Aphra Behn ( )


To Lysander



(On some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart than twas worth.)

                                    I

Take back that Heart, you with such Caution give,
    Take the fond valud Trifle back;
I hate Love-Merchants that a Trade woud drive
    And meanly cunning Bargains make.


                                    II

I care not how the busy Market goes,
   And scorn to Chaffer for a price:
Love does one Staple Rate on all impose,
   Nor leaves it to the Traders Choice.


                                    III

A Heart requires a Heart Unfeignd and True,
    Though Subtly you advance the Price,
And ask a Rate that Simple Love neer knew:
    And the free Trade Monopolize.

                                    IV

An humble Slave the Buyer must become,
    She must not bate a Look or Glance
You will have all or youll have none;
    See how Loves Market you inhance.

                                    V

Ist not enough, I gave you Heart for Heart,
    But I must add my Lips and Eies;
I must no friendly Smile or Kiss impart;
    But you must Dun me with Advice.
 
                                    VI

And every Hour still more unjust you grow,
   Those Freedoms you my life deny,
You to Adraste are obligd to show,
   And giver her all my Rifled Joy.
 
                                    VII

Without Controul she gazes on that Face,
   And all the happy Envyed Night,
In the pleasd Circle of your fond imbrace:
   She takes away the Lovers Right.
 
                                    VIII

From me she Ravishes those silent hours,
   That are by Sacred Love my due;
Whilst I in vain accuse the angry Powers,
   That make me hopeless Love pursue.
 
                                    IX

Adrastes Ears with that dear Voice are blest,
   That Charms my Soul at every Sound,
And with those Love-Inchanting Touches prest:
   Which I neer felt without a Wound.
 
                                    X

She has thee all: whilst I with silent Greif,
   The Fragments of they Softness feel,
Yet dare not blame the happy licencd Thief:
   That does my Dear-bought Pleasures steal.
 
                                    XI

Whilst like a Glimering Taper still I burn,
   And waste my self in my own flame,
Adraste takes the welcome rich Return:
   And leaves me all the hopeless Pain.

                                    XII

Be just, my lovely Swain, and do not take
   Freedoms youll not to me allow;
Or give Amynta so much Freedom back:
   That she may Rove as well as you.
 
                                    XIII

Let us then love upon the honest Square,
   Since Interest neither have designd,
For the sly Gamester, who neer plays me fair,
   Must Trick for Trick expect to find.



Aphra Behn's other poems:
  1. Oh, How the Hand the Lover Ought to Prize
  2. Epitaph on the Tombstone of a Child, the Last of Seven that Died Before
  3. The Disappointment
  4. Angellicas Lament
  5. Love Arm'd


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