chapter  60
A PINDARIC To Mr. P. who sings finely.
Pages 2

Damon, altho you waste in vain, That pretious breath of thine, Where lies a Pow’r in every strain, To take in any other heart, but mine; 5 Yet do not cease to sing, that I may know, By what soft Charms and Arts, What more than Humane ’Tis you do, To take, and keep your hearts; Or have you Vow’d never to wast your breath, 10 But when some Maid must fall a Sacrifice, As Indian Priest[s] prepare a death, For Slaves t’addorn their Victories, Your Charm’s as powerful, if I live, For I as sensible shall be, 15 What wound you can, to all that hear you, give, As if you wounded me; And shall as much adore your wondrous skill, As if my heart each dying Note cou’d kill. And yet I should not tempt my Fate, 20 Nor trust my feeble strength, Which does with ev’ry softning Note abate, And may at length Reduce me to the wretched Slave I hate; Tis strange extremity in me, 25 To venture on a doubtful Victory, Where if you fail, I gain no more, Than what I had before; But ’twill certain comfort bring, If I unconquer’d do escape from you; 30 If I can live, and hear you sing, No other Forces can my Soul subdue; 179Sing Damon then, and let each Shade, Which with thy Heavenly voice is happy made, Bear witness if my courage be not great, 35 To hear thee sing, and make a safe retreat.