But nothing I left unattempted or said,
To soften the Heart of the Pityless Maid;
Yet still she was shy,
And would blushing deny,
Whilst her willinger Eyes gave her Language the Lye.
III.
When before the Impregnable Fort I lay down,
I resolv'd or to die, or to Purchase Renown,
But how vain was the Boast!
All the Glory I lost,
And now vanquish'd and sham'd I've quitted my Post.
The Return.
I.
Amyntas, whilst you
Have an Art to subdue,
And can conquer a Heart with a Look or a Smile;
You Pityless grow,
And no Faith will allow;
'Tis the Glory you seek when you rifle the Spoil.
II.
Your soft warring Eyes,
When prepar'd for the Prize,
Can laugh at the Aids of my feeble Disdain;
You can humble the Foe,
And soon make her to know
Tho' she arms her with Pride, her Efforts are but vain.
III.