ON A PIN THAT HURT AMINTA'S EYE

by: Aphra Behn (1640-1689)

      njurious pin, how durst thou steal so nigh?
      To touch, nay worse, to hurt his precious eye.
      Base instrument, so ill thou'st played thy part,
      Wounding his eye, thou'st wounded my poor heart,
      And for each pitied drop his eye did shed,
      My sympathizing heart a thousand bled:
      Too daring pin, was there no tincture good,
      To bathe thy point, but my Aminta's blood?

      Could thy ambition teach thee so to sin?
      Was that a place for thee to revel in?
      'Twas there thy mistress had designed to be,
      And must she find a rival too in thee?
      Cursed fate! that I should harbour thee so long,
      And thou at last conspire to do me wrong:
      Though well I knew thy nature to be rude,
      And all thy kin full of ingratitude,
      I little thought thou wouldst presume so far,
      To aim thy malice at so bright a star.

      Now all the service thou canst render me
      Will never recompense this injury.

      Well, get thee gone--for thou shalt never more
      Have power to hurt what I so much adore.
      Hence from my sight, and mayst thou ever lie
      A crooked object to each scornful eye.
       

MORE POEMS BY APHRA BEHN

RELATED WEBSITES

  • Aphra Behn - A biography of the British poet and dramatist.
  • Aphra Behn - A biography of the British dramatist and spy for England, code-named "Astrea" or Agent 160.
  • Purchase books by Aphra Behn

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