A Thousand Martyrs I Have Made, All Sacrificed To My Desire, A Thousand Beauties Have Betray'D That Languish In Resistless Fire: The Untamed Heart To Hand I Brought, And Fix'D The Wild And Wand'Ring Thought. I Never Vow'D Nor Sigh'D In Vain, But Both, Tho' False, Were Well Received; The Fair Are Pleased To Give Us Pain, And What They Wish Is Soon Believed: And Tho' I Talk'D Of Wounds And Smart, Love'S Pleasures Only Touch'D My Heart. Alone The Glory And The Spoil I Always Laughing Bore Away; The Triumphs Without Pain Or Toil, Without The Hell The Heaven Of Joy; And While I Thus At Random Rove Despise The Fools That Whine For Love.