Calls cruel silence to her aid.

Deeper to wound, she shuns the fight :
She drops her arms, to gain the field :
Secures her conquest by her flight :
And triumphs, when she seems to yield.

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.