Poem by Alexander Brome

To his Mistress affrighted in the wars

1.

COme sigh no more, but kiss again,
These troubles shall never trouble me;
Your sighs are but wind, and your sorrows vain;
They'l never the sooner for us agree.
Let Canons keep roaring
And bullets still fly,
While I am adoring
Thee, my deity.
Hang this wealth! let money flee,
They cannot undo me, while I have thee.

2.

I'll be thy Champion to defend
Thy person from all these dangers and harms;
No Army's so sure as a real friend,
Nor Castle defends like a lovers arms.
But if I can't daunt 'um,
By valour and might,
Your face shall enchant 'um,
For beauty can fight.
There's no armour can men free
From the naked pow'r of such beauties as thee.

3.

I Venus serve, a fig for Mars,
Loves arrows may wound, but neuer kill me;
Me thinks there's no pleasure in bloudy wars,
But I long to be wounded and taken by thee?
When our bullets are kisses,
And our field is a bed,
And the top of our bliss is
A pure maidenhead.
Both will strive to lose the day,
And both shall be conquer'd, yet not run away.

1. To his Mistress (LAdy you'l wonder when you see)
2. The Damosel
3. On the Queens Arrival
4. On the Kings Return
5. The Satyr of Money

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