Poems upon several occasions with a voyage to the island of love : also The lover in fashion, being an account from Lydicus to Lysander of his voyage from the island of love / by Mrs. A. Behn ; to which is added a miscellany of new poems and songs, by several hands.

POEMS UPON Several Occasions ; WITH A VOYAGE TO THE Island of LOVE .

ALSO The Lover in Fashion , being an Account from LYCIDUS to LYSANDER , of his Voyage from the Island of Love .

By Mrs A. BEHN .

To which is added a Miscellany of New Poems and Songs , by several Hands .

The Second Edition .

LONDON , Printed for Francis Saunders in the Lower-Walk of the New-Exchange , 1697.

Mrs. Behn pa: 204 Vo 11

TO The Right Honourable , JAMES , EARL of SALISBURY , VISCOUNT CRAMBORN , AND BARON of ISLINGTON .

MY LORD ,

WHO should one celibrate with Verse and Song , but the Great , the Noble and the Brave ? where dedicate an Isle of Love , but to the Gay , the Soft and Young ? and who amongst Men can lay a better claim to these than Your Lordship ? who like the Sun new risen with the early Day , looks round the World and sees nothing it cannot claim an interest in ( for what cannot Wit , Beauty , Wealth and Honour claim ? ) The violent storms of Sedition and Rebellion are hush'd and calm'd ; black Treason is retir'd to its old abode , the dark Abyss of Hell ; the mysterious Riddles of Politick Knaves and Fools , which so long amused and troubled the World's repose , are luckily unfolded ; and Your Lordship is saluted at Your first coming forth , Your first setting out for the glorious and happy Race of Life , by a Nation all glad , gay and smiling ; and you have nothing before you but a ravishing prospect of eternal Joys , and everlasting inviting Pleasures , and all that Love and Fortune can bestow on their darling Youth , attend You in the noble persuit ; and nothing can prevent Your being the most happy of her Favourites , but a too eager flight , a two swift speed o'er the charming flowry Meads and Plains that lie in view , between Your setting out and the end of Your glorious Chase. A long and illustrious race of Nobility has attended Your great Name , but none I believe ever came into the World with Your Lordship's advantages ; amongst which , my Lord , 't is not the least that You have the glory to be truly Loyal , and to be adorn'd with those excellent Principles , which render Nobility so absolutely worth the Veneration which is paid 'em ; 't is those , my Lord , and not the Title that make it truly great : Grandeur in any other serves but to point 'em out more particularly to the World , and shew their Faults with the greater magnitude , and render 'em more liable to contempt and that Reward which justly persues Ingratitude ; nor is it , my Lord , the many unhappy Examples this Age has produc'd that has deter'd you from herding with the busie Unfortunates , and bringing Your powerfull aid to their detestable cause , but a noble Honesty in Your Nature , a Generosity in Your Soul . That even part of Your Education had the good fortune not to be able to corrupt ; no Opinion cou'd byass You , no Precedent debauch You ; though all the fansied Glories of Power were promis'd You , though all the Contempt thrown on good and brave Men , all the subtile Arguments of the old Serpent , were us'd against the best of Kings and his illustrious Successour , still You were unmov'd ; Your young stout Heart with a Gallantry and Force unusual resisted and defied the gilded Bait , laugh'd at the industrious Politicks of the busie Wise , and stubbornly Loyal , contemn'd the Counsels of the Grave . Go on , my Lord , advance in Noble resolution , grow up in strength of Loyalty , settle it about Your Soul , root it there like the first Principles of Religion , which nothing ever throughly defaces , and which in spight of even Reason the Soul retains , whatever little Debaucheries the Tongue may commit ; You that are great , are born the Bulwarks of sacred Majesty , its defence against all the storms of Fate , the Safety of the People in the Supporters of the Throne ; and sure none that ever obey'd the Laws of God and the Dictates of Honour ever paid those Duties to a Sovereign that more truly merited the Defence and Adorations of his People than this of ours ; and t is a blessing ( since we are oblig'd to render it to the worst of Tyrant Kings ) that we have one who so well justifies that intire Love and Submisson we ought to pay him . You , my Lord , are one whom Thousands of good Men look up to with wondrous Veneration and Joy , when 't is said Your Lordship amongst Your other Vertues is Loyal too , a true Tory ! ( a word of Honour now , the Royal Cause has sanctified it , ) and though Your Lordship needs no encouragement to a good that rewards it self , yet I am confident You are not onely rank'd in the esteem of the best of Monarchs , but we shall behold you as one of our Preservers , and all England as one of its great Patrons , when Ages that shall come shall find Your noble Name inroll'd amongst the Friends to Monarchy in an Age of so villainous Corruption : Yes , my Lord , they will find it there and bless You. 'T is this , my Lord , with every other Grace and Noble Vertue that adorns You , and gives the World such promises of Wonders in You , that makes me ambitious to be the first in the Croud of Your Admirers , that shall have the honour to celibrate Your great Name . Be pleased then , my Lord , to accept this Little Piece , which lazy Minutes begot and hard Fate has oblig'd me to bring forth into the censuring World , to which if any thing can reconcile it , 't will be the glory it has to bear Your Noble Name in the front , and to be Patronized by so great and good a Man : Permit but my Zeal for Your Lordship to attone for the rest of my Faults , and Your Lordship will extremely oblige ,

My Lord ,

Your Lordship 's most Humble , and most Obedient Servant ,

A. Behn .

TO Mrs. BEHN , ON THE PUBLISHING HER POEMS .

Madam ,

LOng has Wit 's injur'd Empire been opprest By Rhiming Fools , this Nations common Jest , And sunk beneath the weight of heavy stafes , In Tory Ballads and Whig Epitaphs ; The Ogs and Doegs reign'd , nay Baxter's zeal , Has not been wanting too in writing Ill ; Yet still in spight of what the dull can doe , 'T is here asserted and adorn'd by you . This Book come forth , their credit must decay , Ill Spirits vanish at th' approach of day : And justly we before your envy'd feet , There where our Hearts are due our Pens submit ; Ne'er to resume the baffled things again , Unless in Songs of Triumph to thy Name ; Which are outdone by every Verse of thine , Where thy own Fame does with more lustre shine , Than all that we can give who in thy Praises join Fair as the face of Heaven , when no thick Cloud Or darkning Storm the glorious prospect shroud ; In all its beauteous parts shines thy bright style , And beyond Humane Wit commedns thy skill ; With all the thought and vigour of our Sex The moving softness of your own you mix . The Queen of Beauty and the God of Wars Imbracing lie in thy due temper'd Verse , Venus her sweetness and the force of Mars . Thus thy luxuriant Muse her pleasure takes , As God of old in Eden's blissfull walks ; The Beauties of her new Creation view'd , Full of content She sees that it is good . Come then you inspir'd Swains and join your Verse , Though all in vain to add a Fame to hers ; But then your Song will best Apollo please , When it is fraight with this his Favorite's praise . Declare how when her learned Harp she strung , Our joyfull Island with the Musick rung ; Descending Graces left their Heavenly seat , To take their place in every Line she writ ; Where sweetest Charms as in her Person smile , Her Face's Beauty 's copy'd in her style . Say how as she did her just skill improve In the best Art and in soft Tales of Love . Some well sung Passion with success she crown'd , The melting Virgins languish'd at the sound . And envying Swains durst not the Pipe inspire , They'd nothing then to doe but to admire . Shepherds and Nymphs , to Pan direct your Prayer , If peradventure he your Vows will hear , To make you sing , and make you look like her . But , Nymphs and Swains , your hopes are all in vain , For such bright Eyes , and such a tunefull Pen. How many of her Sex spend half their days , To catch some Fool by managing a Face ? But she secure of charming has confin'd Her wiser care t' adorn and dress the Mind . Beauty may fade , but everlasting Verse Exempts the better portion from the Hearse . The matchless Wit and Fancy of the Fair , Which moves our envy and our Sons despair . Long they shall live a monument of her Fame , And to Eternity extend her Name ; While After-times deservedly approve The choicest object of this Ages Love . For when they reade , ghessing how far she charm'd , With that bright Body with such Wit inform'd ; They will give heed and credit to our Verse , When we the Wonders of her Face rehearse .

J. Cooper .

Buckden , Nov. 25. 1683.

To ASTRAEA , on her Poems . 'T IS not enough to reade and to admire , Thy sacred Verse does nobler thoughts inspire , Striking on every breast Poetick fire : The God of Wit attends with chearfull Rays , Warming the dullest Statue into praise . Hail then , delight of Heaven and pride of Earth , Blest by each Muse at thy auspicious birth ; Soft Love and Majesty have fram'd thy Mind , To shew the Beauties of both Sexes join'd : Thy Lines may challenge , like young David's face , A Female Sweetness and a Manly Grace ; Thy tender notions in loose numbers flow , With a strange power to charm where e'er they go : And when in stronger sounds thy voice we hear , At all the skilfull points you arm'd appear . Which way so'er thou dost thy self express , We find thy Beauty out in every dress ; Such work so gently wrought , so strongly fine , Cannot be wrought by hands all Masculine . In vain proud Man weak Woman wou'd controul , No Man can argue now against a Woman's Soul .

J. C.

To the excellent Madam Behn , on her Poems . 'T Was vain for Man the Laurels to persue , ( E'en from the God of Wit bright Daphne flew ) Man , Whose course compound damps the Muses fire , It does but touch our Earth and soon expire ; While in the softer kind th' Aetherial flame , Spreads and rejoices as from Heaven it came : This Greece in Sappho , in Orinda knew Our Isle ; though they were but low types to you ; But the faint dawn to your illustrious day , To make us patient of your brighter Ray. Oft may we see some wretched story told ; In ductile sense spread thin as leaves of Gold . You have ingrost th' inestimable Mine ; Which in well polisht Numbers you refine , While still the solid Mass shines thick in every Line . Yet neither sex do you surpass alone , Both in your Verse are in their glory shown , Both Phoebus and Minerva are your own . While in the softest dress you Wit dispense , With all the Nerves of Reason and of Sense . In mingled Beauties we at once may trace A Female Sweetness and a Manly Grace . No wonder 't is the Delphian God of old Wou'd have his Oracles by Women told . But oh ! who e'er so sweetly could repeat Soft lays of Love , and youths delightfull heat ? If Love's Misfortunes be your mournfull Theme , No dying Swan on fair Cayster's stream , Expires so sweet , though with his numerous Moan , The fading Banks and suffering Mountains groan . If you the gentle Passions wou'd inspire , With what resistless Charms you breathe desire ? No Heart so savage , so relentless none , As can the sweet Captivity disown : Ah , needs must she th' unwary Soul surprise , Whose Pen sheds Flames as dangerous as her Eyes .

J. ADAMS .

To the Authour , on her Voyage to the Island of Love . TO speak of thee no Muse will I invoke , Thou onely canst inspire what shou'd be spoke ; For all their wealth the Nine have given to thee , Thy rich and flowing stream has left them dry : Cupid may throw away his useless Darts , Thou 'st lent him one will massacre more Hearts Than all his store , thy Pen disarms us so , We yield our selves to the first beauteous Foe ; The easie softness of thy thoughts surprise , And this new way Love steals into our Eyes ; Thy gliding Verse comes on us unawares , No rumbling Metaphors alarm our Ears , And puts us in a posture of defence ; We are undone and never know from whence . So to th' Assyrian Camp the Angel flew , And in the silent Night his Millions slew . Thou leadst us by the Soul amongst thy Loves , And bindst us all in thy inchanting Groves ; Each languishes for thy Aminta's Charms , Sighs for thy fansied Raptures in her Armes , Sees her in all that killing posture laid , When Love and fond Respect guarded the sleeping Maid , Persues her to the very Bower of Bliss , Times all the wrecking joys and thinks 'em his ; In the same Trance with the young pair we lie , And in their amorous Ecstasies we die . You Nymphs , who deaf to Love's soft lays have been , Reade here , and suck the sweet destruction in : Smooth is the stream and clear is every thought , And yet you cannot see with what you 're caught ; Or else so very pleasing is the Bait , With careless heed you play and leap at it : She poisons all the Floud with such an art , That the dear Philter trickles to the Heart , With such bewitching pleasure that each sup Has all the joys of life in every drop . I see the Banks with Love-sick Virgins strow'd , Their Bosoms heav'd with the young fluttering God ; Oh , how they pant and struggle with their pain ! Yet cannot wish their former health again : Within their Breasts thy warmth and spirit glows , And in their Eyes thy streaming softness flows ; Thy Raptures are transfus'd through every vein , And thy blest hour in all their heads does reign ; The Ice that chills the Soul thou dost remove , And meltst it into tenderness and Love ; The flints about their Hearts dance to thy lays , Till the quick motion sets 'em on a Blaze . Orpheus and you the stones do both inspire , But onely you out of those flints strike fire , Not with a sudden Spark , a short liv'd Blaze , Like Womens Passions in our Gilting days ; But what you fire burns with a constant flame , Like what you write , and always is the same . Rise all ye weeping Youth , rise and appear , Whom gloomy Fate has damn'd to black Despair ; Start from the ground and throw your Mourning by , Loves great Sultana says you shall not die : The dismal dark half year is over past , The Sea is op'd , the Sun shines out at last , And Trading's free , the storms are husht as death , Or happy Lovers ravisht out of breath ; And listen to Astraea's Harmony , Such power has elevated Poetry .

T. C.

To the Lovely Witty Astraea , on her Excellent Poems . OH , wonder of thy Sex ! Where can we see , Beauty and Knowledge join'd except in thee ? Such pains took Nature with your Heav'nly Face , Form'd it for Love , and moulded every Grace ; I doubted first and fear'd that you had been Unfinish'd left like other She 's within : I see the folly of that fear , and find Your Face is not more beauteous than your Mind : Whoe'er beheld you with a Heart unmov'd , That sent not sighs , and said within he lov'd ? I gaz'd and found , a then , unknown delight , Life in your looks , and Death to leave the sight . What joys , new Worlds of joys has he possest , That gain'd the sought-for welcome of your Breast ? Your Wit wou'd recommend the homeliest Face , Your Beauty make the dullest Humour please ; But where they both thus gloriously are join'd , All Men submit , you reign in every Mind . What Passions does your Poetry impart ? It shews th' unfathom'd thing a Woman's Heart , Tells what Love is , his Nature and his Art , Displays the several Scenes of Hopes and Fears , Love's Smiles , his Sighs , his Laughings and his Tears . Each Lover here may reade his different Fate , His Mistress kindness or her scornfull hate . Come all whom the blind God has led astray , Here the bewildred Youth is shew'd his way : Guided by this he may yet love and find Ease in his Heart , and reason in his Mind . Thus sweetly once the charming W—lr strove In Heavenly sounds to gain his hopeless Love : All the World listned but his scornfull Fair , Pride stopt her ears to whom he bent his prayer . Much happier you that can't desire in vain , But what you wish as soon as wish'd obtain .

Upon these and other Excellent Works of the Incomparable Astraea . YE bold Magicians in Philosophy , That vainly think ( next the Almighty three ) The brightest Cherubin in all the Hierarchy Will leave that Glorious Sphere And to your wild inchantments will appear ; To the fond summons of fantastick Charms , As Barbarous and inexplicable Terms : As those the trembling Scorcerer dreads , When he the Magick Circle treads : And as he walks the Mystick rounds , And mutters the detested sounds , The Stygian fiends exalt their wrathfull heads ; And all ye bearded Drudges of the Schools , That sweat in vain to mend predestin'd fools , With senseless Jargon and perplexing Rules ; Behold and with amazement stand , Behold a blush with shame and wonder too , What Divine Nature can in Woman doe . Behold if you can see in all this fertile Land Such an Anointed head , such an inspired hand . II. Rest on in peace , ye blessed Spirits , rest , With Imperial bliss for ever blest : Upon your sacred Urn she scorns to tread , Or rob the Learned Monuments of the dead : Nor need her Muse a foreign aid implore In her own tunefull breast there 's wonderous store . Had she but flourisht in these times of old , When Mortals were amongst the Gods inrolld , She had not now as Woman been Ador'd , But with Diviner sacrifice Implor'd ; Temples and Altars had preserv'd her name And she her self been thought Immortal as her fame . III. Curst be the balefull Tongue that dares abuse The rightfull off-spring of her Godlike Muse : And doubly Curst be he that thinks her Pen Can be instructed by the best of men . The times to come , ( as surely she will live , As many Ages as are past , As long as Learning , Sense , or wit survive , As long as the first principles of Bodies last . ) The future Ages may perhaps believe One soft and tender Arm cou'd ne'er atchieve The wonderous deeds that she has done So hard a prize her Conqu'ring Muse has won . But we that live in the great Prophetesses days Can we enough proclaim her praise , We that experience every hour The blest effects of her Miraculous power ? To the sweet Mcsick of her charming tongue , In numerous Crowds the ravisht hearers throng : And even a Herd of Beasts as wild as they That did the Thracian Lyre obey , Forget their Madness and attend her song . The tunefull Shepherds on the dangerous rocks Forsake their Kinds and leave their bleating Flocks , And throw their tender Reeds away , As soon as e'er her softer Pipe begins to play . No barren subject no unfertile soil Can prove ungratefull to her Muses Toil , Warm'd with the Heavenly influence of her Brain , Upon the dry and sandy plain , On craggy Mountains cover'd o'er with Snow , The blooming Rose and fragrant Jes'min grow : When in her powerfull Poetick hand , She waves the mystick wand , Streight from the hardest Rocks the sweetest numbers flow . IV. Hail bright Urania ! Erato hail ! Melpomene , Polymnia , Euterpe , hail ! And all ye blessed powers that inspire The Heaven-born Soul with intellectual fire ; Pardon my humble and unhallow'd Muse , If she too great a veneration use , And prostrate at your best lov'd Darling's feet Your holy Fane with sacred honour greet : Her more than Pythian Oracles are so divine , You sure not onely virtually are Within the glorious Shrine , But you your very selves must needs be there . The Delian Prophet did at first ordain , That even the mighty Nine should reign , In distant Empires of different Clime ; And if in her triumphant Throne , She rules those learned Regions alone , The fam'd Pyerides are out-done by her omnipotent Rhime . In proper Cells her large capacious Brain The images of all things does contain , As bright almost as were th' Ideas laid , In the last model e'er the World was made . And though her vast conceptions are so strong , The powerfull eloquence of her charming tongue Does , clear as the resistless beams of day , To our enlightned Souls the noble thoughts convey ; Well chosen , well appointed , every word Does its full force and natural grace afford ; And though in her rich treasury , Confus'd like Elements great Numbers lie , When they their mixture and proportion take , What beauteous forms of every kind they make ! Such was the Language God himself infus'd , And such the style our great Forefather us'd , From one large stock the various sounds he fram'd , And every Species of the vast Creation nam'd . While most of our dull Sex have trod In beaten paths of one continued Road , Her skilfull and well manag'd Muse Does all the art and strength of different paces use : For though sometimes with slackned force , She wisely stops her fleetest course , That slow but strong Majestick pace Shews her the swiftest steed of all the chosen Race . V. Well has she sung the learned Daphnis praise , And crown'd his Temples with immortal Bays ; And all that reade him must indeed confess , Th' effects of such a cause could not be less . For ne'er was ( at the first bold heat begun ) So hard and swift a Race of glory run , But yet her sweeter Muse did for him more , Than he himself or all Apollo's sons before ; For shou'd th' insatiate lust of time , Root out the memory of his sacred Rhime . The polish'd armour in that single Page Wou'd all the tyranny and rage Of Fire and Sword defie , For Daphnis can't but with Astraea die . And who can dark oblivion fear , That is co-eval with her mighty Works and Her ? Ah learned Chymist , 't is she onely can By her almighty arm , Within the pretious salt collect , The true essential form , And can against the power of death protect Not onely Herbs and Trees , but raise the buried Man . VI. Wretched Enone's inauspicious fate , That she was born so soon , or her blest Muse so late ! Cou'd the poor Virgin have like her complain'd , She soon her perjur'd Lover had regain'd , In spight of all the fair Seducers tears , In spight of all her Vows and Prayers ; Such tender accents through his Soul had ran , As wou'd have pierc'd the hardest heart of Man . At every Line the fugitive had swore By all the Gods , by all the Powers divine , My dear OEnone , I 'll be ever thine , And ne'er behold the flattering Grecian more . How does it please the learned Roman's Ghost ( The sweetest that th' Elysian Field can boast ) To see his noble thoughts so well exprest , So tenderly in a rough Language drest ; Had she there liv'd , and he her Genius known , So soft , so charming , and so like his own , One of his Works had unattempted been , And Ovid ne'er in mournfull Verse been seen ; Then the great Caesar to the Scythian plain , From Rome's gay Court had banish'd him in vain , Her plenteous Muse had all his wants supplied , And he had flourish'd in exalted pride : No barbarous Getans had deprav'd his tongue , For he had onely listned to her Song , Not as an exile , but proscrib'd by choice , Pleas'd with her Form , and ravish'd with her voice . His last and dearest part of Life , Free from noise and glorious strife , He there had spent within her softer Armes , And soon forgot the Royal Julia's charmes . VII . Long may she scourge this mad rebellious Age , And stem the torrent of Fanatick rage , That once had almost overwhelm'd the Stage . O'er all the Land the dire contagion spread , And e'en Apollo's Sons apostate fled : But while that spurious race imploy'd their parts In studying strategems and subtile arts , To alienate their Prince's Subjects hearts , Her Loyal Muse still tun'd her loudest strings , To sing the praises of the best of Kings . And , O ye sacred and immortal Gods , From the blest Mansions of your bright aboads , To the first Chaos let us all be hurld , E'er such vile wretches should reform the World , That in all villany so far excell , If they in sulphurous flames must onely dwell , The Cursed Caitiffs hardly merit Hell . Were not those vile Achitophels so lov'd , ( The blind , the senseless and deluded Crowd ) Did they but half his Royal Vertues know , But half the blessings which to him they owe , His long forbearance to provoking times , And God-like mercy to the worst of crimes : Those murmuring Shimei's , even they alone , Cou'd they bestow a greater than his own , Wou'd from a Cottage raise him to a Throne . VIII . See , ye dull Scriblers of this frantick Age , That load the Press , and so o'erwhelm the Stage , That e'en the noblest art that e'er was known , As great as an Egyptian Plague is grown : Behold , ye scrawling Locusts , what ye 've done , What a dire judgment is brought down , By your curst Dogrel Rhimes upon the Town ; On Fools and Rebels hangs an equal Fate , And both may now repent too late , For the great Charter of your Wit as well as Trade is gone . Once more the fam'd Astraea's come ; 'T is she pronounc'd the fatal doom , And has restor'd it to the rightfull Heirs , Since Knowledge first in Paradise was theirs . IX . Never was Soul and Body better joyn'd , A Mansion worthy of so blest a Mind ; See but the Shadow of her beauteous face , The pretious minitures of every Grace , There one may still such Charms behold , That as Idolaters of old , The works of their own hands ador'd , And Gods which they themselves had made implor'd ; Jove might again descend below , And , with her Wit and Beauty charm'd , to his own Image bow . But oh , the irrevocable doom of Nature's Laws ! How soon the brightest Scene of Beauty draws ! Alas , what 's all the glittering Pride Of the poor perishing Creatures of a day , With what a violent and impetuous Tide , E'er their flow'd in their glories ebb away ? The Pearl , the Diamond and Saphire must Be blended with the common Pebbles dust , And even Astraea with all her sacred store , Be wreckt on Death's inevitable Shore , Her Face ne'er seen and her dear Voice be heard no more . And wisely therefore e'er it was too late , She has revers'd the sad Decrees of Fate , And in deep Characters of immortal Wit , So large a memorandum's writ , That the blest memory of her deathless Name Shall stand recorded in the Book of Fame ; When Towns inter'd in their own ashes lie , And Chronicles of Empires die , When Monuments like Men want Tombs to tell Where the remains of the vast ruines fell .

