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The Libertine
(10 July 1640 – 16 April 1689 / Wye, England)

The Libertine

A THOUSAND martyrs I have made,
   All sacrificed to my desire,
A thousand beauties have betray'd
   That languish in resistless fire:
The untamed heart to hand I brought,
And fix'd the wild and wand'ring thought.

I never vow'd nor sigh'd in vain,
   But both, tho' false, were well received;
The fair are pleased to give us pain,
   And what they wish is soon believed:
And tho' I talk'd of wounds and smart,
Love's pleasures only touch'd my heart.

Alone the glory and the spoil
   I always laughing bore away;
The triumphs without pain or toil,
   Without the hell the heaven of joy;
And while I thus at random rove
Despise the fools that whine for love.

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Comments (3)

Loves pleasures only touched my heart Fantastic imagery. Thanks for sharing it here.
.........a wonderful poem with some great lines ★ And tho' I talk'd of wounds and smart, Love's pleasures only touch'd my heart.
............some beautiful lines in this write... ~ And tho' I talk'd of wounds and smart, Love's pleasures only touch'd my heart. ~