Spare, Generous 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 Argued 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 Aspired: To Keep The Beauteous Foe In View Was All The Glory I Desired. But She, Howe'Er Of Victory 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.