To the excellent Astraea . WE all can well admire , few well can praise Where so great merit does the Subject raise : To write our Thoughts alike from dulness free , On this hand , as on that from flattery ; He who wou'd handsomly the Medium hit , Must have no little of Astraea's Wit. Let others in the noble Task engage , Call you the Phoenix , wonder of the Age , The Glory of your Sex , the Shame of ours , Crown you with Garlands of Rhetorick Flowers ; For me , alas , I nothing can design , To render your soft Numbers more divine , Than by comparison with these of mine : As beauteous paintings are set off by shades , And some fair Ladies by their dowdy Maids ; Yet after all , forgive me if I name One Fault where , Madam , you are much to blame , To wound with Beauty's fighting on the square , But to o'ercome with Wit too is not fair ; 'T is like the poison'd Indian Arrows found , For thus you 're sure to kill where once you wound .

J. W.

To Madam A. Behn on the publication of her Poems . WHen the sad news was spread , The bright , the fair Orinda's dead , We sigh'd , we mourn'd , we wept , we griev'd , And fondly with our selves conceiv'd , A loss so great could never be retreiv'd . The Ruddy Warriour laid his Truncheon by , Sheath'd his bright sword , and glorious Arms forgot , The sounds of Triumph , braggs of Victory , Rais'd in his Breast no emulative thought ; For pond'ring on the common Lot , Where is , said He the Diff'rence in the Grave , Betwixt the Coward and the Brave ? Since She , alas , whose inspir'd Muse should tell To unborn Ages how the Hero fell , From the Impoverisht Ignorant World is fled , T' inhance the mighty mighty Number of the dead . II. The trembling Lover broke his tuneless Lute , And said be thou for ever mute : Mute as the silent shades of night , Whither Orinda's gone , Thy musicks best instructress and thy musicks song ; She that could make Thy inarticulated strings to speak , In language soft as young desires , In language chaste as Vestal fires ; But she hath ta'n her Everlasting flight : Ah! cruel Death , How short's the date of Learned breath ! No sooner do's the blooming Rose , Drest fresh and gay , In the embroy'dries of her Native May , Her odorous sweets expose , But with thy fatal knife , The fragrant flow'r is crop't from off the stalk of life . III. Come , ye Stoicks , come away , You that boast an Apathy , And view our Golgotha ; See how the mourning Virgins all around , With Tributary Tears bedew the sacred ground ; And tell me tell me where 's the Eye That can be dry , Unless in hopes ( nor are such hopes in vain ) Their universal cry , Should mount the vaulted sky , And of the Gods obtain , A young succeeding Phoenix might arise From Orinda's spicy obsequies . In Heaven the voice was heard , Heaven does the Virgins pray'rs regard ; And none that dwells on high , If once the beauteous Ask , the beauteous can deny . IV. 'T is done , 't is done , th' imperial grant is past , We have our wish at last , And now no more with sorrow be it said , Orinda's dead ; Since in her feat Astraea does Appear , The God of Wit hath chosen her , To bear Orinda's and his Character . The Laurel Chaplet seems to grow On her more gracefull Brow ; And in her hand Look how she waves his sacred Wand : Loves Quiver's tyde In an Azure Mantle by her side , And with more gentle Arts Than he who owns the Aureal darts , At once she wounds , and heals our hearts . V. Hark how the gladded Nymphs rejoyce , And with a gracefull voice , Commend Apollo's Choice . The gladded Nymphs their Guardian Angel greet , And chearfully her name repeat , And chearfully admire and praise , The Loyal musick of her layes ; Whilst they securely sit , Beneath the banners of her wit , And scorn th' ill-manner'd Ignorance of those , Whose Stock 's so poor they cannot raise To their dull Muse one subsidy of praise , Unless they 're dubb'd the Sexes foes , These squibbs of sense themselves expose . Or if with stolen light They shine one night , The next their earth-born Lineage shows , They perish in their slime , And but to name them , wou'd defile Astraea's Rhime . VI. But you that would be truely wise , And vertues fair Idea prize ; You that would improve In harmeless Arts of not indecent Love : Arts that Romes fam'd Master never taught , Or in the Shops of fortune's bought . Would you know what Wit doth mean , Pleasant wit yet not obscene , The several garbs that Humours wear , The dull , the brisk , the jealous , the severe ? Wou'd you the pattern see Of spotless and untainted Loyalty , Deck't in every gracefull word That language can afford ; Tropes and Figures , Raptures and Conceits that ly , Disperst in all the pleasant Fields of poesie ? Reade you then Astraea's lines , 'T is in those new discover'd Mines , Those golden Quarries that this Ore is found With which in Worlds as yet unknown Astraea shall be crown'd . VII . And you th' Advent'rous sons of fame , You that would sleep in honours bed With glorious Trophies garnished ; You that with living labours strive Your dying Ashes to survive ; Pay your Tributes to Astraea's name Her Works can spare you immortality , For sure her Works shall never dye . Pyramids must fall and Mausolean Monuments decay , Marble Tombs shall crumble into dust , Noisie Wonders of a short-liv'd day , That must in time yield up their Trust ; And had e'er this been perisht quite I th' ruines of Eternal night , Had no kind Pen like her's , In powerfull numbers powerfull verse , Too potent for the gripes of Avaritious fate , To these our ages lost declar'd their pristine State . VIII . But time it self , bright Nymph , shall never Conquer thee , For when the Globe of vast Eternity ; Turns up the wrong-side of the World , And all things are to their first Chaos hurl'd , Thy lasting praise in thy own lines inroll'd , With Roman and with the British Names shall Equal honour hold . And surely none 'midst the Poetick Quire , But justly will admire The Trophies of thy wit , Sublime and gay as e'er were yet In Charming Numbers writ . Or Virgil's Shade or Ovid's Ghost , Of Ages past the pride and boast ; Or Cowley ( first of ours ) refuse That thou shouldst be Companion of their Muse. And if 't were lawfull to suppose ( As where 's the Crime or Incongruity ) Those awfull Souls concern'd can be At any sublunary thing , Alas , I fear they 'll grieve to see , That whilst I sing , And strive to praise , I but disparage thee .

By F. N. W.

To Madam Behn , on her Poems . WHEN th' Almighty Powers th' Universe had fram'd , And Man as King , the lesser World was nam'd , The Glorious Consult soon his joys did bless , And sent him Woman his chief happiness . She by an after-birth Heaven did refine , And gave her Beauty with a Soul divine ; She with delight was Natures chiefest pride , Dearer to Man than all the World beside ; Her soft embraces charm'd his Manly Soul , And softer Words his Roughness did controul : So thou , great Sappho , with thy charming Verse , Dost here the Soul of Poetry rehearse ; From your sweet Lips such pleasant Raptures fell , As if the Graces strove which shou'd excell . Th' admiring World when first your Lute you strung , Became all ravisht with th' immortal Song ; So soft and gracefull Love in you is seen , As if the Muses had design'd you Queen . For thee , thou great Britannia of our Land , How does thy Praise our tunefull Feet command ? With what great influence do thy Verses move ? How hast thou shewn the various sense of Love ? Admir'd by us , and blest by all above . To you all tribute's due , and I can raise No glory but by speaking in your praise . Go on and bless us dayly with your Pen , And we shall oft return thee thanks again .

H. Watson .

POEMS UPON Several OCCASIONS .

The Golden Age. A Paraphrase on a Translation out of French . I. BLest Age ! when ev'ry Purling Stream Ran undisturb'd and clear , When no scorn'd Shepherds on your Banks were seen , Tortur'd by Love , by Jealousie , or Fear ; When an Eternal Spring drest ev'ry Bough , And Blossoms fell , by new ones dispossest ; These their kind Shade affording all below , And those a Bed where all below might rest . The Groves appear'd all drest with Wreaths of Flowers And from their Leaves dropt Aromatick Showers Whose fragrant Heads in Mystick Twines above Exchang'd their Sweets , and mix'd with thousand Kisses , As if the willing Branches strove To beautifie and shade the Grove Where the young wanton Gods of Love Offer their Noblest Sacrifice of Blisses . II. Calm was the Air , no Winds blew fierce and loud The Skie was dark'ned with no sullen Cloud ; But all the Heav'ns laugh'd with continued Light And scatter'd round their Rays serenely bright . No other Murmurs fill'd the Ear But what the Streams and Rivers purl'd , When Silver Waves o'er Shining Pebbles curl'd Or when young Zephirs fan'd the Gentle Breez , Gath'ring fresh Sweets from Balmy Flow'rs and Trees Then bore 'em on their Wings to perfume all the Air : While to their soft and tender Play , The Gray-Plum'd Natives of the Shades Unwearied sing till Love invades , Then Bill , then sing agen , while Love and Musick makes the Day . III. The stubborn Plough had then , Made no rude Rapes upon the Virgin Earth ; Who yeilded of her own accord her plentious Birth , Without the Aids of men ; As if within her Teeming Womb , All Nature , and all Sexes lay , Whence new Creations every day Into the happy World did come : The Roses fill'd with Morning Dew , Bent down their loaded heads , T' Adorn the careless Shepherds Grassy Beds While still young opening Buds each moment grew And as those withered , drest his shaded Couch a new ; Beneath who 's boughs the Snakes securely dwelt , Not doing harm , nor harm from others felt ; With whom the Nymphs did Innocently play , No spightful Venom in the wantons lay ; But to the touch were Soft , and to the sight were Gay . IV. Then no rough sound of Wars Alarms , Had taught the World the needless use of Arms : Monarchs were uncreated then , Those Arbitrary Rulers over men ; Kings that made Laws , first broke 'em , and the Gods By teaching us Religion first , first set the World at Odds : Till then Ambition was not known , That Poyson to Content , Bane to Repose ; Each Swain was Lord o'er his own will alone , His Innocence Religion was , and Laws . Nor needed any troublesome defence Against his Neighbours Insolence . Flocks , Herds , and every necessary good Which bounteous Nature had design'd for Food , Whose kind increase o'er-spread the Meads and Plaines , Was then a common Sacrifice to all th' agreeing Swaines . V. Right and Property were words since made , When Power taught Mankind to invade : When Pride and Avarice became a Trade ; Carri'd on by discord , noise and wars , For which they barter'd wounds and scarrs ; And to Inhaunce the Merchandize , miscall'd it ' Fame ' And Rapes , Invasions Tyrannies , Was gaining of a Glorious Name : Stiling their salvage slaughters , Victories ; Honour , the Error and the Cheat Of the Ill-natur'd Bus'ey Great , Nonsence , invented by the Proud , Fond Idol of the slavish Crowd , Thou wert not known in those blest days Thy Poyson was not mixt with our unbounded Joyes ; Then it was glory to pursue delight , And that was lawful all , that Pleasure did invite , Then 't was the Amorous world injoy'd its Reign ; And Tyrant Honour strove t' usurp in Vain . VI. The flowry Meads the Rivers and the Groves , Were fill'd with little Gay-wing'd Loves : That ever smil'd and danc'd and Play'd , And now the woods , and now the streames invade , And where they came all things were gay and glad : When in the Myrtle Groves the Lovers sat Opprest with a too fervent heat ; A Thousand Cupids fann'd their wings a-loft , And through the Boughs the yielded Ayre would waft : Whose parting Leaves discovered all below , And every God his own soft power admir'd , And smil'd and fann'd , and sometimes bent his Bow ; Where e'er he saw a Shepherd uninspir'd . The Nymphs were free , no nice , no coy disdain , Deny'd their Joyes , or gave the Lover pain ; The yielding Maid but kind Resistance makes ; Trembling and blushing are not marks of shame , But the Effect of kindling Flame : Which from the sighing burning Swain she takes , While she with tears all soft , and down-cast-eyes , Permits the Charming Conqueror to win the prize . VII . The Lovers thus , thus uncontroul'd did meet , Thus all their Joyes and Vows of Love repeat : Joyes which were everlasting , ever new And every Vow inviolably true : Not kept in fear of Gods , no fond Religious cause , Nor in Obedience to the duller Laws . Those Fopperies of the Gown were then not known , Those vain those Politick Curbs to keep man in , Whoby a fond mistake Created that a Sin ; Which freeborn we , by right of Nature claim our own . Who but the Learned and dull moral Fool Could gravely have forseen , man ought to live by Rule ? VIII . Oh cursed Honour ! thou who first didst damn , A Woman to the Sin of shame ; Honour ! that rob'st us of our Gust , Honour ! that hindred mankind first , At Loves Eternal Spring to squench his amorous thirst . Honour ! who first taught lovely Eyes the art , To wound , and not to cure the heart : With Love to invite , but to forbid with Awe , And to themselves prescribe a Cruel Law ; To Veil 'em from the Lookers on , When they are sure the slave 's undone , And all the Charmingst part of Beauty hid ; Soft Looks , consenting Wishes , all deny'd . It gathers up the flowing Hair , That loosely plaid with wanton Air. The Envious Net , and stinted order hold , The lovely Curls of Jet and shining Gold , No more neglected on the Shoulders hurl'd : Now drest to Tempt , not gratify the World , Thou Miser Honour hord'st the sacred store , And starv'st thy self to keep thy Votaries poor . IX . Honour ! that put'st our words that should be free Into a set Formality . Thou base Debaucher of the generous heart , That teachest all our Looks and Actions Art ; What Love design'd a sacred Gift , What Nature made to be possest , Mistaken Honour , made a Theft , For Glorious Love should be confest : For when confin'd , all the poor Lover gains , Is broken Sighs , pale Looks , Complaints , & Pains Thou Foe to Pleasure , Nature's worst Disease , Thou Tyrant over mighty Kings , What mak'st thou here in Shepheards Cottages ; Why troublest thou , the quiet Shades & Springs Be gone , and make thy Fam'd resort To Princes Pallaces ; Go Deal and Chaffer in the Trading Court , That busie Market for Phantastick Things ; Be gone and interrupt the short Retreat , Of the Illustrious and the Great ; Go break the Polititians sle ep , Disturb the Gay Ambitious Fool , That longs for Scepters , Crowns , and Rule , Which not his Title , nor his Wit can keep ; But let the humble honest Swain go on , In the blest Paths of the first rate of man ; That nearest were to Gods Alli'd , And form'd for love alone , disdain'd all other Pride X. Be gone ! and let the Golden age again , Assume its Glorious Reign ; Let the young wishing Maid confess , What all your Arts would keep conceal'd : The Mystery will be reveal'd , And she in vain denies , whilst we can guess , She only shows the Jilt to teach man how , To turn the false Artillery on the Cunning Foe . Thou empty Vision hence , be gone , And let the peaceful Swain love on ; The swift pac'd hours of life soon steal away : Stint not yee Gods his short liv'd Joy . The Spring decays , but when the Winter 's gone , The Trees and Flowers a new comes on The Sun may set , but when the night is fled , And gloomy darkness does retire , He rises from his Watry Bed : All Glorious , Gay , all drest in Amorous Fire . But Sylvia when your Beauties fade , When the fresh Roses on your Cheeks shall die , Like Flowers that wither in the Shade , Eternally they will forgotten lye , And no kindSpring their sweetness will supply . When Snow shall on those lovely Tresses lye And your fair Eyes no more shall give us pain , But shoot their pointless Darts in vain . What will your duller honour signifie ? Go boast it then ! and see what numerous Store Of Lovers , will your Ruin'd Shrine Adore . Then let us Sylvia yet be wise , And the Gay hasty minutes prize : The Sun and Spring receive but our short Light , Once sett , a sleep brings an Eternal Night .

A Farewel to Celladon , On his Going into Ireland . Pindarique . FArewell the Great , the Brave and Good , By all admir'd and understood ; For all thy vertues so extensive are , Writ in so noble and so plain a Character , That they instruct humanity what to do , How to reward and imitate 'em too , The mighty Cesar found and knew , The Value of a Swain so true : And early call'd the Industrious Youth from Groves Where unambitiously he lay , And knew no greater Joyes , nor Power then Loves ; Which all the day The careless and delighted Celladon Improves ; So the first man in Paradice was laid , So blest beneath his own dear fragrant shade , Till false Ambition made him range , So the Almighty call'd him forth , And though for Empire he did Eden change ; Less Charming 't was , and far less worth . II. Yet he obeyes and leaves the peaceful Plains , The weeping Nymphs , and sighing Swains , Obeys the mighty voice of Jove . The Dictates of his Loyalty pursues , Bus'ness Debauches all his hours of Love ; Bus'ness , whose hurry , noise and news Even Natures self subdues ; Changes her best and first simplicity , Her soft , her easie quietude Into mean Arts of cunning Policy , The Grave and Drudging Coxcomb to Delude Say , mighty Celladon , oh tell me why , Thou dost thy nobler thoughts imploy In bus'ness , which alonewas made To teach the restless Statesman how to Trade In dark Cabals for Mischief and Design , But n'ere was meant a Curse to Souls like thine . Business the Check to Mirth and Wit , Business the Rival of the Fair , The Bane to Friendship , and the Lucky Hit , Onely to those that languish in Dispair ; Leave then that wretched troublesome Estate To him to whom forgetful Heaven , Has no one other vertue given , But dropt down the unfortunate , To Toyl , be Dull , and to be Great . III. But thou whose nobler Soul was fram'd , For Glorious and Luxurious Ease , By Wit adorn'd , by Love inflam'd ; For every Grace , and Beauty Fam'd , Form'd for delight , design'd to please , Give Give a look to every Joy , That youth and lavish Fortune can invent , Nor let Ambition , that false God , destroy Both Heaven and Natures first intent . But oh in vain is all I say , And you alas must go , The Mighty Caesar to obey , And none so fit as you . From all the Envying Croud he calls you forth , He knows your Loyalty , and knows your worth ; He 's try'd it oft , and put it to the Test , It grew in Zeal even whilst it was opprest , The great , the Godlike Celladon , Unlike the base Examples of the times , Cou'd never be Corrupted , never won , To stain his honest blood with Rebel Crimes . Fearless unmov'd he stood amidst the tainted Crowd , And justify'd and own'd his Loyalty aloud . IV. Hybernia hail ! Hail happy Isle , Be glad , and let all Nature smile . Ye Meads and Plains send forth your Gayest Flowers ; Ye Groves and every Purling Spring , Where Lovers sigh , and Birds do sing , Be glad and gay , for Celladon is yours ; He comes , he comes to grace your Plains . To Charm the Nymphs , and bless the Swains , Ecchoes repeat his Glorious Name To all the Neighbouring Woods and Hills ; Ye Feather'd Quire chant forth his Fame , Ye Fountains , Brooks , and Wand'ring Rills , That through the Meadows in Meanders run , Tell all your Flowry Brinks , the generous Swain is come . VI. Divert him all ye pretty Solitudes , And give his Life some softning Interludes : That when his weari'd mind would be , From Noise and Rigid Bus'ness free ; He may upon your Mossey Beds lye down , Where all is Gloomy , all is Shade , With some dear Shee , whom Nature made , To be possest by him alone ; Where the soft tale of Love She breathes , Mixt with the rushing of the wind-blown leaves , The different Notes of Cheerful Birds , And distant Bleating of the Herds : Is Musick far more ravishing and sweet , Then all the Artful Sounds that please the noisey Great . VII . Mix thus your Toiles of Life with Joyes , And for the publick good , prolong your days Instruct the World , the great Example prove Of Honour , Friendship , Loyalty , and Love . And when your busier hours are done , And you with Damon sit alone ; Damon the honest , brave and young ; Whom we must Celebrate where you are sung For you ( by Sacred Friendship ty'd , ) Nor Love nor Fate can nere divide ; When your agreeing thoughts shall backward run Surveying all the Conquests you have won , The Swaines you 'ave left , the sighing Maids undone Try if you can a fatal prospect take , Think if you can a soft Idea make : Of what we are , now you are gone , Of what we feel for Celladon . VIII . 'T is Celladon the witty and the gay , That blest the Night , and cheer'd the world at Day ▪ 'T is Celladon , to whom our Vows belong , And Celladon the Subject of our Song . For whom the Nymphs would dress , the Swains rejoice , The praise of these , of those the choice ; And if our Joyes were rais'd to this Excess , Our Pleasures by thy presence made so great : Some pittying . God help thee to guess , ( What Fancy cannot well Express . ) Our Languishments by thy Retreat , Pitty our Swaines , pitty our Virgins more , And let that pitty haste thee to our shore ; And whilst on happy distant Coasts you are , Afford us all your sighs , and Cesar all your care .

