Metin
Hoping to be at last belov'd, (though vain
755
Those hopes) we linger, and indulge our pain.
T' our own defects, through self-opinion, blind,
We wonder how the fair can be unkind.
Ne'er think that what she says or swears is true;
She fears the gods no more than she fears you.
760
Nor trust her tears, though plenteous tears distil;
Their eyes are disciplin'd to weep at will.
With various arts they storm a lover's mind,
Like some bleak rock expos'd to waves and wind.
Nourish the just resentments in your heart,
765
But ne'er declare the reason why you part.
For tax'd with crimes, she'll plead her innocence;
And you'll too much incline to her defence.
Contract th' indictment; spinning out the charge,
But shows you'd have her clear herself at large.
770
Nor yet abruptly should you leave the fair
And, like Ulysses, drive them to despair:He not only abandoned Circe, but Calypso queen of Ogygia, who had been as kind to him as Circe.
To no such violent methods I'll advise,
Nor aid a lover while his mistress dies.
