do not think my Heart
So absolute a Slave:
Nor in so mean a servile state,
But if I say that you're Ingrate,
I've Pride, and Pow'r, enough, my Chains to Brave.
I Scorn to Grieve, or Sigh for one,
That does my Tears Neglect;
If in your Looks you Coldness wear,
Or a desire of Change Appear,
I can your Vows, your Love, and you Reject.
What refined madness would it be,
With Tears to dim those Eyes,
Whose Rays, if Grief do not Rebate(1),
Each hour new Lovers might Create,
And with each Look, gain a more glorious Prize!
Then do not think with Frowns to Fright,
Or Threaten me with Hate,
For I can be as cold as you,
Disdain as much, as proudly too,
And break my Chain in spite of Love or Fate.