On a Juniper-Tree , cut down to make Busks . WHilst happy I Triumphant stood , The Pride and Glory of the Wood ; My Aromatick Boughs and Fruit , Did with all other Trees dispute . Had right by Nature to excel , In pleasing both the tast and smell : But to the touch I must confess , Bore an Ungrateful Sullenness . My Wealth , like bashful Virgins , I Yielded with some Reluctancy ; For which my vallue should be more , Not giving easily my store . My verdant Branches all the year Did an Eternal Beauty wear ; Did ever young and gay appear . Nor needed any tribute pay , For bounties from the God of Day : Nor do I hold Supremacy , ( In all the Wood ) o'er every Tree . But even those too of my own Race , That grow not in this happy place . But that in which I glory most , And do my self with Reason boast , Beneath my shade the other day , Young Philocles and Cloris lay , Upon my Root she lean'd her head , And where I grew , he made their Bed : Whilst I the Canopy more largely spread . Their trembling Limbs did gently press , The kind supporting yielding Grass : Ne'er half so blest as now , to bear A Swain so Young , a Nimph so fair : My Grateful Shade I kindly lent , And every aiding Bough I bent . So low , as sometimes had the blisse , To rob the Shepherd of a kiss , Whilst he in Pleasures far above The Sence of that degree of Love : Permitted every stealth I made , Unjealous of his Rival Shade . I saw 'em kindle to desire , Whilst with soft sighs they blew the fire : Saw the approaches of their joy , He growing more fierce , and she less Coy , Saw how they mingled melting Rays , Exchanging Love a thousand ways . Kind was the force on every side , Her new desire she could not hide : Nor wou'd the Shepherd be deny'd . Impatient he waits no consent But what she gave by Languishment , The blessed Minute he pursu'd ; While Love and Shame her Soul Subdu'd . And now transported in his Arms , Yeilds to the Conqueror all her Charmes , His panting Breast , to hers now join'd , They feast on Raptures unconfin'd ; Vast and Luxuriant , such as prove The Immortality of Love . For who but a Divinitie , Could mingle Souls to that Degree ? Now like the Phenix , both Expire , While from the Ashes of their fire , Sprung up a new , and soft desire . Like Charmers , thrice they did invoke , The God! and thrice new vigor took . Nor had the Mysterie ended there , But Cloris reassum'd her fear , And chid the Swain , for having prest , What she alas cou'd not resist : Whilst he in whom Loves sacred flame , Before and after was the same , Fondly implor'd she wou'd forget A fault , which he wou'd yet repeat . From Active Joyes with some they hast , To a Reflexion on the past ; A thousand times my Covert bless , That did secure their Happiness : Their Gratitude to every Tree They pay , but most to happy me ; The Shepherdess my Bark carest , Whilst he my Root , Love's Pillow , kist ; And did with sighs , their Fate deplore , Since I must shelter them no more ; And if before my Joyes were such , In having heard , and seen too much , My Grief must be as great and high , When all abandon'd I shall be , Doom'd to a silent Destinie . No more the Charming strife to hear , The Shepherds Vows , the Virgins fear : No more a joyful looker on , Whilst Loves soft Battel 's lost and won . With grief I bow'd my murmering Head , And all my Christal Dew I shed . Which did in Cloris Pity move , ( Cloris whose Soul is made of Love ; ) She cut me down , and did translate , My being to a happier state . No Martyr for Religion di'd With half that Unconsidering Pride ; My top was on that Altar laid , Where Love his softest Offerings paid : And was as fragrant Incense burn'd , My body into Busks was turn'd : Where I still guard the Sacred Store , And of Loves Temple keep the Door .

On the Death of Mr. Grinhil , the Famous Painter . I. WHat doleful crys are these that fright my sence , Sad as the Groans of dying Innocence ? The killing Accents now more near Aproach , And the Infectious Sound , Spreads and Inlarges all around ; And does all Hearts with Grief and Wonder touch . The famous Grinhil dead ! even he , That cou'd to us give Immortalitie ; Is to the Eternal silent Groves withdrawn , Those sullen Groves of Everlasting Dawn ; Youthful as Flowers , scarce blown , whose opening Leaves , A wond'rous and a fragrant Prospect gives , Of what it's Elder Beauties wou'd display , When they should flourish up to ripning May. Witty as Poets , warm'd with Love and Wine , Yet still spar'd Heaven and his Friend , For both to him were Sacred and Divine : Nor could he this no more then that offend . Fixt as a Martyr where he friendship paid , And Generous as a God , Distributing his Bounties all abroad ; And soft and gentle as a Love-sick Maid . II. Great Master of the Noblest Mysterie ; That ever happy Knowledge did inspire ; Sacred as that of Poetry , And which the wond'ring World does equally admire ▪ Great Natures work we do contemn , When on his Glorious Births we meditate : The Face and Eies , more Darts receiv'd from him , Then all the Charms she can create . The Difference is , his Beauties do beget In the inamour'd Soul a Vertuous Heat : While Natures Grosser Pieces move , In the course road of Common Love : So bold , yet soft , his touches were ; So round each part 's so sweet and fair . That as his Pencil mov'd men thought it prest , The Lively imitating rising Breast , Which yield like Clouds , where little Angels rest ▪ The Limbs all easy as his Temper was ; Strong as his Mind , and manly too ; Large as his Soul his fancy was , and new : And from himself he copyed every Grace , For he had all that cou'd adorn a Face , All that cou'd either Sex subdue . III. ( Pride , Each Excellence he had that Youth has in its And all Experienc'd Age cou'd teach , At once the vigorous fire of this , And every vertue which that cou'd Express . In all the heights that both could reach ; And yet alas , in this Perfection di'd . Dropt like a Blossom with a Northern blast , ( When all the scatter'd Leaves abroad are cast ; ) As quick as if his fate had been in hast : So have I seen an unfit Star , Out-shine the rest of all the Numerous Train , As bright as that which Guides the Marriner , Dart swiftly from its darken'd Sphere : And nere shall light the World again . IV. Ah why shou'd so much knowledge die ! Or with his last kind breath , Why cou'd he not to some one friend bequeath The Mighty Legacie ! But 't was a knowledge given to him alone , That his eternis'd Name might be Admir'd to all Posteritie , By all to whom his grateful Name was known . Come all ye softer Beauties , come ; Bring Wreaths of Flowers to deck his tomb ; Mixt with the dismal Cypress and the Yew , For he still gave your Charmes their due : And from the injuries of Age and Time , Preserv'd the sweetness of your Prime : And best knew how t' adore that Sweetness too ; Bring all your Mournful Tributes here , And let your Eyes a silent sorrow wear , Till every Virgin for a while become ; Sad as his Fate , and like his Picture 's Dumb.

A Ballad on Mr. J. H. to Amoret , asking why I was so sad . MY Amoret , since you must know , The Grief you say my Eyes do show : Survey my Heart , where you shall find , More Love then for your self confin'd . And though you chide , you 'l Pity too , A Passion which even Rivals you . Amyntas on a Holy-day As fine as any Lord of May , Amongst the Nimphs , and jolly Swaines , That feed their Flocks upon the Plaines : Met in a Grove beneath whose shade , A Match of Dancing they had made . His Cassock was of Green , as trim As Grass upon a River brim ; Untoucht or sullied with a spot , Unprest by either Lamb or Goat : And with the Air it loosely play'd , With every motion that he made . His Sleeves a-many Ribbons ties , Where one might read Love-Mysteries : As if that way he wou'd impart , To all , the Sentiments of his Heart , Whose Passions by those Colours known , He with a Charming Pride wou'd own . His Bonnet with the same was Ti'd , A Silver Scrip hung by his Side : His Buskins garnisht A-la-mode , Were grac'd by every step he Trod ; Like Pan a Majesty he took , And like Apollo when he spoke . His Hook a Wreath of Flowers did Braid , The Present of some Love-sick Maid . Who all the morning had bestow'd , And to her Fancy now compos'd : Which fresher seem'd when near that place , To whom the Giver Captive was . His Eyes their best Attracts put on , Designing some should be undone ; For he could at his pleasure move , The Nymphs he lik'd to fall in Love : Yet so he order'd every Glance , That still they seem'd but Wounds of Chance . He well cou'd feign an Innocence , And taught his Silence Eloquence ; Each Smile he us'd , had got the force , To Conquer more than soft Discourse : Which when it serv'd his Ends he 'd use , And subtilly thro' a heart infuse . His Wit was such it cou'd controul The Resolutions of a Soul ; That a Religious Vow had made , By Love it nere wou'd be betra'd : For when he spoke he well cou'd prove Their Errors who dispute with Love . With all these Charms he did Address Himself to every Shepherdess : Until the Bag-pipes which did play , Began the Bus'ness of the day ; And in the taking forth to Dance , The Lovely Swain became my Chance . To whom much Passion he did Vow , And much his Eyes and Sighs did show ; And both imploy'd with so much Art , I strove in vain to guard my Heart ; And ere the Night our Revels crost , I was intirely won and lost . Let me advise thee , Amoret , Fly from the Baits that he has set In every grace ; which will betray All Beauties that but look that way : But thou hast Charms that will secure A Captive in this Conquerour . Our Cabal . COme , my fair Cloris , come away , Hast thou forgot 't is Holyday ? And lovely Silvia too make haste , The Sun is up , the day does waste : Do'st thou not hear the Musick loud , Mix'd with the murmur of the Crowd ? How can thy active Feet be still , And hear the Bagpipes chearful Trill ? Mr. V. U. Urania's drest as fine and gay , As if she meant t' out-shine the day ; Or certain that no Victories Were to be gain'd but by her Eyes ; Her Garment's white , her Garniture The springing Beauties of the Year , Which are in such nice Order plac'd , That Nature is by Art disgrac'd : Her natural Curling Ebon Hair , Does loosly wanton in the Air. Mr. G. V. With her the young Alexis came , Whose Eyes dare only speak his Flame : Charming he is , as fair can be , Charming without Effeminacy ; Only his Eyes are languishing , Caus'd by the Pain he feels within ; Yet thou wilt say that Languishment Is a peculiar Ornament . Deck'd up he is with Pride and Care , All Rich and Gay , to please his Fair : The price of Flocks h' has made a Prey To th' Usual Vanity of this day . My dear Brother J. C. After them Damon Piping came , Who laughs at Cupid and his Flame ; Swears , if the Boy should him approach , He 'd burn his Wings with his own Torch : But he 's too young for Love t' invade , Though for him languish many a Maid . His lovely Ayr , his chearful Face , Adorn'd with many a Youthful Grace , Beget more Sighs then if with Arts He should design to conquer Hearts : The Swains as well as Nymphs submit To 's Charms of Beauty and of Wit . He 'll sing , he 'll dance , he 'll pipe and play , And wanton out a Summers day ; And wheresoever Damon be , He 's still the Soul o' th' Companie . My dear Amoret , Mris. B. Next Amoret , the true Delight Of all that do approach her sight : The Sun in all its Course ne'er met Ought Fair or Sweet like Amoret . Alone she came , her Eyes declin'd , In which you 'l read her troubled Mind ; Yes , Silvia , for she 'l not deny She loves , as well as thou and I. 'T is Philocles , that Proud Ingrate , That pays her Passion back with Hate ; Whilst she does all but him despise , And clouds the lustre of her Eyes : But once to her he did address , And dying Passion too express ; But soon the Amorous Heat was laid , He soon forgot the Vows he 'd made ; Whilst she in every Silent Grove , Bewails her easie Faith and Love . Numbers of Swains do her adore , But she has vow'd to love no more . Mr. J. B. Next Jolly Thirsis came along , With many Beauties in a Throng . Mr. Je. B. With whom the young Amyntas came , The Author of my Sighs and Flame : For I 'll confess that Truth to you , Which every Look of mine can show . Ah how unlike the rest he appears ! With Majesty above his years ! His Eyes so much of Sweetness dress , Such Wit , such Vigour too express ; That 't wou'd a wonder be to say , I 've seen the Youth , and brought my Heart away . Ah Cloris ! Thou that never wert In danger yet to lose a Heart , Guard it severely now , for he Will startle all thy Constancy : For if by chance thou do'st escape Unwounded by his Lovely Shape , Tempt not thy Ruine , lest his Eyes Joyn with his Tongue to win the Prize : Such Softness in his Language dwells , And Tales of Love so well he tells , Should'st thou attend their Harmony , Thou 'dst be Undone , as well as I ; For sure no Nymph was ever free , That could Amyntas hear and see . Mr. N. R. V. With him the lovely Philocless , His-Beauty heightned by his Dress , If any thing can add a Grace To such a Shape , and such a Face , Whose Natural Ornaments impart Enough without the help of Art . His Shoulders cover'd with a Hair , The Sun-Beams are not half so fair ; Of which the Virgins Bracelets make , And wear for Philocless's sake : His Beauty such , that one would swear His Face did never take the Air. On 's Cheeks the blushing Roses show , The rest like whitest Daisies grow : His Lips , no Berries of the Field , Nor Cherries , such a Red do yield . His Eyes all Love , Soft'ning Smile ; And when he speaks , he sighs the while : His Bashful Grace , with Blushes too , Gains more then Confidence can do . With all these Charms he does invade The Heart , which when he has betray'd , He slights the Trophies he has won , And weeps for those he has Undone ; As if he never did intend His Charms for so severe an End . And all poor Amoret can Gain , Is pitty from the Lovely Swain : And if Inconstancy can seem Agreeable , 't is so in him . And when he meets Reproach for it , He does excuse it with his Wit. Mr. E. B. and Mrs. F M. Next hand in hand the smilling Pair , Martillo , and the Lovely Fair : A Bright-Ey'd Phillis , who they say , Ne'er knew what Love was till to day : Long has the Gen'rous Youth in vain Implor'd some Pity for his Pain . Early abroad he would be seen , To wait her coming on the Green , To be the first that t' her should pay The Tribute of the New-born Day ; Presents her Bracelets with their Names , And Hooks carv'd out with Hearts and Flames . And when a stragling Lamb he saw , And she not by to give it Law , The pretty Fugitive he 'd deck With Wreaths of Flowers around its Neck ; And gave her ev'ry mark of Love , Before he could her Pity move . But now the Youth no more appears Clouded with Jealousies and Fears : Nor yet dares Phillis softer Brow Wear Unconcern , or Coldness now ; But makes him just and kind Returns ; And as He does , so now She burns . Mr. J. H. Next Lysidas , that haughty Swain , With many Beauties in a Train , All sighing for the Swain , whilst he Barely returns Civility . Yet once to each much Love he Vowd , And strange Fantastique Passion show'd . Poor Doris , and Lucinda too , And many more whom thou dost know , Who had not power his Charms to shun , Too late do find themselves Undone . His Eyes are Black , and do transcend All Fancy e'er can comprehend ; And yet no Softness in 'em move , They kill with Fierceness , not with Love : Yet he can dress 'em when he list , With Sweetness none can e'er resist . His Tongue no Amorous Parley makes , But with his Looks alone he speaks . And though he languish yet he 'l hide , That grateful knowledge with his Pride ; And thinks his Liberty is lost , Not in the Conquest , but the Boast . Nor will but Love enough impart , To gain and to secure a heart : Of which no sooner he is sure , And that its Wounds are past all Cure . But for New Victories he prepares , And leaves the Old to its Despairs : Success his Boldness does renew , And Boldness helps him Conquer too . He having gain'd more hearts then all , Th' rest of the Pastoral Cabal . Mr. Ed. Bed . With him Philander , who nere paid A Sigh or Tear to any Maid : So innocent and young he is , He cannot guess what Passion is . But all the Love he ever knew , On Lycidas he does bestow : Who pays his Tenderness again , Too Amorous for a Swain to a Swain . A softer Youth was never seen , His Beauty Maid ; but Man , his Mein : And much more gay than all the rest ; And but Alexis finest Dress'd . His Eyes towards Lycidas still turn , As sympathising Flowers to the Sun : Whilst Lycidas whose Eyes dispense No less a grateful Influence , Improves his Beauty , which still fresher grows : Who would not under two such Suns as those ? Cloris you sigh , what Amorous grown ? Pan grant you keep your heart at home : For I have often heard you Vow , If any cou'd your heart subdue , Though Lycidas you nere and seen , It must be him , or one like him : Alas I cannot yet forget , How we have with Amyntas sat Beneath the Boughs for Summer made , Our heated Flocks and Us to shade : Where thou wou'dst wond'rous Stories tell , Of this Agreeable Infidel . By what Devices , Charms and Arts , He us'd to gain and keep his Hearts : And whilst his Falsehood we wou'd Blame , Thou woud'st commend and praise the same . And did no greater pleasure take , Then when of Lycidas we spake ; By this and many Sighs we know , Thou' rt sensible of Loving too . Come Cloris , come along with us , And try thy power with Lycidas ; See if that Vertue which you prize , Be proof against those Conquering Eyes . That Heart that can no Love admit , Will hardly stand his shock of Wit ; Come deck thee then in all that 's fine , Perhaps the Conquest may be thine ; They all attend , let 's hast to do , What Love and Musick calls us to .

SONG . The Willing Mistriss . AMyntas led me to a Grove , Where all the Trees did shade us ; The Sun it self , though it had Strove , It could not have betray'd us : The place secur'd from humane Eyes , No other fear allows , But when the Winds that gently rise , Doe Kiss the yeilding Boughs . Down there we satt upon the Moss , And did begin to play A Thousand Amorous Tricks , to pass The heat of all the day . A many Kisses he did give : And I return'd the same Which made me willing to receive That which I dare not name . His Charming Eyes no Aid requir'd To tell their softning Tale ; On her that was already fir'd , 'T was Easy to prevaile . He did but Kiss and Clasp me round , Whilst those his thoughts Exprest : And lay'd me gently on the Ground ; Ah who can guess the rest ?

SONG . Love Arm'd . LOve in Fantastique Triumph satt , Whilst Bleeding Hearts a round him flow'd ; For whom Fresh paines he did Create , And strange Tyranick power he show'd ; From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire , Which round about , in sport he hurl'd ; But 't was from mine , he took desire , Enough to undo the Amorous World . From me he took his sighs and tears , From thee his Pride and Crueltie ; From me his Languishments and Feares , And every Killing Dart from thee ; Thus thou and I , the God have arm'd , And sett him up a Deity ; But my poor Heart alone is harm'd , Whilst thine the Victor is , and free .

SONG . The Complaint . AMyntas that true hearted Swaine , Upon a Rivers Banck was lay'd , Where to the Pittying streames he did Complaine On Silvia that false Charming Maid . While shee was still regardless of his paine . Ah! Charming Silvia , would he cry ; And what he said , the Echoes wou'd reply : Be kind or else I dy , Ech : — I dy Be kind or else I dy : Ech : — I dy . Those smiles and Kisses which you give , Remember Sylvia are my due ; And all the Joyes my Rivall does receive , He ravishes from me not you : Ah Silvia ! can I live and this believe ? Insensibles are toucht to see My Languishments , and seem to pitty me : Which I demand of thee : Ech — of thee Which I demand of thee Ech : — of thee . Set by Mr. Banister .

SONG . The Invitation . DAmon I cannot blame your will , 'T was Chance and not Design did kill ; For whilst you did prepare your Charmes , On purpose Silvia to subdue : I met the Arrows as they flew , And sav'd her from their harms . Alas she cannot make returnes , Who for a Swaine already Burnes ; A Shepherd whom she does Caress : With all the softest marks of Love , And 't is in vaine thou seek'st to move , The cruel Shepherdess . Content thee with this Victory , Think me as faire and young as she : I 'le make thee Garlands all the day , And in the Groves we 'l sit and sing ; I 'le Crown thee with the pride o' th' Spring , When thou art Lord of May.

SONG . WHen Jemmy first began to Love , He was the Gayest Swaine That ever yet a Flock had drove , Or danc't upon the Plaine . T' was then that I , weys me poor Heart , My Freedom threw away ; And finding sweets in every smart , I cou'd not say him nay . And ever when he talkt of Love , He wou'd his Eyes decline ; And every sigh , a Heart would move , Gued Faith and why not mine ? He 'd press my hand , and Kiss it oft , In silence spoke his Flame . And whilst he treated me thus soft , I wisht him more to Blame . Sometimes to feed my Flocks with him , My Jemmy wou'd Invite me : Where he the Gayest Songs wou'd sing , On purpose to delight me . And Jemmy every Grace displayd , Which were enough I trow , To Conquer any Princely Maid , So did he me I vow . But now for Jemmy must I mourn , Who to the Warrs must go ; His Sheephook to a Sword must turne : Alack what shall I do ? His Bag-pipe into War-like Sounds , Must now Exchanged bee : Instead of Braceletts , fearful Wounds ; Then what becomes of me ?

