Текст оригинала на английском языке
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A THOUSAND Martyrs I have made, All sacrific'd to my desire; A thousand Beauties have betray'd, That languish in resistless Fire. The untam'd Heart to hand I brought, And fixt the wild and wandring Thought. I never vow'd nor sigh'd in vain But both, thф false, were well receiv'd. The Fair are pleas'd to give us pain, And what they wish is soon believ'd. And thф I talked of Wounds and Smart, Loves Pleasures only toucht 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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