As free as wanton Winds I liv’d,
That unconcern’d do play:
No broken Faith, no Fate I griev’d;
No Fortune gave me Joy.
A dull Content crown’d all my Hours,
My Heart no Sighs opprest;
I call’d in vain on no deaf Pow’rs,
To ease a tortur’d Breast.
The sighing Swains regardless pin’d,
And strove in vain to please:
With pain I civilly was kind,
But could afford no Ease.
Tho’ Wit and Beauty did abound,
The Charm was wanting still,
That could inspire the tender Wound,
Or bend my careless Will.
Till in my Heart a kindling Flame
Your softer Sighs had blown;
Which I, with striving, Love and Shame,
Too sensibly did own.
Whate’er the God before cou’d plead;
Whate’er the Youth’s Desert;
The feeble Siege in vain was laid
Against my stubborn Heart.
At first my Sighs and Blushes spoke,
Just when your Sighs would rise;
And when you gaz’d, I wish’d to look,
But durst not meet your Eyes.
I trembled when my Hand you press’d,
Nor cou’d my Guilt controul;
But Love prevail’d, and I confess’d
The Secrets of my Soul.
And when upon the giving part,
My Present to avow,
By all the ways confirm’d my Heart,
That Honour wou’d allow;
Too mean was all that I could say,
Too poorly understood:
I gave my Soul the noblest way,
My Letters made it good.