To Mr. W[Illiam] Hammond

Thou best of Friendship, Knowledge, and of Art!The charm of whose lov'd name preserves my heartFrom female vanities, (thy name, which thereTill time dissolves the fabric, I must wear!)Forgive a crime which long my soul oppress'd,And crept by chance in my unwary breast,So great, as for thy pardon were unfit,And to forgive were worse than to commit,But that the fault and pain were so much one,The very act did expiate what was done.I, who so often sported with the flame,Play'd with the Boy, and laugh'd at both as tame,Betray'd by idleness and beauty, fellAt last in love, love both the sin and hell:No punishment great as my fault esteem'd,But to be that which I so long had seem'd.Behold me such: a face, a voice, a lute;The sentence in a minute execute.I yield, recant; the faith which I beforeDeny'd, profess; the power I scorn'd, implore.Alas, in vain! no prayers, no vows can bowHer stubborn heart, who neither will allow.But see how strangely what was meant no lessThan torment, prov'd my greatest happiness;Delay, that should have sharpen'd, starv'd Desire,And Cruelty not fann'd, but quench'd my fire.Love bound me; now, by kind Disdain set free,I can despise that Love as well as she.That sin to friendship I away have thrown!My heart thou may'st without a rival own,While such as willingly themselves beguile,And sell away their freedoms for a smile,Blush to confess our joys as far aboveTheir hopes, as friendship's longer-liv'd than love.