Then thou shalt conquer many, then.thy dartsShall scatter thousand wounds on tender hearts:Thy shafts themselves will fly, thy neighb'ring fireWill catch mens' breasts, and kindle warm desire.Thus conqu'ring Bacchus looks in
Indian groves,He drawn by tigers, thou by murm'ring doves.Well then, since I too can increase thy train,Spend not thy force on me, and rage in vain;Look on thy kinsman Caesar's happy slaves,The same victorious arm that conquers, saves. Elegy III: To His Mistress. By Charles Hopkins.Be just, dear maid, an equal passion prove,Or show me cause why I should ever love.I do not at your cold disdain repine,Nor ask your love, do you but suffer mine.I dare not aim at more exalted bliss,And Venus will bestow her vot'ry this.Take hin, who will for endless ages serve:Take him whose faithful flame will never swerveThough no illustrious names my race adorn;Who am but of equestrian order born;