The Maid's Last Prayer -or- Any Rather Than Fail

Though you make no return to my Passion,
	 Still I presume to Adore:
'Tis in Love but an odd Reputation,
	 Faintly repuls'd to give o're:
	 When you talk of your Duty,
	 I gaze on your Beauty,
Nor mind the dull Maxime at all;
	 Let it Reign in Cheapside,
	 With the Citizen's Bride,
It will ne'er be receiv'd in Whitehall.

What Apocryphal tales are you told?
	 By one, who wou'd make you believe,
That, because of to have, and to hold,
	 You still must be Pinn'd to his Sleeve:
	 'Tis apparent High Treason,
	 Against Love, and Reason,
Shou'd one such a Treasure engross,
	 He that knows not the Joys,
	 That attend such a Choice,
Shou'd resign to another who does.

No, no, no, no, Resistance is but vain,
And only adds new weight to Cupid's Chain:
A Thousand Ways, a Thousand Arts,
The Tyrant knows to Captivate our Hearts:
Sometimes he Sighs imploys, and sometimes tries
The Universal Language of the Eyes:
The Fierce, with Fierceness he destroys:
The Weak with Tenderness decoys.
He kills the Strong with Joy, the Weak with Pain:
No, no, no, no, Resistance is but vain.

Tell me no more I am deceived,
That Chloe's false and common:
By heaven, I all along believed
She was a very woman.
As such I liked, as such caressed,
She still was constant when possessed,
She could do more for no man.

But oh! her thoughts on others ran,
And that you think a hard thing,
Perhaps she fancied you the man,
And what care I one farthing.
You think she's false, I'm sure she's kind;
I'll take her body, you her mind,
Who has the better bargain?