ON A PIN THAT HURT AMINTA'S EYE
by: Aphra Behn (1640-1689)
POEMS BY APHRA BEHN
- 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.