To Mr. Creech ( under the Name of Daphnis ) on his Excellent Translation of Lucretius . THou great Young Man ! Permit amongst the Crowd Of those that sing thy mighty Praises lowd , My humble Muse to bring its Tribute too . Inspir'd by thy vast flight of Verse , Methinks I should some wondrous thing rehearse , Worthy Divine Lucretius , and Diviner Thou . But I of Feebler Seeds design'd , Whilst the slow moving Atomes strove , With careless heed to form my Mind : Compos'd it all of Softer Love . In gentle Numbers all my Songs are Drest , And when I would thy Glories sing , What in strong manly Verse I would express , Turns all to Womannish Tenderness within . Whilst that which Admiration does inspire , In other Souls , kindles in mine a Fire . Let them admire thee on — Whilst I this newer way Pay thee yet more than they : For more I owe , since thou hast taught me more , Then all the mighty Bards that went before . Others long since have Pal'd the vast delight ; In duller Greek and Latin satisfy'd the Appetite : But I unlearn'd in Schools , disdain that mine Should treated be at any Feast but thine . Till now , I curst my Birth , my Education , And more the scanted Customes of the Nation : Permitting not the Female Sex to tread , The Mighty Paths of Learned Heroes dead . The God-like Virgil , and great Homers Verse , Like Divine Mysteries are conceal'd from us . We are forbid all grateful Theams , No ravishing thoughts approach our Ear , The Fulsom Gingle of the times , Is all we are allow'd to understand or hear . But as of old , when men unthinking lay , Ere Gods were worshipt , or ere Laws were fram'd The wiser Bard that taught 'em first t' obey , Was next to what he taught , ador'd and fam'd ; Gentler they grew , their words and manners chang'd , And salvage now no more the Woods they rang'd . So thou by this Translation dost advance Our Knowledg from the State of Ignorance , And equals us to Man : Ah how can we , Enough Adore , or Sacrifice enough to thee ! The Mystick Terms of Rough Philosophy , Thou dost so plain and easily express ; Yet Deck'st them in so soft and gay a Dress : So intelligent to each Capacity , That they at once Instruct and Charm the Sense , With heights of Fancy , heights of Eloquence ; And Reason over all Unfetter'd plays , Wanton and undisturb'd as Summers Breeze ; That gliding murmurs o're the Trees : And no hard Notion meets or stops its way . It Pierces , Conquers and Compels , Beyond poor Feeble Faith 's dull Oracles . Faith the despairing Souls content , Faith the Last Shift of Routed Argument . Hail Sacred Wadham ! whom the Muses Grace And from the Rest of all the Reverend Pile Of Noble Pallaces , design'd thy Space : Where they in soft retreat might dwell . They blest thy Fabrick , and said — Do thou , Our Darling Sons contain ; We thee our Sacred Nursery Ordain : They said and blest , and it was so . And if of old the Fanes of Silvian Gods , Were worshipt as Divine Aboads ; If Courts are held as Sacred Things , For being the Awful Seats of Kings . What Veneration should be paid , To thee that hast such wondrous Poets made ! To Gods for fear , Devotion was design'd , And Safety made us bow to Majesty ; Poets by Nature Aw and Charm the Mind , Are born not made by dull Religion or Necessity . The Learned Thirsis did to thee belong , Who Athens Plague has so divinely Sung . Thirsis to wit , as sacred friendship true , Paid Mighty Cowley's Memory its due . Thirsis who whilst a greater Plague did reign , Then that which Athens did Depopulate : Scattering Rebellious Fury o're the Plain , That threatn'd Ruine to the Church and State , Unmov'd he stood , and fear'd no Threats of Fate . That Loyal Champion for the Church & Crown , That Noble Ornament of the Sacred Gown , Still did his Soveraign's Cause Espouse , And was above the Thanks of the mad Senate-house . Strephon the Great , whom last you sent abroad , Who Writ , and Lov'd , & Lookt like any God ; For whom the Muses mourn , the Love-sick Maids Are Languishing in Melancholly Shades . The Cupids flag their Wings , their Bows untie , And useless Quivers hang neglected by , And scatter'd Arrows all around 'em lye . By murmuring Brooks the careless Deities are laid , Weeping their rifled power now Noble Strephon's Dead . Ah Sacred Wadham ! should'st thou never own But this delight of all Mankind and thine ; For Ages past of Dulness , this alone , This Charming Hero would Attone . And make thee Glorious to succeeding time ; But thou like Natures self disdain'st to be , Stinted to Singularity . Even as fast as she thou dost produce , And over all the Sacred Mystery infuse . No sooner was fam'd Strephon's Glory set , Strephon the Soft , the Lovely and the Great ; But Daphnis rises like the Morning-Star , That guides the Wandring Traveller from afar . Daphnis whom every Grace , and Muse inspires , Scarce Strephons Ravishing Poetick Fires So kindly warm , or so divinely Cheer . Advance Young Daphnis , as thou hast begun , So let thy Mighty Race be run . Thou in thy large Poetick Chace , Begin'st where others end the Race . If now thy Grateful Numbers are so strong , If they so early can such Graces show , Like Beauty so surprizing , when so Young , What Daphnis will thy Riper Judgment do , When thy Unbounded Verse in their own Streams shall flow ! What Wonder will they not produce , When thy Immortal Fancy's loose ; Unfetter'd , Unconfin'd by any other Muse ! Advance Young Daphnis then , and mayst thou prove Still Sacred in thy Poetry and Love . May all the Groves with Daphnis Songs be blest , Whilst every Bark is with thy Disticks drest . May Timerous Maids learn how to Love from thence And the Glad Shepherd Arts of Eloquence . And when to Solitude thou woud'st Retreat , May their tun'd Pipes thy Welcome celebrate . And all the Nymphs strow Garlands at thy Feet . May all the Purling Streams that murmuring pass , The Shady Groves and Banks of Flowers , The kind reposing Beds of Grass , Contribute to their Softer Hours . Mayst thou thy Muse and Mistress there Caress , And may one heighten to ' ther 's Happiness . And whilst thou so divinely dost Converse , We are content to know and to admire thee in thy Sacred Verse .

To Mrs. W. On her Excellent Verses ( Writ in Praise of some I had made on the Earl of Rochester ) Written in a Fit of Sickness . ENough kind Heaven ! to purpose I have liv'd , And all my Sighs & Languishments surviv'd . My Stars in vain their sullen influence have shed , Round my till now Unlucky Head : I pardon all the Silent Hours I 've griev'd , My Weary Nights , and Melancholy Days ; When no Kind Power my Pain Reliev'd , I lose you all , you sad Remembrancers , I lose you all in New-born Joys , Joys that will dissipate my Falling Tears . The Mighty Soul of Rochester's reviv'd , Enough Kind Heaven to purpose I have liv'd . I saw the Lovely Phantom , no Disguise , Veil'd the blest Vision from my Eyes , 'T was all o're Rochester that pleas'd and did sur'prize . Sad as the Grave I sat by Glimmering Light , Such as attends Departing Souls by Night . Pensive as absent Lovers left alone , Or my poor Dove , when his Fond Mate was gone . Silent as Groves when only Whispering Gales , Sigh through the Rushing Leaves , As softly as a Bashful Shepherd Breaths , To his Lov'd Nymph his Amorous Tales . So dull I was , scarce Thought a Subject found , Dull as the Light that gloom'd around ; When lo the Mighty Spirit appear'd , All Gay , all Charming to my sight ; My Drooping Soul it Rais'd and Cheer'd , And cast about a Dazling Light . In every part there did appear , The Great , the God-like Rochester , His Softness all , his Sweetness everywhere . It did advance , and with a Generous Look , To me Addrest , to worthless me it spoke : With the same wonted Grace my Muse it prais'd , With the same Goodness did my Faults Correct : And Careful of the Fame himself first rais'd , Obligingly it School'd my loose Neglect . The soft , the moving Accents soon I knew The gentle Voice made up of Harmony ; Through the Known Paths of my glad Soul it flew ; I knew it straight , it could no others be , 'T was not Alied but very very he . So the All-Ravisht Swain that hears The wondrous Musick of the Sphears , For ever does the grateful Sound retain , Whilst all his Oaten Pipes and Reeds . The Rural Musick of the Groves and Meads , Strive to divert him from the Heavenly Song in vain . He hates their harsh and Untun'd Lays , Which now no more his Soul and Fancy raise . But if one Note of the remembred Air He chance again to hear , He starts , and in a transport cries , — 'T is there ! He knows it all by that one little taste , And by that grateful Hint remembers all the rest . Great , Good , and Excellent , by what new way Shall I my humble Tribute pay , For this vast Glory you my Muse have done , For this great Condescention shown ! So Gods of old sometimes laid by Their Awful Trains of Majesty , And chang'd ev'n Heav'n a while for Groves and Plains , And to their Fellow-Gods preferr'd the lowly Swains . And Beds of Flow'rs would oft compare To those of Downey Clouds , or yielding Air ; At Purling Streams would drink in homely Shells , Put off the God , to Revel it in Woods and Shepherds Cells ; Would listen to their Rustick Songs , and show Such Divine Goodness in Commending too , Whilst the transported Swain the Honour pays With humble Adoration , humble Praise .

The Sence of a Letter sent me , made into Verse ; To a New Tune . I. IN vain I have labour'd the Victor to prove Of a Heart that can ne'er give Admittance to Love : So hard to be won , That nothing so young , Could e'er have resisted a Passion so long . II But nothing I left unattempted or said , To soften the Heart of the Pityless Maid ; Yet still she was shy , And would blushing deny , Whilst her willinger Eyes gave her Language the Lye . III. When before the Impregnable Fort I lay down , I resolv'd or to die , or to Purchase Renown , But how vain was the Boast ! All the Glory I lost , And now vanquish'd and sham'd I 've quitted my Post.

The Return . I. AMyntas whilst you Have an Art to subdue , And can conquer a Heart with a Look or a Smile , You Pityless grow , And no Faith will allow ; 'T is the Glory you seek when you rifle the Spoil . II. Your soft warring Eyes , When prepar'd for the Prize , Can laugh at the Aids of my feeble Disdain ; You can humble the Foe , And soon make her to know Tho' she arms her with Pride , her Efforts are but vain . III. But Shepherd beware , Though a Victor you are ; A Tyrant was never secure in his Throne ; Whilst proudly you aim New Conquests to gain , Some hard-hearted Nymph may return you your own .

On a Copy of Verses made in a Dream , and sent to me in a Morning before I was Awake . AMyntas , if your Wit in Dreams Can furnish you with Theams , What must it do when your Soul looks abroad , Quick'nd with Agitations of the Sence , And dispossest of Sleeps dull heavy Load , When ev'ry Syllable has Eloquence ? And if by Chance such Wounds you make , And in your Sleep such welcome Mischiefs do ; What are your Pow'rs when you 're awake , Directed by Design and Reason too ? I slept , as duller Mortals use , Without the Musick of a Thought , When by a gentle Breath , soft as thy Muse , Thy Name to my glad Ear was brought : Amyntas ! cry'd the Page — — And at the Sound , My list'ning Soul unusual Pleasure found . So the Harmonius Spheres surprize , Whilst the All-Ravish'd Shepherd gazes round , And wonders whence the Charms should rise , That can at once both please and wound . Whilst trembling I unript the Seal Of what you 'd sent , My Heart with an Impatient Zeal , Without my Eyes , would needs reveal Its Bus'ness and Intent . But so beyond the Sence they were Of ev'ry scribling Lovers common Art , That now I find an equal share Of Love and Admiration in my Heart . And while I read , in vain I strove To hide the Pleasure which I took ; Bellario saw in ev'ry Look My smiling Joy and blushing Love . Soft ev'ry word , easie each Line , and true ; Brisk , witty , manly , strong and gay ; The Thoughts are tender all , and new , And Fancy ev'ry where does gently play . Amyntas if you thus go on , Like an unwearied Conqueror day and night , The World at last must be undone . You do not only kill at sight , But like a Parthian in your flight . Whether you Rally or Retreat , You still have Arrows for Defeat .

To my Lady Morland at Tunbrige . AS when a Conqu'rour does in Triumph come , And proudly leads the vanquish'd Captives home , The Joyful People croud in ev'ry Street , And with loud shouts of Praise the Victor greet ; While some whom Chance or Fortune kept away , Desire at least the Story of the Day ; How brave the Prince , how gay the Chariot was , How beautiful he look'd , with what a Grace ; Whether upon his Head he Plumes did wear ; Or if a Wreath of Bays adorn'd his Hair : They hear 't is wondrous fine , and long much To see the Hero then they did before . So when the Marvels by Report I knew , more Of how much Beauty , Cloris , dwelt in you ; How many Slaves your Conqu'ring Eyes had won , And how the gazing Crowd admiring throng : I wish'd to see , and much a Lover grew Of so much Beauty , though my Rivals too . I came and saw , and blest my Destiny ; I found it Just you should out-Rival me . 'T was at the Altar , where more Hearts were giv'n To you that day , then were address'd to Heav'n . The Rev'rend Man whose Age and Mystery Had rendred Youth and Beauty Vanity , By fatal Chance casting his Eyes your way , Mistook the duller Bus'ness of the Day , Forgot the Gospel , and began to Pray . Whilst the Enamour'd Crowd that near you prest , Receiving Darts which none could e'er resist , Neglected the Mistake o' th' Love-sick Priest . Ev'n my Devotion , Cloris , you betray'd , And I to Heaven no other Petition made , But that you might all other Nymphs out-do In Cruelty as well as Beauty too . I call'd Amyntas Faithless Swain before , But now I find 't is Just he should Adore . Not to love you , a wonder sure would be , Greater then all his Perjuries to me . And whilst I Blame him , I Excuse him too ; Who would not venture Heav'n to purchase you ? But Charming Cloris , you too meanly prize The more deserving Glories of your Eyes , If you permit him on an Amorous score , To be your Slave , who was my Slave before . He oft has Fetters worn , and can with ease Admit 'em or dismiss 'em when he please . A Virgin-Heart you merit , that ne'er found It could receive , till from your Eyes , the Wound ; A Heart that nothing but your Force can fear , And own a Soul as Great as you are Fair.

Song to Ceres . In the Wavering Nymph , or Mad Amyntas . I. CEres , Great Goddess of the bounteous Year , Who load'st the Teeming Earth with Gold and Grain , Blessing the Labours of th' Industrious Swain , And to their Plaints inclin'st thy gracious Ear : Behold two fair Cicilian Lovers lie Prostrate before thy Deity ; Imploring thou wilt grant the Just Desires Of two Chaste Hearts that burn with equal Fires . II. Amyntas he , brave , generous and young ; Whom yet no Vice his Youth has e'er betray'd : And Chaste Urania is the Lovely Maid ; His Daughter who has serv'd thy Altars long , As thy High Priest : A Dowry he demands A the young Amorous Shepherds hands : Say , gentle Goddess , what the Youth must give , E'er the Bright Maid he can from thee receive .

Song in the same Play , by the Wavering Nymph . PAN grant that I may never prove So great a Slave to fall in love , And to an Unknown Deity Resign my happy Liberty : I love to see the Amorous Swains Unto my Scorn their Hearts resign : With Pride I see the Meads and Plains Throng'd all with Slaves , and they all mine : Whilst I the whining Fools despise , That pay their Homage to my Eyes .

The Disappointment . I. ONe day the Amorous Lysander , By an impatient Passion sway'd , Surpriz'd fair Cloris , that lov'd Maid , Who could defend her self no longer . All things did with his Love conspire ; The gilded Planet of the Day , In his gay Chariot drawn by Fire , Was now descending to the Sea , And left no Light to guide the World , But what from Cloris Brighter Eyes was hurld . II. In a lone Thicket made for Love , Silent as yielding Maids Consent , She with a Charming Languishment , Permits his Force , yet gently strove ; Her Hands his Bosom softly meet , But not to put him back design'd , Rather to draw 'em on inclin'd : Whilst he lay trembling at her Feet , Resistance 't is in vain to show ; She wants the pow'r to say — Ah! What d' ye do ? III. Her Bright Eyes sweet , and yet severe , Where Love and Shame confus'dly strive , Fresh Vigor to Lysander give ; And breathing faintly in his Ear , She cry'd — Cease , Cease — your vain Desire , Or I 'll call out — What would you do ? My Dearer Honour ev'n to You I cannot , must not give — Retire , Or take this Life , whose chiefest part I gave you with the Conquest of my Heart . IV. But he as much unus'd to Fear , As he was capable of Love , The blessed minutes to improve , Kisses her Mouth , her Neck , her Hair ; Each Touch her new Desire Alarms , His burning trembling Hand he prest Upon her swelling Snowy Brest , While she lay panting in his Arms. All her Unguarded Beauties lie The Spoils and Trophies of rhe Enemy . V. And now without Respect or Fear , He seeks the Object of his Vows , ( His Love no Modesty allows ) By swift degrees advancing — where His daring Hand that Altar seiz'd , Where Gods of Love do sacirfice : That Awful Throne , that Paradice Where Rage is calm'd , and Anger pleas'd ; That Fountain where Delight still flows , And gives the Universal World Repose . VI. Her Balmy Lips incountring his , Their Bodies , as their Souls , are joyn'd ; Where both in Transports Unconfin'd Extend themselves upon the Moss . Cloris half dead and breathless lay ; Her soft Eyes cast a Humid Light , Such as divides the Day and Night ; Or falling Stars , whose Fires decay : And now no signs of Life she shows , But what in short-breath'd Sighs returns & goes . VII . He saw how at her Length she lay ; He saw her rising Bosom bare ; Her loose thin Rohes , through which appeat A Shape design'd for Love and Play ; Abandon'd by her Pride and Shame . She does her softest Joys dispence , Off'ring her Virgin-Innocence A Victim to Loves Sacred Flame ; While the o'er-Ravish'd Shepherd lies Unable to perform the Sacrifice . VIII . Ready to taste a thousand Joys , The too transported hapless Swain Found the vast Pleasure turn'd to Pain ; Pleasure which too much Love destroys : The willing Garments by he laid , And Heaven all open'd to his view , Mad to possess , himself he threw On the Defenceless Lovely Maid . But Oh what envying God conspires To snatch his Power , yet leave him the Desire ! IX . Nature's Support , ( without whose Aid She can no Humane Being give ) It self now wants the Art to live ; Faintness its slack'ned Nerves invade : In vain th' inraged Youth essay'd To call its fleeting Vigor back , No motion 't will from Motion take ; Excess of Love his Love betray'd : In vain he Toils , in vain Commands ; The Insensible fell weeping in his Hand . X. In this so Amorous Cruel Strife , Where Love and Fate were too severe , The poor Lysander in despair Renounc'd his Reason with his Life : Now all the brisk and active Fire That should the Nobler Part inflame , Serv'd to increase his Rage and Shame , And left no Spark for New Desire : Not all her Naked Charms cou'd move Or calm that Rage that had debauch'd his Love . XI . Cloris returning from the Trance Which Love and soft Desire had bred , Her timerous Hand she gently laid ( Or guided by Design or Chance ) Upon that Fabulous Priapas , That Potent God , as Poets feign ; But never did young Shepherdess , Gath'ring of Fern upon the Plain , More nimbly draw her Fingers back , Finding beneath the verdant Leaves a Snake : XII . Than Cloris her fair Hand withdrew , Finding that God of her Desires Disarm'd of all his Awful Fires , And Cold as Flow'rs bath'd in the Morning-Dew . Who can the Nymph's Confusion guess ? The Blood forsook the hinder Place , And strew'd with Blushes all her Face , Which both Disdain and Shame exprest : And from Lysander's Arms she fled , Leaving him fainting on the Gloomy Bed . XIII . Like Lightning through the Grove she hies , Or Daphne from the Delphick God , No Print upon the grassey Road She leaves , t' instruct Pursuing Eyes . The Wind that wanton'd in her Hair , And with her Ruffled Garments plaid , Discover'd in the Flying Maid All that the Gods e'er made , if Fair. So Venus , when her Love was slain , With Fear and Haste flew o'er the Fatal Plain . XIV . The Nymph's Resentments none but I Can well Imagine or Condole : But none can guess Lysander's Soul , But those who sway'd his Destiny . His silent Griefs swell up to Storms , And not one God his Fury spares ; He curs'd his Birth , his Fate , his Stars ; But more the Shepherdess's Charms , Whose soft bewitching Influence Had Damn'd him to the Hell of Impotence .

On a Locket of Hair Wove in a True-Loves Knot , given me by Sir R. O. WHat means this Knot , in Mystick Order Ty'd , And which no Humane Knowledge can divide ? Not the Great Conqu'rours Sword can this undo Whose very Beauty would divert the Blow . Bright Relique ! Shrouded in a Shrine of Gold ! Less Myst'ry made a Deity of Old . Fair Charmer ! Tell me by what pow'rful Spell You into this Confused Order fell ? If Magick could be wrought on things Divine , Some Amorous Sybil did thy Form design In some soft hour , which the Prophetick Maid In Nobler Mysteries of Love employ'd , Wrought thee a Hieroglyphick , to express The wanton God in all his Tenderness ; Thus shaded , and thus all adorn'd with Charms , Harmless , Unfletch'd , without Offensive Arms , He us'd of Old in shady Groves to Play , E'er Swains broke Vows , or Nymphs were vain and coy , Or Love himself had Wings to fly away . Or was it ( his Almighty Pow'r to prove ) Design'd a Quiver for the God of Love ? And all these shining Hairs which th' inspir'd Maid Has with such strange Mysterious Fancy laid , Are meant his Shafts ; the subt'lest surest Darts That ever Conqu'red or Secur'd his Hearts ; Darts that such tender Passions do convey , Not the young Wounder is more soft than they . 'T is so ; the Riddle I at last have learn'd : But found it when I was too far concern'd .

The Dream . A Song . I. THe Grove was gloomy all around , Murm'ring the Streams did pass , Where fond Astrea laid her down Upon a Bed of Grass . I slept and saw a piteous sight , Cupid a weeping lay , Till both his little Stars of Light Had wept themselves away . II. Methought I ask'd him why he cry'd , My Pity led me on : All sighing the sad Boy reply'd , Alas I am undone ! As I beneath you Myrtles lay , Down by Diana's Springs , Amyntas stole my Bow away , And Pinion'd both my Wings . III. Alas ! cry'd I , 't was then thy Darts Wherewith he wounded me : Thou Mighty Deity of Hearts , He stole his Pow'r from thee . Revenge thee , if a God thou be , Upon the Amorous Swain ; I 'll set thy Wings at Liberty , And thou shalt fly again . IV. And for this Service on my Part , All I implore of thee , Is , That thou 't wound Amyntas Heart , And make him die for me . His Silken Fetters I Unty'd , And the gay Wings display'd ; Which gently fann'd , he mounts and cry'd , Farewel fond easie Maid . V. At this I blush'd , and angry grew I should a God believe ; And waking found my Dream too true , Alas I was a Slave .

