Sir John Vanbrugh (1664–1726)

I SMILE at Love and all its arts,

The charming Cynthia cried:

Take heed, for Love has piercing darts,

A wounded swam replied.

Once free and blest as you are now,

I trifled with his charms,

I pointed at his little bow,

And sported with his arms;

Till, urged too far, Revenge! he cries,

A fatal shaft he drew,

It took its passage through your eyes,

And to my heart it flew.

To tear it thence I tried in vain,

To strive, I quickly found,

Was only to increase the pain,

And to enlarge the wound.

Ah! much too well, I fear you knew

What pain I’m to endure,

Since what your eyes alone could do,

Your heart alone can cure.

And that (grant Heaven I may mistake!)

I doubt is doom to bear

A burden for another’s sake,

Who ill rewards its care.