Provok’d to Vengeance, to my Aid I call
The Furies round, and dip my Pens in Galls
Not one shall ’scape of all the coz’ning Sex,
Vex’d shall they be, who so delight to vex.
In vain I try, in vain to Vengeance move
My gently Muse, so us’d to tender Love;
Such Magick rules my Heart, whate’er I write
Turns all to soft Complaint, and am’rous Flight.
Begone, fond Thoughts, begone; be bold, said I,
Satyr’s thy Theme——In vain again I try.
So charming Myra to each Sense appears,
My Soul adores, my Rage dissolves in Tears.
So the gaul’d Lion, smarting with his Wound,
Threatens his Foes, and makes the Forest sound,
With his strong Teeth he bites the bloody Dart,
And tears his Side with more provoking Smart,
’Till having spent his Voice in fruitless Cries,
He lays him down, breaks his proud Heart, and dies.