My glorious title to my endless flame,Divinity with scorn I would forswear,Such sweet, dear, tempting devils women are.Whene'er those flames grow faint, I quickly findA fierce black storm pour down upon my mind;Headlong I'm hurl'd like horsemen who in vainTheir fury-flaming coursers would restrain.As ships, just when the harbour they attain,Are snatch'd by sudden blasts to sea again,So Love's fantastic storms reduce my heart,Half rescu'd, and the god resumes his dart.Strike here, this undefended bosom wound,And for so brave a conquest be renown'd.Shafts fly so fast to me from ev'ry part,You'll scarce discern the quiver from my heart.What wretch can bear a livelong night's dull rest,Or think himself in lazy slumbers blest?Fool-is not sleep the image of pale death?There's time for rest when fate has stopp'd your breath.Me may my soft deluding dear deceive,