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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431488" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Wednesday, the Tête à Tête</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">DANCINDA.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;NO, fair DANCINDA, no; you strive in vain<br>&quot;To calm my care and mitigate my pain ;<br>&quot;If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move,<br>&quot;Ah! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus STREPHON spoke. DANCINDA thus reply'd :<br>`What must I do to gratify your pride?<br>`Too well you know (ungrateful as thou art)<br>`How much you triumph in this tender heart;<br>`What proof of love remains for me to grant?<br>Yet still you teize me with some new complaint.<br>Oh ! would to heav'n ! -- but the fond wish is vain --<br>Too many favours had not made it plain !<br>But such a passion breaks thro' all disguise,<br>Love reddens on my cheek and wishes in my eyes.<br>Is't not enough (inhuman and unkind !)<br>I own the secret conflict of my mind ?<br>You cannot know what secret pain I prove,<br>When I with burning blushes own I love.<br>You see my artless joy at your approach,<br>I sigh, I faint, I tremble at your touch ;<br>And in your absence all the world I shun ;<br>I hate mankind, and curse the cheering sun.<br>Still as I fly, ten thousand swains pursue ;<br>Ten thousand swains I sacrifice to you.<br>I shew you all my heart without disguise :<br>But these are tender proofs that you despise --<br>I see too well what wishes you pursue ;<br>You wou'd not only conquer, but undo :<br>You, cruel victor, weary of your flame,<br>Would seek a cure in my eternal shame ;<br>And not content my honour to subdue,<br>Now strive to triumph o'er my virtue too.<br>Oh ! LOVE, a God indeed to womankind,<br>Whose arrows burn me and whose fetters bind,<br>Avenge thy altars, vindicate thy fame,<br>And blast these traytors that profane thy name,<br>Who by pretending to thy sacred fire,<br>Raise cursed trophies to impure desire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Have you forgot with what ensnaring art<br>You first seduc'd this fond uncautious heart ?<br>Then as I fled, did you not kneeling cry,<br>Turn, cruel beauty ; whither wou'd you fly ?<br>Why all these Doubts ? why this distrustful fear ?<br>No impious wishes shall offend your ear :<br>Nor ever shall my boldest hopes pretend<br>Above the title of a tender friend ;<br>Blest, if my lovely Goddess will permit<br>My humble vow, thus sighing at her feet.<br>The tyrant Love that in my Bosom reigns,<br>The God himself submits to wear your chains ;<br>You shall direct his course, his ardour tame,<br>And check the fury of his wildest flame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unpractis'd youth is easily deceiv'd ;<br>Sooth'd by such sounds, I listen'd and believ'd :<br>Now quite forgot that soft submissive fear :<br>You dare to ask what I must blush to hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cou'd I forget the honour of my race,<br>And meet your wishes, fearless of disgrace ;<br>Cou'd passion o'er my tender youth prevail,<br>And all my mother's pious maxims fail ;<br>Yet to preserve your heart (which still must be,<br>False as it is, for ever dear to me)<br>This fatal proof of love I wou'd not give,<br>Which you contemn the moment you receive.<br>The wretched she, who yields to guilty joys<br>A man may pity, but he must despise.<br>Your ardour ceas'd, I then shou'd see you shun<br>The wretched victim by your arts undone.<br>Yet if I cou'd that cold indifference bear,<br>What more wou'd strike me with the last despair,<br>With this reflection wou'd my soul be torn,<br>To know I merited your cruel scorn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Has Love no pleasures free from guilt or fear ?<br>Pleasures less fierce, more lasting, more sincere ?<br>Thus let us gently kiss and fondly gaze,<br>Love is a child, and like a child it plays.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O STREPHON, if you wou'd continue just,<br>If Love be something more than brutal lust,<br>Forbear to ask what I must still deny,<br>This bitter pleasure, this destructive joy,<br>So closely follow'd by the dismal train<br>Of cutting shame, and guilt's heart-piercing pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She paus'd ; and fix'd her eyes upon her fan ;<br>He took a pinch of snuff, and thus began ;<br>Madam, if Love -- but he cou'd say no more,<br>For Mademoiselle came rapping at the door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dangerous moments no adieus afford ;<br>Begone, she cries, I'm sure I hear my Lord.<br>The lover starts from his unfinish'd loves,<br>To snatch his hat, and seek his scatter'd gloves :<br>The sighing dame to meet her dear prepares,<br>While STREPHON cursing, slips down the back-stairs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lady+Mary+Wortley+Montagu">Lady Mary Wortley Montagu</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431488" data-title="Wednesday, the Tête à Tête de Lady Mary Wortley Montagu" data-description="DANCINDA.

&quot;NO, fair DANCINDA, no; you strive in vain
&quot;To calm my care and mitigate my pain ;
&quot;If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move,
&quot;Ah! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love.&quot;

Thus STREPHON spoke. DANCINDA thu..."></div>
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