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.