John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647–1680)

WHEN on those lovely looks I gaze,

To see a wretch pursuing,

In raptures of a blest amaze,

His pleasing happy ruin,

’Tis not for pity that I move;

His fate is too aspiring,

Whose heart, broke with a load of love,

Dies wishing and admiring.

But if this murder you’d forego,

Your slave from death removing,

Let me your art of charming know,

Or learn you mine of loving;

But, whether life or death betide,

In love ’tis equal measure,

The victor lives with empty pride,

The vanquished dies with pleasure.