A Letter to a Brother of the Pen in Tribulation . POor Damon ! Art thou caught ? Is 't ev'n so ? Art thou become a * * So he called a Sweating-Tub . Tabernacler too ? Where sure thou dost not mean to Preach or Pray , Unless it be the clean contrary way : This holy a a Lent . time I little thought thy sin Deserv'd a Tub to do its Pennance in . O how you 'll for th' Aegyptian Flesh-pots wish , When you 'r half-famish'd with your Lenten-dish , Your Almonds , Currans , Biskets hard and dry , Food that will Soul and Body mortifie : Damn'd Penetential Drink , that will infuse Dull Principles into thy Grateful Muse. — Pox on 't that you must needs be fooling now , Just when the Wits had greatest b b I wanted a Prologue to a Play . need of you . Was Summer then so long a coming on , That you must make an Artificial one ? Much good may 't do thee ; but 't is thought thy Brain E'er long will wish for cooler Days again . For Honesty no more will I engage : I durst have sworn thou 'dst had thy Pusillage . Thy Looks the whole Cabal have cheated too ; But thou wilt say , most of the Wits do so . Is this thy writing c c He pretended to 〈◊〉 Write . Plays ? who thought thy Wit An Interlude of Whoring would admit ? To Poetry no more thou 'lt be inclin'd , Unless in Verse to damn all Woman-kind : And 't is but Just thou shouldst in Rancor grow Against that Sex that has Confin'd thee so . All things in Nature now are Brisk and Gay At the Approaches of the Blooming May : The new-fletch'd Birds do in our Arbors sing A Thousand Airs to welcome in the Spring ; Whilst ev'ry Swain is like a Bridegroom drest , And ev'ry Nymph as going to a Feast : The Meadows now their flowry Garments wear , And ev'ry Grove does in its Pride appear : Whilst thou poor Damon in close Rooms art pent , Where hardly thy own Breath can find a vent . Yet that too is a Heaven , compar'd to th' Task Of Codling every Morning in a Cask . Now I could curse this Female , but I know , She needs it not , that thus cou'd handle you . Besides , that Vengeance does to thee belong , And 't were Injustice to disarm thy Tongue . Curse then ▪ dear Swain , that all the Youth may And from thy dire Mishap be taught to fear . Curse till thou hast undone the Race , and all hear , That did contribute to thy Spring and Fall .

The Reflection : A Song . I. POOR Lost Serena , to Bemoan The Rigor of her Fate , High'd to a Rivers-side alone , Upon whose Brinks she sat . Her Eyes , as if they would have spar'd , The Language of her Tongue , In Silent Tears a while declar'd The Sense of all her wrong . II. But they alas too feeble were , Her Grief was swoln too high To be Exprest in Sighs and Tears ; She must or speak or dye . And thus at last she did complain , Is this the Faith , said she , Which thou allowest me , Cruel Swain , For that I gave to thee ? III. Heaven knows with how much Innocence I did my Soul Incline To thy Soft Charmes of Eloquence , And gave thee what was mine . I had not one Reserve in Store , But at thy Feet I lay'd Those Arms that Conquer'd heretofore , Tho' now thy Trophies made . IV. Thy Eyes in Silence told their Tale Of Love in such a way , That 't was as easie to Prevail , As after to Betray . And when you spoke my Listning Soul , Was on the Flattery Hung : And I was lost without Controul , Such Musick grac'd thy Tongue . V. Alas how long in vain you strove My coldness to divert ! How long besieg'd it round with Love , Before you won the Heart . What Arts you us'd , what Presents made , What Songs , what Letters writ : And left no Charm that cou'd invade , Or with your Eyes or Wit. VI. Till by such Obligations Prest , By such dear Perjuries won : I heedlesly Resign'd the rest , And quickly was undone . For as my Kindling Flames increase , Yours glimeringly decay : The Rifled Joys no more can Please , That once oblig'd your Stay . VII . Witness ye Springs , ye Meads and Groves , Who oft were conscious made To all our Hours and Vows of Love ; Witness how I 'm Betray'd . Trees drop your Leaves , be Gay no more , Ye Rivers waste and drye : Whilst on your Melancholy Shore , I lay me down and dye .

SONG . To Pesibles Tune . I. 'T was when the Fields were gay , The Groves and every Tree : Just when the God of Day , Grown weary of his Sway , Descended to the Sea , And Gloomy Light around did all the World survey . 'T was then the Hapless Swain , Amyntas , to Complain Of Silvia's cold Disdain , Retir'd to Silent Shades ; Where by a Rivers Side , His Tears did swell the Tide , As he upon the Brink was lay'd . II. Ye Gods , he often cry'd , Why did your Powers design In Silvia so much Pride , Such Falshood to beside . With Beauty so Divine ? Why should so much of Hell with so much Heaven joyn ? Be witness every Shade , How oft the lovely Maid Her tender Vows has paid ; Yet with the self-same Breath , With which so oft before , And solemnly she swore , Pronounces now Amyntas Death . III. But Charming Nymph beware , Whilst I your Victim die , Some One , my Perjur'd Fair , Revenging my Despair , Will prove as false to thee ; Which yet my wandring Ghost wou'd look more pale to see . For I shall break my Tomb , And nightly as I rome , Shall to my Silvia come , And show the Piteous Sight ; My bleeding Bosom too , Which wounds were given by you ; Then vanish in the Shades of Night .

SONG . On her Loving Two Equally . Set by Captain Pack . I. HOw strongly does my Passion flow , Divided equally 'twixt two ? Damon had ne'er subdu'd my Heart , Had not Alexis took his part ; Nor cou'd Alexis pow'rful prove , Without my Damons Aid , to gain my Love . II. When my Alexis present is , Then I for Damon sigh and mourn ; But when Alexis I do miss , Damon gains nothing but my Scorn . But if it chance they both are by , For both alike I languish , sigh , and die . III. Cure then , thou mighty winged God , This restless Feaver in my Blood ; One Golden-Pointed Dart take back : But which , O Cupid , wilt thou take ? If Damons , all my Hopes are crost ; Or that of my Alexis , I am lost .

The Counsel . A Song . Set by Captain Pack . I. APox upon this needless Scorn : Sylvia for shame the Cheat give o'er : The End to which the Fair are botn , Is not to keep their Charms in store : But lavishly dispose in haste Of Joys which none but Youth improve ; Joys which decay when Beauty's past ; And who , when Beauty's past , will love ? II. When Age those Glories shall deface , Revenging all your cold Disdain ; And Sylvia shall neglected pass , By every once-admiring Swain ; And we no more shall Homage pay : When you in vain too late shall burn , If Love increase , and Youth decay , Ah Sylvia ! who will make Return ? III. Then haste , my Sylvia , to the Grove , Where all the Sweets of May conspire To teach us ev'ry Art of Love , And raise our Joys of Pleasure higher : Where while embracing we shall lie Loosly in Shades on Beds of Flow'rs , The duller World while we defie , Years will be Minutes , Ages Hours .

SONG . The Surprize . Set by Mr. Farmer : I. PHillis , whose Heart was Unconfin'd , And free as Flow'rs on Meads and Plains , None boasted of her being Kind , 'Mong'st all the languishing and amorous Swains . No Sighs or Tears the Nymph cou'd move , To pity or return their Love . II. Till on a time the hapless Maid Retir'd to shun the Heat o' th' Day Into a Grove , beneath whose shade Strephon the careless Shepherd sleeping lay : But O such Charms the Youth adorn , Love is reveng'd for all her Scorn . III. Her Cheeks with Blushes cover'd were , And tender Sighs her Bosom warm , A Softness in her Eyes appear ; Unusual Pain she feels from ev'ry Charm : To Woods and Ecchoes now she cries , For Modesty to speak denies .

SONG . I. AH ! what can mean that eager Joy Transports my Heart when you appear ? Ah Strephon ! you my Thoughts imploy In all that 's Charming , all that 's Dear . When you your pleasing Story tell , A Softness does invade each Part , And I with Blushes own I feel Something too tender at my Heart . II. At your approach my Blushes rise , And I at once both wish and fear ; My wounded Soul mounts to my Eyes , As it would prattle Stories there . Take , take that Heart that needs must go ; But , Shepherd , see it kindly us'd : For who such Presents will bestow , If this , alas ! should be abus'd ?

The Invitation : A Song . To a New Scotch Tune . I. COme my Phillis let us improve Both our Joyes of Equal Love : While we in yonder Shady Grove , Count Minutes by our Kisses . See the Flowers how sweetly they spread , And each Resigns his Gawdy Head , To make for us a Fragrant Bed , To practice o'er New Blisses . II. The Sun it self with Love does conspire , And sends abroad his ardent Fire , And kindly seems to bid us retire , And shade us from his Glory ; Then come , my Phillis , do not fear ; All that your Swain desires there , Is by those Eyes a new to swear How much he does adore ye . III. Phillis , in vain you shed those Tears ; Why do you blush ? Oh speak your Fears ! There 's none but your Amyntas hears : What means this pretty Passion ? Can you fear your Favours will cloy Those that the Blessing does enjoy ? Ah no! such needless Thoughts destroy : This Nicety's out of Fashion . IV. When thou hast done , by Pan I swear , Thou wilt unto my Eyes appear A thousand times more Charming and Fair , Then thou wert to my first Desire : That Smile was kind , and now thou' rt wise , To throw away this Coy Disguise , And by the vigor of thy Eyes , Declare thy Youth and Fire .

Silvio's Complaint : A SONG , To a Fine Scotch Tune . I. IN the Blooming Time o' th' year , In the Royal Month of May : Au the Heaves were glad and clear , Au the Earth was Fresh and Gay . A Noble Youth but all Forlorn , Lig'd Sighing by a Spring : 'T were better I's was nere Born , Ere wisht to be a King . II. Then from his Starry Eyne , Muckle Showers of Christal Fell : To bedew the Roses Fine , That on his Cheeks did dwell . And ever 'twixt his Sighs he 'd cry , How Bonny a Lad I 'd been , Had I , weys me , nere Aim'd high , Or wisht to be a King . III. With Dying Clowdy Looks , Au the Fields and Groves he kens : Au the Gleeding Murmuring Brooks , ( Noo his Unambitious Friends ) Tol which he eance with Mickle Cheer His Bleating Flocks woud bring : And crys , woud God I 'd dy'd here , Ere wisht to be a King . IV. How oft in Yonder Mead , Cover'd ore with Painted Flowers : Au the Dancing Youth I 've led , Where we past our Blether Hours . In Yonder Shade , in Yonder Grove , How Blest the Nymphs have been : Ere I for Pow'r Debaucht Love , Or wisht to be a King . V. Not add the Arcadian Swains , In their Pride and Glory Clad : Not au the Spacious Plains , Ere coud Boast a Bleether Lad. When ere I Pip'd , or Danc'd , or Ran , Or leapt , or whirl'd the Sling : The Flowry Wreaths I still won , And wisht to be a King , VI. But Curst be yon Tall Oak , And Old Thirsis be accurst : There I first my peace forsook , There I learnt Ambition first . Such Glorious Songs of Hero's Crown'd , The Restless Swain woud Sing : My Soul unknown desires found , And Languisht to be King . VII . Ye Garlands wither now , Fickle Glories vanish all : Ye Wreaths that deckt my Brow , To the ground neglected fall . No more my sweet Repose molest , Nor to my Fancies bring The Golden Dreams of being Blest With Titles of a King . VIII . Ye Noble Youths beware , Shun Ambitious powerful Tales : Distructive , False , and Fair , Like the Oceans Flattering Gales . See how my Youth and Glories lye , Like Blasted Flowers i' th' Spring : My Fame Renown and all dye , For wishing to be King .

In Imitation of Horace . I. WHat mean those Amorous Curles of Jet ? For what heart-Ravisht Maid Dost thou thy Hair in order set , Thy Wanton Tresses Braid ? And thy vast Store of Beauties open lay , That the deluded Fancy leads astray . II. For pitty hide thy Starry eyes , Whose Languishments destroy : And look not on the Slave that dyes With an Excess of Joy . Defend thy Coral Lips , thy Amber Breath ; To taste these Sweets lets in a Certain Death . III. Forbear , fond Charming Youth , forbear , Thy words of Melting Love : Thy Eyes thy Language well may spare , One Dart enough can move . And she that hears thy voice and sees thy Eyes With too much Pleasure , too much Softness dies IV. Cease , Cease , with Sighs to warm my Soul , Or press me with thy Hand : Who can the kindling fire controul , The tender force withstand ? Thy Sighs and Touches like wing'd Lightning fly , And are the Gods of Loves Artillery .

To Lysander , who made some Verses on a Discourse of Loves Fire . I. IN vain , dear Youth , you say you love , And yet my Marks of Passion blame ; Since Jealousie alone can prove , The surest Witness of my Flame : And she who without that , a Love can vow , Believe me , Shepherd , does not merit you . II. Then give me leave to doubt , that Fire I kindle , may another warm : A Face that cannot move Desire , May serve at least to end the Charm : Love else were Witchcraft , that on malice bent , Denies ye Joys , or makes ye Impotent . III. 'T is true , when Cities are on fire , Men never wait for Christal Springs ; But to the Neighb'ring Pools retire ; Which nearest , best Assistance brings ; And serves as well to quench the raging Flame , As if from God-delighting Streams it came . IV. A Fancy strong may do the Feat Yet this to Love a Riddle is , And shows that Passion but a Cheat ; Which Men but with their Tongues Confess . For 't is a Maxime in Loves learned School , Who blows the Fire , the flame can only Rule . V. Though Honour does your Wish deny , Honour ! the Foe to your Repose ; Yet 't is more Noble far to dye , Then break Loves known and Sacred Laws : What Lover wou'd pursue a single Game , That cou'd amongst the Fair deal out his flame ? VI. Since then Lysander you desire , Amynta only to adore ; Take in no Partners to your Fire , For who well Loves , that Loves one more ? And if such Rivals in your Heart I find , T is in My Power to die , but not be kind .

A Dialogue for an Entertainment at Court , between Damon and Sylvia . Damon . AH Sylvia ! if I still pursue , Whilst you in vain your Scorn improve ; What wonders might your Eies not do : If they would dress themselves in Love . Silvia . Shepherd you urge my Love in vain , For I can ne'er Reward your pain ; A Slave each Smile of mine can win , And all my softning Darts , When e'er I please , can bring me in A Thousand Yeilding Hearts . Damon . Yet if those Slaves you treat with Cruelty , 'T is an Inglorious Victory ; And those unhappy Swaines you so subdue , May Learn at last to scorn , as well as you ; Your Beauty though the Gods design'd Shou'd be Ador'd by all below ; Yet if you want a Godlike Pittying Mind , Our Adoration soon will colder grow : 'T is Pitty makes a Deity , Ah Silvia ! daine to pitty me , And I will worship none but thee . Sylvia . Perhaps I may your Councel take , And Pitty , tho' not Love , for Damons sake ; Love is a Flame my Heart ne'er knew , Nor knows how to begin to burn for you . Damon . Ah Sylvia who 's the happy Swain , For whom that Glory you ordain ! Has Strephon , Pithius , Hilus , more Of Youth , of Love , or Flocks a greater store ? My flame pursues you too , with that Address , Which they want Passion to Profess : Ah then make some Returns my Charming Shepherdess . Silvia . Too Faithful Shepherd I will try my Heart , And if I can will give you part . Damon . Oh that was like your self exprest , Give me but part , and I will steal the rest . Silvia . Take care Young Swain you treat it well , If you wou'd have it in your Bosom dwell ; Now let us to the Shades Retreat , Where all the Nymphs and Shepherds meet . Damon . And give me there your leave my Pride to show , For having but the hopes of Conquering you ; Where all the Swaines shall Passion learn of me : And all the Nymphs to bless like thee . Silvia . Where every Grace I will bestow , And every Look and Smile , shall show How much above the rest I vallue you . Damon . And I those Blessings will improve ; By constant Faith , and tender Love . [ A Chorus of Satyrs and Nymphs made by another hand . ]

On Mr. J. H. In a Fit of Sickness . I. IF when the God of Day retires , The Pride of all the Spring decays and dies : Wanting those Life-begetting Fires From whence they draw their Excellencies ; Each little Flower hangs down its Gawdy Head , Losing the Luster which it did Retain ; No longer will its fragrant face be spread , But Languishes into a Bud again : So with the Sighing Crowd it fares Since you Amyntas , have your Eies withdrawn ' Ours Lose themselves in Silent Tears , Our days are Melancholy Dawn ; The Groves are Unfrequented now , The Shady Walks are all Forlorn ; Who still were throng to gaze on you : With Nymphs , whom your Retirement has undone . II. Our Bag-pipes now away are flung , Our Flocks a Wandering go ; Garlands neglected , on the Boughs are hung , That us'd to adorn each Chearful Brow , Forsaken looks the enameld May : And all its wealth Uncourted dies ; Each little Bird forgets its wonted Lay , That Sung Good Morrow to the welcome Day . Or rather to thy Lovely Eies . The Cooling Streams do backward glide : Since on their Banks they saw not thee , Losing the Order of their Tide , And Murmuring chide thy Cruelty ; Then hast to lose themselves i' th' Angry Sea . III. Thus every thing in its Degree , Thy said Retreat Deplore ; Hast then Amyntas , and Restore ; The whole Worlds Loss in thee . For like an Eastern Monarch , when you go , ( If such a Fate the World must know ) A Beautious and a Numerous Host Of Love-sick Maids , will wait upon thy Ghost ; And Death that Secret will Reveal , Which Pride and Shame did here Conceal ; Live then thou Lovelyest of the Plaines , Thou Beauty of the Envying Swaines ; Whose Charms even Death it self wou'd court , And of his Solemn Business make a Sport . IV. In Pitty to each Sighing Maid , Revive , come forth , be Gay and Glad ; Let the Young God of Love implore , In Pity lend him Darts , For when thy Charming Eies shall shoot no more ; He 'll lose his Title of the God of Hearts . In Pity to Astrea live , Astrea , whom from all the Sighing Throng , You did your oft-won Garlands give : For which she paid you back in Grateful Song : Astrea , who did still the Glory boast , To be ador'd by thee , and to adore thee most . V. With Pride she saw her Rivals Sigh and Pine , And vainly cry'd , The lovely Youth is mine ! By all thy Charms I do Conjure thee , live ; By all the Joys thou canst receive , and give : By each Recess and Shade where thou and I , Loves Secrets did Unfold ; And did the dull Unloving World defy : Whilst each the Hearts fond Story told . If all these Conjurations nought Prevail , Not Prayers or Sighs , or Tears avail , But Heaven has Destin'd we Depriv'd must be , Of so much Youth , Wit , Beauty , and of Thee ; I will the Deaf and Angry Powers defie , Curse thy Decease , Bless thee , and with thee die .

To Lysander , on some Verses he writ , and asking more for his Heart then 't was worth . I. TAke back that Heart , you with such Caution give , Take the fond valu'd Trifle back ; I hate Love-Merchants that a Trade wou'd drive ; And meanly cunning Bargains make . II. I care not how the busy Market goes , And scorn to Chaffer for a price : Love does one Staple Rate on all impose , Nor leaves it to the Traders Choice . III. A Heart requires a Heart Unfeign'd and True , Though Subt'ly you advance the Price , And ask a Rate that Simple Love ne'er knew : And the free Trade Monopolize . IV. An Humble Slave the Buyer must become , She must not bate a Look or Glance , You will have all , or you 'll have none ; See how Loves Market you inhaunce . V. Is 't not enough , I gave you Heart for Heart , But I must add my Lips and Eies ; I must no friendly Smile or Kiss impart ; But you must Dun me with Advice . VI. And every Hour still more unjust you grow , Those Freedoms you my life deny , You to Adraste are oblig'd to show , And give her all my Rifled Joy . VII . Without Controul she gazes on that Face , And all the happy Envyed Night , In the pleas'd Circle of your fond imbrace : She takes away the Lovers Right . VIII . From me she Ravishes those silent hours , That are by Sacred Love my due ; Whilst I in vain accuse the angry Powers , That make me hopeless Love pursue . IX . Adrastes Ears with that dear Voice are blest , That Charms my Soul at every Sound , And with those Love-Inchanting Touches prest : Which I ne'er felt without a Wound . X. She has thee all : whilst I with silent Greif , The Fragments of thy Softness feel , Yet dare not blame the happy licenc'd Thief : That does my Dear-bought Pleasures steal . XI . Whilst like a Glimering Taper still I burn , And waste my self in my own flame , Adraste takes the welcome rich Return : And leaves me all the hopeless Pain . XII . Be just , my lovely Swain , and do not take Freedoms you 'll not to me allow ; Or give Amynta so much Freedom back : That she may Rove as well as you . XIII . Let us then love upon the honest Square , Since Interest neither have design'd , For the sly Gamester , who ne'er plays me fair , Must Trick for Trick expect to find .

