Shall find their fables true in us.

[8]

LES AMOURS

Tyrant, farewell! this heart, the prize

And triumph of thy scornful eyes,

I sacrifice to heaven, and give

To quit my sins, that durst believe

A woman's easy faith, and place

True joys in a changing face.

Yet ere I go: by all those tears

And sighs I spent 'twixt hopes and fears;

By thy own glories, and that hour

Which first enslav'd me to thy power;

I beg, fair one, by this last breath,

This tribute from thee after death.

If, when I'm gone, you chance to see

That cold bed where I lodgèd be,

Let not your hate in death appear,

But bless my ashes with a tear:

This influx from that quick'ning eye,

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