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- A Thousand Martyrs
- by Aphra Behn
- A thousand martyrs I have made,
- All sacrificed to my desire;
- A thousand beauties have betrayed,
- 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 received.
- The fair are pleased to give us pain,
- And what they wish is soon believed.
- 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.
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