To the Honourable Edward Howard , on his Comedy called The New Utopia , I. BEyond the Merit of the Age , You have adorn'd the Stage ; So from rude Farce , to Comick Order brought , Each Action , and each Thought ; To so Sublime a Method , as yet none ( But Mighty Ben alone ) Cou'd e'er arive , and he at distance too ; Were he alive he must resign to you : You have out-done what e'er he writ , In this last great Example of your Wit. Your Solymour does his Morose destroy , And your Black Page undoes his Barbers Boy ; All his Collegiate Ladies must retire , While we thy braver Heroins do admire . This new Utopia rais'd by thee , Shall stand a Structure to be wondered at , And men shall cry , this — this — is he Who that Poetick City did create : Of which Moor only did the Model draw , You did Compleat that little World , and gave it Law . II. If you too great a Prospect doe allow To those whom Ignorance does at distance Seat , 'T is not to say , the Object is less great , But they-want sight to apprehend it so : The ancient Poets in their times , When thro' the Peopl'd Streets they sung their Rhimes , Found small applause ; they sung but still were poor ; Repeated Wit enough at every door . T' have made 'em demy Gods ! but 't wou'd not do , Till Ages more refin'd esteem'd 'em so . The Modern Poets have with like Success , Quitted the Stage , and Sallyed from the Press Great Johnson scarce a Play brought forth , But Monster-like it frighted at its Birth : Yet he continued still to write , And still his Satyr did more sharply bite . He writ tho certain of his Doom , Knowing his Pow'r in Comedy : To please a wiser Age to come : And though he Weapons wore to Justify The reasons of his Pen ; he cou'd not bring , Dull Souls to Sense by Satyr , nor by Cudgelling . III. In vain the Errors of the Times , You strive by wholesom Precepts to Confute , Not all your Pow'r in Prose or Rhimes , Can finish the Dispute : 'Twixt those that damn , and those that do admire : The heat of your Poetick fire . Your Soul of Thought you may imploy A Nobler way , Then in revenge upon a Multitude , Whose Ignorance only makes 'em rude . Shou'd you that Justice do , You must for ever bid adieu , To Poetry divine , And ev'ry Muse o' th' Nine : For Malice then with Ignorance would join , And so undo the World and You : So ravish from us that delight , Of seeing the Wonders which you Write : And all your Glories unadmir'd must lye , As Vestal Beauties are Intomb'd before they dye . IV. Consider and Consult your Wit , Despise those Ills you must indure : And raise your Scorne as great as it , Be Confident and then Secure . And let your rich-fraught Pen , Adventure out agen ; Maugre the Stormes that do opose its course , Stormes that destroy without remorse : It may new Worlds descry , Which Peopl'd from thy Brain may know More than the Universe besides can show : More Arts of Love , and more of Gallantry . Write on ! and let not after Ages say , The Whistle or rude Hiss cou'd lay Thy mighty Spright of Poetry , Which but the Fools and Guilty fly ; Who dare not in thy Mirror see Their own Deformity : Where thou in two , the World dost Character , Since most of Men Sir Graves , or Peacocks are . V. And shall that Muse that did ere while , Chant forth the Glories of the British Isle , Shall shee who lowder was than Fame ; Now useless lie , and tame ? Shee who late made the Amazons so Great , And shee who Conquered Scythia too ; ( Which Alexander ne're coud do ) Will you permitt her to retreat ? Silence will like Submision show : And give Advantage to the Foe ! Undaunted let her once gain appear , And let her lowdly Sing in every Ear : Then like thy Mistris Eyes , who have the skill , Both to preserve a kill ; To thou at once maist be revengd on those That are thy Foes . And on thy Friends such Obligations lay , As nothing but the Deed ; the Doer can repay .

To Lysander at the Musick-Meeting . IT was too much , ye Gods , to see and hear ; Receiving wounds both from the Eye and Ear : One Charme might have secur'd a Victory , Both , rais'd the Pleasure even to Extasie : So Ravisht Lovers in each others Armes , Faint with excess of Joy , excess of Charmes : Had I but gaz'd and fed my greedy Eyes , Perhaps you 'd pleas'd no farther than surprize . That Heav'nly Form might Admiration move , But , not without the Musick , charm'd with Love : At least so quick the Conquest had not been ; You storm'd without , and Harmony within : Nor cou'd I listen to the sound alone , But I alas must look — and was undone : I saw the Softness that compos'd your Face , While your Attention heightend every Grace : Your Mouth all full of Sweetness and Content , And your fine killing Eyes of Languishment : Your Bosom now and than a sigh wou'd move , ( For Musick has the same effects with Love . ) Your Body easey and all tempting lay , Inspiring wishes which the Eyes betray , In all that have the fate to glance that way : A carless and a lovely Negligence , Did a new Charm to every Limb dispence : So look young Angels , Listening to the sound , When the Tun'd Spheres Glad all the Heav'ns a-round : So Raptur'd lie amidst the wondering Crowd , So Charmingly Extended on a Cloud . When from so many ways Loves Arrows storm , Who can the heedless Heart defend from harm ? Beauty and Musick must the Soul disarme ; Since Harmony , like Fire to Wax , does fit The softned Heart Impressions to admit : As the brisk sounds of Warr the Courage move , Musick prepares and warms the Soul to Love . But when the kindling Sparks such Fuel meet , No wonder if the Flame inspir'd be great .

An Ode to Love . I DUll Love no more thy Senceless Arrows prize , Damn thy Gay Quiver , break thy Bow ; 'T is only young Lysanders Eyes , That all the Arts of Wounding know . II. A Pox of Foolish Politicks in Love , A wise delay in Warr the Foe may harme : By Lazy Siege while you to Conquest move ; His fiercer Beautys vanquish by a Storme . III. Some wounded God , to be reveng'd on thee , The Charming Youth form'd in a lucky houre , Drest him in all that fond Divinity , That has out-Rivall'd thee , a God , in Pow'r . IV. Or else while thou supinely laid Basking beneath som Mirtle shade , In careless sleepe , or tir'd with play , When all thy Shafts did scatterd ly ; Th' unguarded Spoyles he bore away , And Arm'd himself with the Artillery . V. The Sweetness from thy Eyes he took , The Charming Dimples ftom thy Mouth , That wonderous Softness when you spoke ; And all thy Everlasting Youth . VI. Thy bow , thy Quiver , and thy Darts : Even of thy Painted Wings has rifled thee , To bear him from his Conquer'd broken Hearts , To the next Fair and Yeilding She.

Love Reveng'd , A Song . I. CElinda who did Love Disdain , For whom had languisht many a Swain ; Leading her Bleating Flock to drink , She spy'd upon the Rivers Brink A Youth , whose Eyes did well declare , How much he lov'd , but lov'd not her . II. At first she Laught , but gaz'd the while , And soon she lessen'd to a Smile ; Thence to Surprize and Wonder came , Her Breast to heave , her Heart to flame : Then cry'd she out , Now , now I prove , Thou art a God , Almighty Love . III. She would have spoke , but shame deny'd , And bid her first consult her Pride ; But soon she found that Aid was gone ; For Love alas had left her none : Oh how she burns , but 't is too late , For in her Eyes she reads her Fate .

SONG . To a New Scotch Tune . I. YOung Jemmy was a Lad , Of Royal Birth and Breeding , With ev'ry Beauty Clad : And ev'ry Grace Exceeding ; A face and shape so wondrous fine , So Charming ev'ry part ; That every Lass upon the Green : For Jemmy had a Heart . II. In Jemmy's Powerful Eyes , Young Gods of Love are playing , And on his Face there lies A Thousand Smiles betraying . But Oh he dances with a Grace , None like him e'er was seen ; No God that ever fancy'd was , Has so Divine a Miene . III. To Jemmy ev'ry Swaine Did lowly doff his Bonnet ; And every Nymph would strain , To praise him in her Sonnet : The Pride of all the Youths he was , The Glory of the Groves , The Joy of ev'ry tender Lass : The Theam of all our Loves . IV. But Oh Unlucky Fate , A Curse upon Ambition : The Busie Fopps of State Have ruin'd his Condition . For Glittering Hopes he'as left the Shade , His Peaceful Hours are gone : By flattering Knaves and Fools betray'd , Poor Jemmy is undone .

The Cabal at Nickey Nackeys . I. A Pox of the Statesman that 's witty , Who watches and Plots all the Sleepless Night : For Seditious Harangues , to the Whiggs of the City ; And Maliciously turns a Traytor in Spight . Let him Wear and Torment his lean Carrion : To bring his Sham-Plots about , Till at last King Bishop and Barron , For the Publick Good he have quite rooted out . II. But we that are no Polliticians , But Rogues that are Impudent , Barefac'd and Great , Boldly head the Rude Rable in times of Sedition ; And bear all down before us , in Church & in State . Your Impudence is the best State-Trick ; And he that by Law meanes to rule , Let his History with ours be related ; And tho' we are the Knaves , we know who 's the Fool.

A Paraphrase on the Eleventh Ode Out of the first Book of Horace . DEar Silvia let 's no farther strive , To know how long we have to Live ; Let Busy Gown-men search to know Their Fates above , while we Contemplate Beauties greater Power below , Whose only Smiles give Immortality ; But who seeks Fortune in a Star , Aims at a Distance much too far , She 's more inconstant than they are . What though this year must be our last , Faster than Time our Joys let 's hast ; Nor think of Ills to come , or past . Give me but Love and Wine , I 'll ne'er Complain my Destiny 's severe . Since Life bears so uncertain Date , With Pleasure we 'll attend our Fate , And Chearfully go meet it at the Gate . The Brave and Witty know no Fear or Sorrow , Let us enjoy to day , we 'll dye to Morrow .

A Translation . I. LYDIA , Lovely Maid , more fair Than Milk or whitest Lilies are , Than Polisht Indian Iv'ry shows , Or the fair unblushing Rose . II. Open , Maid , thy Locks , that hold Wealth more bright than shining Gold , Over thy white shoulders laid , Spread thy Locks , my Charming Maid . III. Lydia , ope' thy starry Eyes , Shew the Beds where Cupid lies , Open , Maid , thy Rosie-Cheeks , Red as Sun-declining streaks . IV. Shew thy Coral Lips , my Love , Kiss me softer than the Dove , Till my Ravisht Soul does lie Panting in an Ecstasie . V. Oh hold — and do not pierce my Heart , Which beats , as life wou'd thence depart , Hide thy Breasts that swell and rise , Hide 'em from my wishing Eyes . VI. Shut thy Bosome , white as Snow , Whence Arabian perfumes flow ; Hide it from my Raptur'd Touch , I have gaz'd — and kist too much . VII . Cruel Maid — on Malice bent , Seest thou not my Languishment ? Lydia ! — Oh I faint ! — I die ! With thy Beauties Luxury .

A PARAPHRASE On Ovid's Epistle of OENONE to PARIS . THE ARGUMENT .

Hecuba , being with Child of Paris , dream'd she was delivered of a Firebrand : Priam , consulting the Prophets , was answer'd the Child shou'd be the Destruction of Troy , wherefore Priam commanded it should be deliver'd to wild Beasts as soon as born ; but Hecuba conveys it secretly to Mount Ida , there to be foster'd by the Shepherds , where he falls in love with the Nymph OEnone , but at last being known and own'd , he sails into Greece , and carries Helen to Troy , which OEnone understanding , writes him this Epistle .

TO thee , dear Paris , Lord of my Desires , Once tender Partner of my softest Fires ; To thee I write , mine , while a Shepherd's Swain , But now a Prince , that Title you disdain . Oh fatal Pomp , that cou'd so soon divide What Love , and all our sacred Vows had ty'd ! What God , our Love industrious to prevent , Curst thee with power , and ruin'd my Content ? Greatness , which does at best but ill agree With Love , such Distance sets 'twixt Thee and Me. Whilst thou a Prince , and I a Shepherdess , My raging Passion can have no redress . Wou'd God , when first I saw thee , thou hadst been This Great , this Cruel , Celebrated thing . That without hope I might have gaz'd and bow'd , And mixt my Adorations with the Crowd ; Unwounded then I had escap'd those Eyes , Those lovely Authors of my Miseries . Not that less Charms their fatal pow'r had drest , But Fear and Awe my Love had then supprest : My unambitious Heart no Flame had known , But what Devotion pays to Gods alone . I might have wondr'd , and have wisht that He , Whom Heaven shou'd make me love , might look like Thee . More in a silly Nymph had been a sin , This had the height of my Presumption been . But thou a Flock didst feed on Ida's Plain , And hadst no Title , but The lovely Swain . A Title ! which more Virgin Hearts has won , Than that of being own'd King Priam's Son . Whilst me a harmless Neighbouring Cotager You saw , and did above the rest prefer . You saw ! and at first sight you lov'd me too , Nor cou'd I hide the wounds receiv'd from you . Me all the Village Herdsmen strove to gain , For me the Shepherds sigh'd and su'd in vain , Thou hadst my heart , and they my cold disdain . Not all their Offerings , Garlands , and first born Of their lov'd Ewes , cou'd bribe my Native scorn . My Love , like hidden Treasure long conceal'd , Cou'd onely where 't was destin'd , be reveal'd . And yet how long my Maiden blushes strove Not to betray my easie new-born Love . But at thy sight the kindling Fire wou'd rise , And I , unskill'd , declare it at my Eyes . But oh the Joy ! the mighty Ecstasie Possest thy Soul at this Discovery . Speechless , and panting at my feet you lay , And short breath'd Sighs told what you cou'd not say . A thousand times my hand with Kisses prest , And look'd such Darts , as none cou'd e'er resist . Silent we gaz'd , and as my Eyes met thine , New Joy fill'd theirs , new Love and shame fill'd mine ! You saw the Fears my kind disorder show'd And breaking Silence Faith anew you vow'd ! Heavens , how you swore by every Pow'r Divine You wou'd be ever true ! be ever mine ! Each God , a sacred witness you invoke , And wish'd their Curse when e'er these Vows you broke . Quick to my Heart each perjur'd Accent ran , Which I took in , believ'd , and was undone . " Vows are Love's poyson'd Arrows , and the heart So wounded , rarely finds a Cure from Art . At least this heart which Fate has destin'd yours , This heart unpractis'd in Love's mystick pow'rs , For I am soft and young as April Flowers . Now uncontroll'd we meet , uncheck'd improve Each happier Minute in new Joys of Love ! Soft were our hours ! and lavishly the Day We gave intirely up to Love , and Play . Oft to the cooling Groves our Flocks we led , And seated on some shaded , flowery Bed , Watch'd the united Wantons as they fed . And all the Day my list'ning Soul I hung Upon the charming Musick of thy Tongue , And never thought the blessed hours too long . No Swain , no God like thee cou'd ever move , Or had so soft an Art in whisp'ring Love , No wonder for thou art Ally'd to Jove ! And when you pip'd , or sung , or danc'd , or spoke , The God appear'd in every Grace , and Look . Pride of the Swains , and Glory of the Shades , The Grief , and Joy of all the Love-sick Maids . Thus whilst all hearts you rul'd without Controul , I reign'd the absolute Monarch of your Soul . Each Beach my Name yet bears , carv'd out by thee , Paris , and his OEnone fill each Tree ; And as they grow , the Letters larger spread , Grow still a witness of my Wrongs when dead ! Close by a silent silver Brook there grows A Poplar , under whose dear gloomy Boughs A thousand times we have exchang'd our Vows ! Oh may'st thou grow ! t' an endless date of Years ! Who on thy Bark this fatal Record bears ; When Paris to OEnone proves untrue , Back Xanthus Streams shall to their Fountains flow . Turn ! turn your Tides ! back to your Fountains run ! The perjur'd Swain from all his Faith is gone ! Curst be that day , may Fate appoint the hour , As Ominous in his black Kalendar ; When Venus , Pallas , and the Wife of Jove Descended to thee in the Mirtle Grove , In shining Chariots drawn by winged Clouds : Naked they came , no Veil their Beauty shrouds ; But every Charm , and Grace expos'd to view , Left Heav'n to be survey'd , and judg'd by you . To bribe thy voice Juno wou'd Crowns bestow , Pallas more gratefully wou'd dress thy Brow With Wreaths of Wit ! Venus propos'd the choice Of all the fairest Greeks ! and had thy Voice . Crowns , and more glorious Wreaths thou didst despise , And promis'd Beauty more than Empire prize ! This when you told , Gods ! what a killing fear Did over all my shivering Limbs appear ? And I presag'd some ominous Change was near ! The Blushes left my Cheeks , from every part The Bloud ran swift to guard my fainting heart . You in my Eyes the glimmering Light perceiv'd Of parting Life , and on my pale Lips breath'd Such Vows , as all my Terrors undeceiv'd . But soon the envying Gods disturb'd our Joy , Declar'd thee Great ! and all my Bliss destroy ! And now the Fleet is Anchor'd in the Bay , That must to Troy the glorious Youth convey . Heavens ! how you look'd ! and what a Godlike Grace At their first Homage beautify'd your Face ! Yet this no Wonder , or Amazement brought , You still a Monarch were in Soul , and thought ! Nor cou'd I tell which most the News augments , Your Joys of Pow'r , or parting Discontents . You kist the Tears which down my Cheeks did glide , And mingled yours with the soft falling Tide , And 'twixt your Sighs a thousand times you said , Cease my OEnone ! Cease my charming Maid ! If Paris lives his Native Troy to see , My lovely Nymph , thou shalt a Princess be ! But my Prophetick Fears no Faith allow'd , My breaking Heart resisted all you vow'd . Ah must me part , I cry'd ! that killing word No farther Language cou'd to Grief afford . Trembling , I fell upon thy panting Breast , Which was with equal Love , and Grief opprest , Whilst sighs and looks , all dying spoke the rest . About thy Neck my feeble Arms I cast , Not Vines , nor Ivy circle Elms so fast . To stay , what dear Excuses didst thou frame , And fansiedst Tempests when the Seas were calm ? How oft the Winds contrary feign'd to be , When they , alas , were onely so to me ! How oft new Vows of lasting Faith you swore , And 'twixt your Kisses all the old run o'er ? But now the wisely Grave , who Love despise , ( Themselves past hope ) do busily advise . Whisper Renown , and Glory in thy Ear , Language which Lovers fright , and Swains ne'er hear . For Troy they cry ! these Shepherds Weeds lay down , Change Crooks for Scepters ! Garlands for a Crown ! " But sure that Crown does far less easie sit , " Than Wreaths of Flow'rs , less innocent and sweet . " Nor can thy Beds of State so gratefull be , " As those of Moss , and new faln Leaves with me ! Now tow'rds the Beach we go , and all the way The Groves , the Fern , dark Woods , and springs survey ; That were so often conscious to the Rites Of sacred Love , in our dear stoln Delights . With Eyes all languishing , each place you view , And sighing cry , Adieu , dear Shades , Adieu ! Then 't was thy Soul e'en doubted which to doe , Refuse a Crown , or those dear Shades forego ! Glory and Love ! the great dispute pursu'd , But the false Idol soon the God subdu'd . And now on Board you go , and all the Sails Are loosned , to receive the flying Gales . Whilst I , half dead on the forsaken Strand , Beheld thee sighing on the Deck to stand , Wafting a thousand Kisses from thy Hand . And whilst I cou'd the lessening Vessel see , I gaz'd , and sent a thousand Sighs to thee ! And all the Sea-born Nereids implore Quick to return thee to our Rustick shore . Now like a Ghost I glide through ev'ry Grove , Silent , and sad as Death , about I rove , And visit all our Treasuries of Love ! This Shade th' account of thousand Joys does hide , As many more this murmuring Rivers side , Where the dear Grass , still sacred , does retain The print , where thee and I so oft have lain . Upon this Oak thy Pipe , and Garland's plac'd , That Sicamore is with thy Sheep-hook grac'd . Here feed thy Flock , once lov'd though now thy scorn , Like me forsaken , and like me forlorn ! A Rock there is , from whence I cou'd survey From far the blewish Shore , and distant Sea , Whose hanging top with toyl I climb'd each day , With greedy View the prospect I ran o'er , To see what wish'd for ships approach'd our shore . One day all hopeless on its point I stood , And saw a Vessel bounding o'er the Flood , And as it nearer drew , I cou'd discern Rich Purple Sails , Silk Cords , and Golden Stern ; Upon the Deck a Canopy was spread Of Antique work in Gold and Silver made , Which mix'd with Sun beams dazling Light display'd . But oh ! beneath this glorious Scene of State ( Curst be the sight ) a fatal Beauty sate . And fondly you were on her Bosome lay'd , Whilst with your perjur'd Lips her Fingers play'd ; Wantonly curl'd and dally'd with that hair , Of which , as sacred Charms , I Bracelets wear . Oh! hadst thou seen me then in that mad state , So ruin'd , so design'd for Death and Fate , Fix'd on a Rock , whose horrid Precipice In hollow Murmurs wars with Angry Seas ; Whilst the bleak Winds aloft my Garments bear , Ruffling my careless and dishevel'd hair , I look'd like the sad Statue of Despair . With out-strech'd voice I cry'd , and all around The Rocks and Hills my dire complaints resound . I rent my Garments , tore my flattering Face , Whose false deluding Charms my Ruine was . Mad as the Seas in Storms , I breathe Despair , Or Winds let loose in unresisting Air. Raging and Frantick through the Woods I fly , And Paris ! lovely , faithless Paris cry . But when the Echos sound thy Name again , I change to new variety of Pain . For that dear name such tenderness inspires , And turns all Passion to Loves softer Fires : With tears I fall to kind Complaints again , So Tempests are allay'd by Show'rs of Rain . Say , lovely Youth , why wou'dst thou thus betray My easie Faith , and lead my heart astray ? I might some humble Shepherd's Choice have been , Had I that Tongue ne'er heard , those Eyes ne'er seen . And in some homely Cott , in low Repose , Liv'd undisturb'd with broken Vows and Oaths : All day by shaded Springs my Flocks have kept , And in some honest Arms at night have slept . Then unupbraided with my wrongs thou 'dst been Safe in the Joys of the fair Grecian Queen : What Stars do rule the Great ? no sooner you Became a Prince , but you were Perjur'd too . Are Crowsn and Falshoods then consistent things ? And must they all be faithless who are Kings ? The Gods be prais'd that I was humbly born , Even thô it renders me my Paris scorn . For I had rather this way wretched prove , Than be a Queen and faithless in my Love . Not my fair Rival wou'd I wish to be , To come prophan'd by others Joys to thee . A spotless Maid into thy Arms I brought , Untouch'd in Fame , ev'n Innocent in thought . Whilst she with Love has treated many a Guest , And brings thee but the leavings of a Feast : With Theseus from her Country made Escape , Whilst she miscall'd the willing Flight , a Rape . So now from Atreus Son , with thee is fled , And still the Rape hides the Adult'rous Deed. And is it thus Great Ladies keep intire That Vertue they so boast , and you admire ? Is this a Trick of Courts , can Ravishment Serve for a poor Evasion of Consent ? Hard shift to save that Honour priz'd so high , Whilst the mean Fraud's the greater Infamy . How much more happy are we Rural Maids , Who know no other Palaces than Shades ? Who wish no Title to inslave the Crowd , Lest they shou'd babble all our Crimes aloud . No Arts our Good to shew , our Ill to hide , Nor know to cover faults of Love with Pride . I lov'd , and all Love 's Dictates did pursue , And never thought it cou'd be Sin with you . To Gods , and Men , I did my Love proclaim ; For one soft hour with thee , my charming Swain , Wou'd Recompence an Age to come of Shame , Cou'd it as well but satisfie my Fame . But oh ! those tender hours are fled and lost , And I no more of Fame , or Thee can boast ! 'T was thou wert Honour , Glory , all to me : Till Swains had learn'd the Vice of Perjury , No yielding Maids were charg'd with Infamy . 'T is false and broken Vows make Love a Sin , Hads thou been true , We innocent had been . But thou less faith than Autumn leaves do'st show , Which ev'ry Blast bears from their native Bough . Less Weight , less Constancy , in thee is born , Than in the slender mildew'd Ears of Corn. Oft when you Garlands wove to deck my hair , Where mystick Pinks , and Dazies mingled were , You swore 't was fitter Diadems to bear : And when with eager Kisses prest my hand , Have said , How well a Scepter 't wou'd command ! And when I danc'd upon the Flow'ry Green , With charming , wishing Eyes survey my Mien , And cry ! the Gods design'd thee for a Queen ! Why then for Helen dost thou me forsake ? Can a poor empty Name such difference make ? Besides if Love can be a Sin , thine 's one , To Menelaus Helen does belong . Be Just , restore her back , She 's none of thine , And , charming Paris , thou art onely mine . 'T is no Ambitious Flame that makes me sue To be again belov'd , and blest by you ; No vain desire of being ally'd t' a King , Love is the onely Dowry I can bring , And tender Love is all I ask again . Whilst on her dang'rous Smiles fierce War must wait With Fire and Vengeance at your Palace gate , Rouze your soft Slumbers with their rough Alarms , And rudely snatch you from her faithless Arms : Turn then , fair Fugitive , e'er 't is too late , E'er thy mistaken Love procures thy Fate ; E'er a wrong'd Husband does thy Death design , And pierce that dear , that faithless Heart of thine .

