Spare, gen'rous victor, spare the slave, <br />Who did unequal war pursue; <br />That more than triumph he might have, <br />In being overcome by you. <br /> <br />In the dispute whate'er I said, <br />My heart was by my tongue belied; <br />And in my looks you might have read <br />How much I argued on your side. <br /> <br />You, far from danger as from fear, <br />Might have sustain'd an open fight: <br />For seldom your opinions err: <br />Your eyes are always in the right. <br /> <br />Why, fair one, would you not rely <br />On Reason's force with Beauty's join'd? <br />Could I their prevalence deny, <br />I must at once be deaf and blind. <br /> <br />Alas! not hoping to subdue, <br />I only to the fight aspir'd: <br />To keep the beauteous foe in view <br />Was all the glory I desir'd. <br /> <br />But she, howe'er of vict'ry sure. <br />Contemns the wreath too long delay'd; <br />And, arm'd with more immediate pow'r, <br />Calls cruel silence to her aid. <br /> <br />Deeper to wound, she shuns the fight: <br />She drops her arms, to gain the field: <br />Secures her conquest by her flight; <br />And triumphs, when she seems to yield. <br /> <br />So when the Parthian turn'd his steed, <br />And from the hostile camp withdrew; <br />With cruel skill the backward reed <br />He sent; and as he fled, he slew.<br /><br />Matthew Prior<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-lady-5/
