A Thousand Martyrs

by Aphra Behn

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 fixed the wild and wandering thought.

I never vowed nor sighed in vain
      But both, though false, were well receiv'd.
The fair are pleased to give us pain,
      And what they wish is soon believ'd.
And though I talked of wounds and smart,
Love's pleasures only touched my heart.

Alone the glory and the spoil
      I always laughing bore away;
The triumphs, without pain or toil,
      Without the hell, the heav'n of joy.
And while I thus at random rove
Despise the fools that whine for Love.