A TABLE . THE Golden Age , a Paraphrase on a Translation out of French page 1. A Farewell to Celladon on his going into Ireland 13. On a Juniper-Tree cut down to make Busks 19. On the Death of Mr. Grinhill the famous Painter 24. A Ballad on Mr. J. H. to Amoret , asking why I was so sad 29. Our Caball 33. The willing Mistress , a Song 44. Love Arm'd , a Song 45. The Complaint , a Song 46. The Invitation , a Song 47. A Song 48. To Mr Creech ( under the name of Daphnis ) on his Excellent Translation of Lucretius . 50. To Mrs. W. on her excellent Verses ( writ in praise of some I had made on the late Earl of Rochester ) written in a fit of sickness 57. The sense of a Letter sent me , made into Verse , to a New Tune 61. The Return 62. On a Copy of Verses made in a Dream and sent to me in a Morning before I was awake 63. To my Lady Morland at Tunbridge 65. Song to Ceres , in the wavering Nymph or mad Amyntas 68. A Song in the same Play by the wavering Nymph 69. The Disappointment 70. On a Locket of Hair wove in a True-lovers Knot given me by Sir R. O. 77. The Dream , a Song 78. A Letter to a Brother of the Pen in Tribulation 80. The Reflexion , a Song 83. A Song to Pesibles Tune 86. A Song on her loving two Equally set by Capt. Pack 88. The Counsel , a Song set by the same hand 89. The Surprise , a Song set by Mr. Farmer 91. A Song 92. The Invitation , a Song to a New Scotch Tune 93. Sylvia's Complaint , a Song to a fine Scotch Tune 95. In Imitation of Horace 98. To Lysander who made some Virses on a Discourse of Loves Fire 101. A Dialogue for an entertainment at Court between Damon and Sylvia 102. On Mr. J. H. In a fit of sickness 106. To Lysander on some Verses he writ , and asking more for his Heart than 't was worth 109. To the Honourable Lord Howard , on his Comedy called the New Utopia 113. To Lysander at the Musick meeting 118. An Ode to Love 120. Love Reveng'd , a Song 122. A Song to a New Scotch Tune 123. The Caball at Nickey Nackeys 125. A Paraphrase on the eleventh Ode out of the first Book of Horace 126. A Translation 127. A Paraphrase on Oenone to Paris 129. A Voyage to the Isle of Love 144. FINIS .

A VOYAGE TO THE Isle of LOVE .

An Account from Lisander to Lysidas his Friend . AT last dear Lysidas , I 'l set thee Free , From the disorders of Uncertainty ; Doubt's the worst Torment of a generous Mind , Who ever searching what it cannot find , Is roving still from wearied thought to thought , And to no settled Calmness can be brought : The Cowards Ill , who dares not meet his Fate , And ever doubting to be Fortunate , Falls to that Wretchedness his fears Create . I should have dy'd silent , as Flowers decay , Had not thy Friendship stopt me on my way , That friendship which our Infant hearts inspir'd , E're them Ambition or false Love had fir'd : Friendship ! which still enlarg'd with years and sense Till it arriv'd to perfect Excellence ; Friendship ! Mans noblest bus'ness ! without whom The out-cast Life finds nothing it can own , But Dully dyes unknowing and unknown , Our searching thought serves only to impart It 's new gain'd knowledge to anothers Heart ; The truly wise , and great , by friendship grow , That , best instruct 'em how they should be so , That , only sees the Error of the Mind , Which by its soft reproach becomes Refin'd ; Friendship ! which even Loves mighty power controuls . When that but touches ; this Exchanges Souls . The remedy of Grief , the safe retreat Of the scorn'd Lover , and declining great . This sacred tye between thy self and me , Not to be alter'd by my Destiny ; This tye , which equal to my new desires Preserv'd it self amidst Loves softer Fires , Obliges me , ( without reserve ) 't impart To Lycidas the story of my Heart ; Tho' 't will increase its present languishment , To call to its remembrance past content So drowning Men near to their native shore ( From whence they parted near to visit more ) Look back and sigh , and from that last Adieu , Suffer more pain then in their Death they do , That grief , which I in silent Calms have born , It will renew , and rowse into a Storm .

The TRUCE . With you unhappy Eyes that first let in To my fond Heart the raging Fire , With you a Truce I will begin , Let all your Clouds , let all your Show'rs retire , And for a while become serene , And you my constant rising Sighs forbear , To mix your selves with flying Air , But utter Words , among that may express , The vast degrees of Joy and Wretchedness . And you my Soul ! forget the dismal hour , When dead and cold Aminta lay , And no kind God , no pittying Power The hasty fleeting Life would stay ; Forget the Mad , the Raving pain That seiz'd Thee at a sight so new , When not the Wind let loose , nor raging Main Was so destructive and so wild as thou ? Forget thou saw'st the lovely yielding Maid , Dead in thy trembling Arms Just in the Ravishing hour , when all her Charms A willing Victim to thy Love was laid , Forget that all is fled thou didst Adore , And never , never , shall return to bless Thee more . Twelve times the Moon has borrow'd Rays ; that Night Might favour Lovers stealths by Glimmering Light : Since I imbarqu'd on the inconstant Seas With people of all Ages and Degrees , All well dispos'd and absolutely bent , To visit a far Country call'd Content . The Sails were hoisted , and the Streamers spread , And chearfully we cut the yielding Floud ; Calm was the Sea , and peaceful every Wind , As if the Gods had with our Wishes joyn'd To make us prosperous ; All the whispering Air Like Lovers Joys , was soft , and falsly fair . The ruffling Winds were hush'd in wanton sleep , And all the Waves were silenc'd in the deep : No threatning Cloud , no angry Curl was found , But bright , serene , and smooth , 't was all around : But yet believe false Iris if she weep , Or Amorous Layis will her promise keep , Before the Sea , that Flatters with a Calm , Will cease to ruin with a rising Storm , For now the Winds are rows'd , the Hemisphere Grows black , and frights the hardy Mariner , The Billows all into Dis-order hurl'd , As if they meant to bury all the World ; And least the Gods on us should pity take , They seem'd against them too , a War to make . Now each affrighted to his Cabin Flyes , And with Repentance Load the angry Skyes ; Distracted Prayers they all to Heaven Address , While Heaven best knows , they think of nothing less ; To quit their Interest in the World 's their fear , Not whether , — but to go , — is all their Care , And while to Heav'n , their differing crimes they mount , Their vast dis-orders doubles the account ; All pray , and promise fair , protest and weep , And make those Vows , they want the pow'r to keep , But sure with some , the angry Gods were pleas'd ; For by degrees their Rage and Thunder ceas'd : In the rude War no more the Winds engage , And the destructive Waves were tir'd with their own Rage ; Like a young Ravisher , that has won the day , O're-toil'd and Panting , Calm and Breathless lay , While so much Vigour in the Incounter 's lost , They want the pow'r a second Rape to Boast . The Sun in Glory daignes again t' appear ; But we who had no Sense , but that of fear , Cou'd scarce believe , and lessen our dispair . Yet each from his imagin'd Grave gets out , And with still doubting Eyes looks round about . Confirm'd they all from Prayer to Praises hast , And soon forgot the sense of dangers past ; And now from the recruited Top-mast spy'd , An Island that discover'd Natures Pride : To which was added , all that Art could do To make it Tempting and Inviting too ; All wondering Gaz'd upon the happy place , But none knew either where , or what it was : Some thought , th' Inaccessible Land 't had been , And others that Inchantment they had seen , At last came forth a Man , who long before Had made a Voyage to that fatal shoar , Who with his Eyes declin'd , as if dismaid , At sight of what he dreaded : Thus he said , THis is the Coast of Africa , Where all things sweetly move ; This is the Calm Atlantick Sea , And that the Isle of Love ; To which all Mortals Tribute pay , Old , Young , the Rich and Poor ; Kings do their awful Laws obey , And Shepherds do Adore . There 's none its forces can resist , Or its Decrees Evince , It Conquers where , and whom it list , The Cottager and Prince . In entering here , the King resigns , The Robe and Crown he wore ; The Slave new Fetters gladly joyns To those he dragg'd before . All thither come , early or late , Directed by desire , Not Glory can divert their fate , Nor quench the Amorous fire . The Enterances on every side , Th' Attracts and Beauties Guard , The Graces with a wanton Pride , By turn secure the Ward . The God of Love has lent 'em Darts , With which they gently Greet , The heedless undefended Hearts That pass the fatal Gate . None e're escapt the welcom'd blow , Which ner'e is sent in vain ; They Kiss the Shaft , and Bless the Foe , That gives the pleasing Pain . Thus whilst we did this grateful story learn , We came so near the Shoar , as to discern The Place and Objects , which did still appear More Ravishing , approaching 'em more near . There the vast Sea , with a smooth calmness flows ▪ As are the Smiles on happy Lovers Brows : As peaceably as Rivulets it glides , Imbracing still the shaded Islands sides ; And with soft Murmurs on the Margent flows , As if to Nature it design'd Repose ; Whose Musick still is answer'd by the Breeze , That gently plays with the soft rufl'd Trees . Fragrant and Flowry all the Banks appear Whose mixt dis-orders more delightful were , Then if they had been plac'd with Artful care , The Cowslip , Lilly , Rose and Jesamine , The Daffodil , the Pink and Eglintine , Whose gawdy store continues all the year , Makes but the meanest of the Wonders here . Here the young Charmers walk the Banks a-long , Here all the Graces and the Beauties throng . But what did most my Admiration draw , Was that the Old and Ugly there I saw , Who with their Apish Postures , void of shame Still practice Youth , and talk of Darts and Flame I laught to see a Lady out of date , A worn out Beauty , once of the first rate ; With youthful Dress , and more fantastick Prate , Setting her wither'd Face in thousand forms , And thinks the while she Dresses it in charms ; Disturbing with her Court : the busier throng Ever Addressing to the Gay and Young ; There an old Batter'd Fop , you might behold , Lavish his Love , Discretion , and his Gold On a fair she , that has a Trick in Art , To cheat him of his Politicks and Heart ; Whilst he that Jilts the Nation ore and ore , Wants sense to find it in the subtiller W●re . The Man that on this Isle before had been , Finding me so admire at what I 'd seen ; Thus said to me . — — —

LOVE's Power . LOVE when he Shoots abroad his Darts , Regards not where they light : The Aged to the Youthful Hearts , At random they unite . The soft un-bearded Youth , who never found The Charms in any Blooming Face , From one of Fifty takes the Wound ; And eagerly persues the cunning Chase : While she an Arted Youth puts on ; Softens her Voice , and languishes her Eyes ; Affects the Dress , the Mean , the Tone . Assumes the noysy Wit , and ceases to be Wise ; The tender Maid to the Rough Warrier yields ; Unfrighted at his Wounds and Scars , Pursues him through the Camps and Fields , And Courts the story of his dangerous Wars , With Pleasure hears his Scapes , and does not fail , To pay him with a Joy for every Tale. The fair young Bigot , full of Love and Prayer , Doats on the lewd and careless Libertine ; The thinking States-man fumbles with the Player , And dearly buys the ( barely wishing ) Sin . The Peer with some mean Damsel of the trade , Expensive , common , ugly and decay'd : The gay young Squire , on the blouz'd Landry Maid . All things in Heaven , in Earth , and Sea , Love give his Laws unto ; Tho' under different Objects , they Alike obey , and bow ; Sometimes to be reveng'd on those , Whose Beauty makes 'em proudly nice , He does a Flame on them impose , To some unworthy choice . Thus rarely equal Hearts in Love you 'l find , Which makes 'em still present the God as Blind . Whilst thus he spake , my wondering Eyes were staid With a profound attention on a Maid ! Upon whose Smiles the Graces did a-wait , And all the Beauties round about her sate ; Officious Cupid's do her Eyes obey , Sharpning their Darts from every Conquering Ray : Some from her Smiles they point with soft desires , Whilst others from her Motion take their Fires : Some the Imbroider'd Vail and Train do bear , And some around her fan the gentle Air , Whilst others flying , scatter fragrant Show'rs , And strow the paths she tread with painted flow'rs The rest are all imploy'd to dress her Bow'rs ; While she does all , the smiling Gods carress , And they new Attributes receive from eachAddress .

The CHARACTER . SUch Charms of Youth , such Ravishment Through all her Form appear'd , As if in her Creation Nature meant , She shou'd a-lone be ador'd and fear'd : Her Eyes all sweet , and languishingly move , Yet so , as if with pity Beauty strove , This to decline , and that to charm with Love . A chearful Modesty adorn'd her Face , And bashful Blushes spread her smiling Cheeks ; Witty her Air ; soft every Grace , And 't is eternal Musick when she speaks , From which young listening Gods the Accents take And when they wou'd a perfect Conquest make , Teach their young favourite Lover so to speak . 2. Her Neck , on which all careless fell her Hair , Her half discover'd rising Bosome bare , Were beyond Nature form'd ; all Heavenly fair . Tempting her dress , loose with the Wind it flew , Discovering Charms that wou'd alone subdue , Her soft white slender Hands whose touches wou'd Beget desire even in an awful God ; Long Winter'd Age to tenderness wou'd move , And in his Frozen Blood , bloom a new spring of Love . All these at once my Ravisht Senses charm'd , And with unusual Fires my Bosome warm'd . Thus my fixt Eyes pursu'd the lovely Maid , Till they had lost her in the envied Glade ; Yet still I gaz'd , as if I still had view'd The Object , which my new desires pursu'd . Lost while I stood ; against my Will , my sight Conducted me unto a new delight . Twelve little Boats were from the Banks unty'd , And towards our Vessel sail'd with wondrousPride , With wreathes of Flowers and Garlands they were drest , Their Cordage all of Silk and Gold consist , Their Sails of silver'd Lawn , and Tinsel were , Which wantonly were ruffled in the Air. As many little Cupids gayly clad , Did Row each Boat , nor other guides they had . A thousand Zephires Fann'd the moving Fleet , Which mixing with the Flow'rs became more sweet , And by repeated Kiss did assume From them a scent that did the Air perfume . So near us this delightful Fleet was come , We cou'd distinguish what the Cupid's sung , Which oft with charming Notes they did repeat , With Voices such as I shall ne're forget . You that do seek with Amorous desires , To tast the Pleasures of the Life below , Land on this Island , and renew your Fires , For without Love , there is no joy , you know . Then all the Cupids waiting no Commands , With soft inviting Smiles present their Hands , And in that silent Motion seem'd to say , You ought to follow , when Love leads the way . Made with delight , and all transported too , I quitted Reason , and resolv'd to go ; For that bright charming Beauty I had seen , And burnt with strange desire to see agen , Fill'd with new hope , I laught at Reasons force , And towards the Island , bent my eager Course ; The Zephires at that instant lent their Aid , And I into Loves Fleet was soon convey'd , And by a thousand Friendships did receive , Welcomes which none butGod's of Love coud give . Many possest with my Curiosity , Tho' not inspir'd like me , yet follow'd me , And many staid behind , and laught at us : And in a scoffing tone reproacht us thus , Farewel Adventurers , go search the Joy , Which mighty Love inspires , and you shall find , The treatment of the wond'rous Monarch Boy , In 's Airy Castle always soft and kind . We on the fragrant Beds of Roses laid , And lull'd with Musick which the Zephires made , When with the Amorous silken Sails they plaid . Rather did them as wanting Wit account , Then we in this affair did Judgment want , With Smiles of pity only answer'd them , Whilst they return'd us pitying ones again . Now to the wisht for Shoar , with speed we high ; Vain with our Fate , and eager of our Joy , And as upon the Beech we landed were , An awful Woman did to us repair . Goddess of Prudence ! who with grave advice , Counsels the heedless Stranger to be Wise ; She guards this Shoar , and Passage does forbid , But now blind Sense her Face from us had hid ; We pass'd and dis-obey'd the heavenly Voice , Which few e'er do , but in this fatal place . Now with impatient hast , ( but long in vain ) I seek the Charming Author of my Pain , And haunt the Woods , the Groves , and ev'ry Plain . I ask each Chrystal Spring , each murmuring Brook , Who saw my fair , or knows which way she took ? I ask the Eccho's , when they heard her Name ? But they cou'd nothing but my Moans proclaim ; My Sighs , the fleeting Winds far off do bear , My Charmer , coud no soft complaining hear : At last , where all was shade , where all was Gay ; On a Brooks Brink , which purling past away , Asleep the lovely Maid extended lay ; Of different Flowers , the Cupids made her Bed , And Rosey Pillows , did support her Head ; With what transported Joy my Soul was fill'd , When I , the Object of my wish beheld , My greedy View each lovely part survey'd ; On her white Hand , her Blushing Cheek was laid Half hid in Roses ; yet did so appear As if with those , the Lillys mingled were ; Her thin loose Robe did all her shape betray , ( Her wondrous shape that negligently lay ) And every Tempting Beauty did reveal , But what young bashful Maids wou'd still conceal ; Impatient I , more apt to hope than fear , Approacht the Heav'nly sleeping Maid more near ; The place , my flame , and all her Charms invite To tast the sacred Joys of stoln delight . The Grove was silent , and no Creature by , But the young smiling God of Love and I ; But as before the awful shrine , I kneel'd , Where Loves great Mystery was to be reveal'd , A Man from out the Groves recess appears , Who all my boasted Vigor turn'd to fears , He slackt my Courage by a kind surprize , And aw'd me with th' Majesty of his Eyes ; I bow'd , and blusht , and trembling did retire , And wonder'd at the Pow'r that checkt my fire ; So excellent a Mean , so good a Grace , So grave a Look , such a commanding Face ; In modest Speech , as might well subdue , Youth 's native wildness ; yet 't was gracious too . A little Cupid waiting by my side , ( Who was presented to me for a guide , ) Beholding me decline , the Sleeping Maid , To gaze on this Intruder , — Thus he said .

RESPECT . I. HIM whom you see so awful and severe , Is call'd Respect , the Eldest Son of Love ; Esteem his Mother is ; who every where Is the best Advocate to all the fair , And knows the most obliging Arts to move : Him you must still carress , and by his Grace , You 'l conquer all the Beauties of the Place ; To gain him 't is not Words will do , His Rhetorick is the Blush and Bow . II. He even requires that you shou'd silent be , And understand no Language but from Eyes , Or Sighs , the soft Complaints on Cruelty ; Which soonest move the Heart they wou'd surprize : They like the Fire in Limbecks gently move , What words ( too hot and fierce ) destroy ; These by degrees infuse a lasting Love ; Whilst those do soon burn out the short blaz'd Joy . These the all gaining Youth requires , And bears to Ladies Hearts the Lambent Fires ; And He that wou'd against despair be proof , Can never keep him Company enough . Instructed thus , I did my steps direct , Towards the necessary Grave Respect , Whom I soon won to favour my design , To which young LOVE his promis'd aid did joyn . This wak't Aminta , who with trembling fear , Wonder'd to see a stranger enter'd there ; With timorous Eyes the Grove she does survey , Where are my LOVES she crys ! all fled away ? And left me in this gloomy shade alone ? And with a Man ! Alas , I am undone . Then strove to fly ; but I all prostrate lay , And grasping fast her Robe , oblig'd her stay ; Cease lovely Charming Maid , Oh cease to fear , I faintly cry'd , — There is no Satyr , near ; I am of humane Race , whom Beauty Aws , And born an humble Slave to all her Laws ; Besides we 're not alone within the Grove , Behold Respect , and the young God of LOVE : How can you fear the Man who with these two , In any Shade or hour approaches you ? Thus by degrees her Courage took its place ; And usual Blushes drest again her Face , Then with a Charming Air , her Hand she gave , She bade me rise , and said she did believe . And now my Conversation does permit ; But oh the entertainment of her Wit , Beyond her Beauty did my Soul surprize , Her Tongue had Charms more pow'rful than her Eyes ! Ah Lysidas , hadst thou a list'ner been To what she said ; tho' her thou ne're had'st seen , Without that Sense , thou hadst a Captive been . Guess at my Fate , — but after having spoke , Many indifferent things : Her leave she took . The Night approach't , and now with Thoughts opprest , I minded neither where , nor when to Rest , When my Conducter LOVE ! whom I pursu'd , Led to a Palace call'd Inquietude ,

INQUIETUDE . A Neighbouring Villa which derives its name , From the rude sullen Mistress of the same ; A Woman of a strange deform'd Aspect ; Peevishly pensive , fond of her neglect ; She never in one posture does remain , Now leans , lyes down , then on her Feet again ; Sometimes with Snails she keeps a lazy pace , And sometimes runs like Furies in a Chase ; She seldom shuts her watchful Eyes to sleep , Which pale and languid does her Visage keep ; Her loose neglected Hair disorder'd grows ; Which undesign'd her Fingers discompose ; Still out of Humour , and deprav'd in Sense , And Contradictive as Impertinence ; Distrustful as false States-men , and as nice In Plots , Intrigues , Intelligence and Spies . To her we did our Duty pay , but she Made no returns to our Civility . Thence to my Bed ; where rest in vain I sought , For pratling LOVE still entertain'd my thought , And to my Mind , a thousand Fancies brought : Aminta's Charms and Pow'rful Attractions , From whence I grew to make these soft Reflections .

The REFLECTION . I. WHat differing Passions from what once I felt , My yielding Heart do melt , And all my Blood as in a Feaver burns , Yet shivering Cold by turns . What new variety of hopes and fears ? What suddain fits of Smiles and Tears ? Hope ! Why dost thou sometimes my Soul imploy With Prospects of approaching Joy ? Why dost thou make me pleas'd and vain , And quite forget last minutes pain ? What Sleep wou'd calm , Aminta keeps awake ; And I all Night soft Vows and Wishes make . When to the Gods I would my Prayers address , And sue to be forgiven , Aminta's name , I still express , And Love is all that I confess , Love and Aminta ! Ever out Rival Heaven ! II. Books give me no content at all ; Unless soft Cowly entertain my Mind , Then every pair in Love I find ; Lysander him , Aminta her , I call : Till the bewitching Fewel raise the fire ; Which was design'd but to divert , Then to cool Shades Iragingly retire , To ease my hopeless panting Heart , Yet thereto every thing begets desire . Each flowry Bed , and every loanly Grove , Inspires new Wishes , new impatient Love . Thus all the Night in vain I sought repose , And early with the Sun next day , I rose ; Still more impatient grew my new desires , To see again the Author of my Fires , Love leads me forth , to little * * Little Arts to please . CARES we pass , Where Love instructed me Aminta was ; Far from Inquietude this Village stands , And for its Beauty all the rest commands ; In all the Isle of Love , not one appears , So ravishingly Gay as Little Cares .

Little CARES , or Little Arts to please . I. THither all the Amorous Youth repair , To see the Objects of their Vows ; No Jealousies approach 'em there ; They Banish Dulness and Despair ; And only Gayety and Mirth allow . The Houses cover'd o're with flow'rs appear , Like fragrant Arbours all the year , Where all the dear , the live-long day , In Musick , Songs , and Balls is past away : All things are form'd for pleasure and delight , Which finish not but with the Light ; But when the Sun returns again , They hold with that bright God an equal Reign . II. There no Reproaches dwell ; that Vice Is banisht with the Coy and Nice . The Froward there learn Complyance ; There the Dull Wise his Gravity for sakes , The Old dispose themselves to Dance , And Melancholy wakens from his Trance , And against Nature sprightly Humour takes . The formal States-man does his Int'rest quit , And learns to talk of Love and Wit ; There the Philosopher speaks Sense , Such as his Mistress Eyes inspire ; Forgets his learned Eloquence , Nor now compares his Flame to his own Chimick fire . III. The Miser there opens his Golden heaps , And at Love's Altar , offers the rich Prize ; His needless fears of want does now despise , And as a lavish Heir , he Treats and Reaps The Blessings that attend his grateful Sacrifice . Even the Fluttering Coxcomb there Does less ridiculous appear : For in the Crowd some one unlucky Face , With some particular Grimmas , Has the ill fate his Heart to gain , Which gives him just the Sense to know his pain ; Whence he becomes less talkative and vain . There 't is the Muses dwell ! that sacred Nine , Who teach the inlarged Soul to prove , No Arts or Sciences Divine , But those inspir'd by Them and Love ! Gay Conversation , Feast , and Masquerades , Agreeable Cabals , and Serinades ; Eternal Musick , Gladness , Smiles and Sport , Make all the bus'ness of this Little Court. At my approach new Fires my Bosom warm ; New vigor I receive from every Charm : I found invention with my Love increase ; And both instruct me with new Arts to please ; New Gallantrys I sought to entertain , And had the Joy to find 'em not in vain ; All the Extravagance of Youth I show , And pay'd to Age the Dotage I shall owe ; All a beginning Passion can conceive , What beauty Merits , or fond Love can give . With diligence I wait Aminta's look , And her decrees from Frowns or Smiles I took , To my new fixt resolves , no stop I found , My Flame was uncontroul'd and knew no bound ; Unlimited Expences every day On what I thought she lik'd , I threw away : My Coaches , and my Liverys , rich and new , In all this Court , none made a better show . Aminta here was unconfin'd and free , And all a well-born Maid cou'd render me She gave : My early Visits does allow , And more ingagingly receives me now , Her still increasing Charms , Her soft Address , A Partial Lover cannot well Express , Her Beautys with my flame each hour increase . 'T was here my Soul more true content receiv'd , Then all the Duller hours of Life I 'd liv'd . — But with the envying Night I still repair To Inquietude ; none lodge at little Care . The hasty Minutes summon me away , While parting pains surmount past hours of Joy , And Nights large Reckoning over-pays the day . The GOD of Sleep his wonted Aid denys ; Lends no repose , or to my Heart or Eyes : Only one hour of Rest , the breaking Morning brought , In which this happy Dream Assail'd my Thought ,

The DREAM . ALL Trembling in my Arms Aminta lay , Defending of the Bliss , I strove to take ; Raising my Rapture by her kind delay , Her force so charming was and weak . The soft resistance did betray the Grant , While I prest on the Heaven of my desires ; Her rising Breasts with nimbler Motions Pant ; Her dying Eyes assume new Fires . Now to the height of languishment she grows , And still her looks new Charms put on ; — Now the last Mystery of Love she knows , We Sigh , and Kiss : I wak'd , and all was done . 'T was but a Dream , yet by my Heart I knew , Which still was Panting , part of it was true : Oh how I strove the rest to have believ'd ; Asham'd and Angry to be undeceiv'd ! But now LOVE calls me forth ; and scarce allows A Moment to the Gods to pay my Vows : He all Devotion has in dis-esteem , But that which we too fondly render him : LOVE drest me for the day ; and both repair , With an impatient hast to Little Care ; Where many days m' advantage I pursu'd , But Night returns me to Inquietude ; There suffer'd all that absent Lovers griev'd , And only knew by what I felt I liv'd ; A thousand little Fears afflict my Heart , And all its former order quite subvert ; The Beauty 's which all day my hope imploy'd , Seem now too excellent to be enjoy'd . I number all my RIVALS over now , Then Raving Mad with Jealousie I grow , Which does my Flame to that vast height increase ; That here I found , I lov'd to an Excess : These wild Distractions every Night increase , But day still reconciles me into Peace ; And I forget amidst their soft Delights , The un-imagin'd torment of the Nights . 'T was thus a while I liv'd at little Care , Without advance of Favour or of fear , When fair Aminta from that Court departs , And all her Lovers leave with broken Hearts , On me alone she does the Grace confer , In a Permission I shou'd wait on her . Oh with what eager Joy I did obey ! Joy , which for fear it shou'd my Flame betray , I Veil'd with Complisance ; which Lovers Eyes Might find transported through the feign'd disguise ; But hers were unconcern'd ; or wou'd not see , The Trophies of their new gain'd Victory : Aminta now to Good Reception goes ; A place which more of Entertainment shows Then State or Greatness ; where th' Inhabitants , Are Civil to the height of Complisance ; They Treat all Persons with a chearful Grace , And show 'em all the pleasures of the Place ; By whose Example bright Aminta too , Confirm'd her self , and more obliging grew . Her Smiles and Air more Gracious now appear ; And her Victorious Eyes more sweetness wear : The wonderous Majesty that drest her Brow , Becomes less Awful , but more Charming now : Her Pride abating does my Courage warm , And promises success from every Charm . She now permits my Eyes , with timorous Fears , To tell her of the Wounds she 'as made by hers , Against her Will my Sighs she does approve , And seems well pleas'd to think they come from Love . Nothing oppos'd it self to my delight , But absence from Aminta every Night . But LOVE , who recompences when he please , And has for every Cruelty an ease ; Who like to bounteous Heaven , assigns a share Of future Bliss to those that suffer here : Led me to HOPE ! A City fair and large , Built with much Beauty , and Adorn'd with Charge .

HOPE . 'T IS wonderous Populous from the excess , Of Persons from all parts that thither press : One side of this magnifick City stands , On a foundation of unfaithful Sands ; Which oftentimes the glorious Load destroys , Which long designing was with Pomp and Noise ; The other Parts well founded neat and strong , Less Beautiful , less Business , and less Throng . 'T is built upon a Rivers Bank , who 's clear And Murmuring Glide , delights the Eye and Ear.

The River of PRETENSION . THis River 's call'd Pretension ; and its source T' a bordering Mountain owes , from whence with force , It spreads into the Arms of that calm space , Where the proud City dayly sees her face ; 'T is treacherously smooth and falsly fair , Inviting , but undoing to come near ; 'Gainst which the Houses there find no defence , But suffer undermining Violence ; Who while they stand , no Palaces do seem , In all their Glorious Pomp to equal them . This River's Famous for the fatal Wrecks , Of Persons most Illustrious of both Sex , Who to her Bosom with soft Whispers drew , Then basely smil'd to see their Ruin too . 'T is there so many Monarchs perisht have , And seeking Fame alone have found a Grave . 'T was thither I was tempted too , and LOVE Maliciously wou'd needs my Conduct prove ; Which Passion now to such a pass had brought , It gave admittance to the weakest thought , And with a full carreer to this false Bay I ran . But met Precaution in my way . With whom Respect was , who thus gravely said , Pretension is a River you must Dread : Fond Youth decline thy fatal Resolution , Here unavoidably thou meets Confusion ; Thou fly'st with too much hast to certain Fate , Follow my Counsel , and be Fortunate . Asham'd , all Blushing I decline my Eyes , Yet Bow'd and Thank'd Respect for his advice . From the bewitching River straight I hy'd , And hurried to the Cities farthest side . Where lives the Mighty Princess Hope ? to whom The whole Isle as their ORACLE do come ; Tho' little Truth remains in what she says , Yet all adore her Voice , and her Wise Conduct praise .

The Princess HOPE . I. SHe blows the Youthful Lovers flame , And promises a sure repose ; Whilst with a Treason void of shame , His fancy'd Happiness o're-throws . Her Language is all soft and fair , But her hid Sense is naught but Air , And can no solid reason bear ; As often as she speaks , Her faithless Word she breaks ; Great in Pretension , in Performance small , And when she Swears 't is Perjury all . Her Promises like those of Princes are , Made in Necessity and War , Cancell'd without remorse , at ease , In the voluptuous time of Peace . II. These are her qualities ; but yet She has a Person full of Charms , Her Smiles are able to beget Forgiveness for her other harms ; She 's most divinely shap'd , her Eyes are sweet , And every Glance to please she does employ , With such address , she does all persons treat , As none are weary of her flattery , She still consoles the most afflicted Hearts , And makes the Proud vain of his fancy'd Arts. Amongst the rest of those who dayly came , T' admire this Princess , and oblige their flame , ( Conducted thither by a false report , That Happiness resided in her Court ) Two young successless Lovers did resort : One , so above his Aim had made pretence , That even to Hope , for him , was Impudence ; Yet he 'gainst Reasons Arguments makes War , And vainly Swore , his Love did merit her . Boldly Attempted , daringly Addrest , And with unblushing Confidence his flame confest . The other was a Bashful Youth , who made His Passion his Devotion , not his Trade ; No fond opiniater , who a price , Sets on his Titles , Equipage , or Eyes , But one that had a thousand Charms in store , Yet did not understand his Conquering Pow'r : This Princess with a kind Address receives These Strangers ; and to both new Courage gives . She animates the haughty to go on ! Say — A Town long besieg'd must needs be won . Time and Respect remove all obstacles , And obstinate Love , arrives at Miracles . Were she the Heir to an illustrious Crown , Those Charms , that haughty meen , that fam'd renown , That wond'rous skill you do in Verse profess , That great disdain of common Mistresses ; Can when you please with aid of Billet Deux , The Royal Virgin to your Arms subdue , One skill'd in all the Arts to please the fair , Shou'd be above the Sense of dull despair : Go on young noble Warrier then go on , Though all the fair are by that Love undone . Then turning to the other : Sir , said she , Were the bright Beauty you Adore like me , Your silent awful Passion more wou'd move , Than all the bold and forward Arts of Love . A Heart the softest composition forms , And sooner yields by treaty , then by storms ; A Look , a Sigh , a Tear , is understood , And makes more warm dis-orders in the Blood , Has more ingaging tender Eloquence , Then all the industry of Artful Sense , So falling drops with their soft force alone , Insinuate kind impressions in obdurate stone . But that which most my pity did imploy , Was a young Hero , full of Smiles and Joy . A noble Youth to whom indulgent Heaven , Had more of Glory then of Virtue given ; Conducted thither by a Politick throng , The Rabble Shouting as he past along , Whilst he , vain with the beastly Din they make , ( Which were the same , if Bears were going to stake ) Addresses to this faithless Flatterer ; Who in return , calls him , young God of War ! The Cities Champion ! and his Countries Hope , The Peoples Darling , and Religious Prop. Scepters and Crowns does to his view expose ; And all the Fancied pow'r of Empire shows . In vain the Vision he wou'd dis-believe , In spight of Sense she does his Soul deceive : He Credits all ! nor ask's which way or how , The dazling Circle shall surround his Brow ; Implicitly attends the flattering Song , Gives her his easy Faith , and is undone . For with one turn of State the Frenzy 's heal'd , The Blind recover and the Cheats reveal'd . Whilst all his Charms of Youth and Beauty lies , The kind reproach of pitying Enemies . To me she said , and smiling as she spoke , Lisander , you with Love , have Reason took , Continue so , and from Aminta 's Heart , Expect what Love and Beauty can impart . I knew she flatter'd , yet I cou'd not choose But please my Self , and credit the Abuse ; Her charming Words that Night repos'd me more , Then all the grateful Dreams I 'd had before . Next day I rose , and early with the Sun ; Love guided me to Declaration , A pleasant City built with Artful Care , To which the Lovers of the Isle repair . In our pursuit Respect dissatisfy'd , Did the unreasonable Adventure chide ; Return unheedy Youth cry'd he , return ! Let my advice th' approaching danger warn : Renounce thy Purpose and thy haste decline , Or thou wilt ruine all Loves great design ; Amaz'd I stood , and unresolv'd t' obey , Cou'd not return , durst not pursue my way ; Whilst LOVE who thought himself concern'd as Guide , I' th' Criminal Adventure . Thus reply'd :

LOVE's Resentment . MUst we eternal Martyrdom pursue ? Must we still Love , and always suffer too ? Must we continue still to dye , And ne'r declare the cruel Cause ; Whilst the fair Murdress asks not why , But triumphs in her rigorous Laws ; And grows more mighty in disdain , More Peevish , Humorous , Proud and Vain ; The more we languish by our Pain ? And when we Vow , Implore , and Pray , Shall the Inhumane cruel fair , Only with nice disdain the sufferer pay ? Consult her Pride alone in the affair , And coldly cry — In time perhaps I may — Consider and redress the Youth's despair ; And when she wou'd a Period put to 's Fate , Alas , her cruel Mercy comes too late ! But wise Respect obligingly reply'd , Amintas Cruelty you need not dread , Your Passion by your Eyes will soon be known , Without this hast to Declaration ; 'T is I will guide you where you still shall find , Aminta in best Humour and most kind . Strong were his Arguments ; his Reasonings prove Too pow'rful for the angry God of Love . Who by degrees t' his native softness came , Yields to Respect and owns his haste a blame . Both vow obedience to his judging Wit , And to his graver Conduct both submit , Who now invites us to a Reverend place , An ancient Town , whose Governor he was . Impregnable , with Bastions fortify'd , Guarded with fair built Walls on every side , The top of which the Eye cou'd scarce discern , So strong as well secur'd the Rich concern ; Silence with Modesty and Secresy , Have all committed to their Custody . Silence to every questions ask'd , reply With apt Grimasses of the Face and Eyes ; Her Finger on her Mouth ; and as you 've seen , Her Picture , Handsom , with fantastick mean , Her every Motion her Commands express , But seldom any the hid Soul confess . The Virgin Modesty is wond'rous fair , A bashful Motion , and a blushing Air ; With un-assur'd regard her Eyes do move , Untaught by affectation or Self-love ; Her Robes not gaudy were , nor loosely ty'd , But even concealing more then need be hid . For Secresie , one rarely sees her Face , Whose lone Apartment is some Dark recess ; From whence unless some great affairs oblige , She finds it difficult to dis-ingage ; Her voice is low , but subtilly quick her Ears , And answers still by signs to what she hears ; — Led by Respect we did an entrance get , Not saying any thing , who ere we met .

The City of DISCRETION . THE Houses there , retir'd in Gardens are , And all is done with little noise , One seldom sees Assemblies there , Or publick shows for Grief or Joys . One rarely walks but in the Night , And most endeavour to avoid the Light . There the whole World their bus'ness carry , Without or confident , or Secretary : One still is under great constraint , Must always suffer , but ne'r make complaint , 'T is there the dumb and silent languishes , Are predic'd , which so well explain the Heart : Which without speaking can so much express , And secrets to the Soul the nearest way impart ; Language which prettily perswades belief ; Who 's silent Eloquence obliges Joy or Grief . This City 's called Discretion , being the name Of her that is Lieutenant of the same , And Sister to Respect ; a Lady who Seldom obtains a Conquest at first view ; But in repeated Visits one shall find , Sufficient Charms of Beauty and of Mind : Her vigorous piercing Eyes can when they please , Make themselves lov'd , and understood with Ease . Not too severe , but yet reserv'd and wise , And her Address is full of subtilties ; Which upon all occasions serves her turn ; T' express her Kindness , and to hide her scorn ; Dissimulations Arts , she useful holds , And in good manners sets 'em down for rules . T was here Aminta liv'd , and here I paid My constant visits to the lovely Maid . With mighty force upon my Soul I strove , To hide the Sent'ments of my raging Love . All that I spoke did but indifferent seem , Or went no higher than a great esteem . But 't was not long my Passion I conceal'd , My flame in spight of me , it self reveal'd .

The silent Confession . AND tho' I do not speak , alas , My Eyes , and Sighs too much do say ! And pale and languishing my Face , The torments of my Soul betray ; They the sad story do unfold , Love cannot his own secrets hold ; And though Fear t y's my Tongue ; Respect my Eyes , Yet something will disclose the pain ; Which breaking out throw's all disguise ; Reproaches her with Cruelties ; Which she augments by new disdain ; — Where e're she be , I still am there ; What-ere she do , I that prefer ; In spight of all my strength , at her approach , I tremble with a sight or touch ; Paleness or Blushes does my Face surprize , If mine by chance meet her encountering Eyes ; T was thus she learn'd my Weakness , and her Pow'r ; And knew too well she was my Conqueror . And now — Her Eyes no more their wonted Smiles afford , But grew more fierce , the more they were ador'd ; The marks of her esteem which heretofore Rais'd my aspiring flame , oblige no more ; She calls up all her Pride to her defence ; And as a Crime condemns my just pretence ; Me from her presence does in Fury chase ; No supplications can my doom reverse ; And vainly certain of her Victory , Retir'd into the Den of Cruelty .

The Den of Cruelty . A Den where Tygers make the passage good , And all attempting Lovers make their Food ; I' th' hollow of a mighty Rock 't is plac'd , Which by the angry Sea is still imbrac'd : Whose frightful surface constant Tempest wears , Which strikes the bold Adventurers with Fears . The Elements their rudest Winds send out , Which blow continual coldness round about . Upon the Rock eternal Winters dwells , Which weeps away in dropping Isicles ; The barren hardness meets no fruitful Ray , Nor bears it Issue to the God of day ; All bleek and cale , th' unshady prospect lies , And nothing grateful meets the melancholy Eyes . To this dire place Aminta goes , whilst I , Begg'd her with Prayers and Tears to pass it by ; All dying on the Ground my self I cast , And with my Arms her flying Feet imbrac'd ; But she from the kind force with Fury flung , And on an old deformed Woman hung . A Woman frightful , with a horrid Frown , And o're her angry Eyes , her Brows hung down : One single Look of hers , fails not t' impart , A terror and despair to every Heart : She fills the Universe with discontents , And Torments for poor Lovers still invents . This is the mighty Tyrant Cruelty , Who with the God of Love is still at enmity ; She keeps a glorious Train , and glorious Court , And thither Youth and Beauty still resort : But oh my Soul form'd for Loves softer Sport , Cou'd not endure the Rigor of her Court ! Which her first rude Address did so affright , That I all Trembling hasted from her Sight , Leaving the unconcern'd and cruel Maid , And on a Rivers Bank my self all fainting laid ; Which River from the obdurate Rock proceeds , And cast's it self i' th' Melancholy Meads .

The River of Despair . IT s Torrent has no other source , But Tears from dying Lovers Eyes ; Which mixt with Sighs precipitates its course ; Softning the sensless Rocks in gliding by ; Whose doleful Murmurs have such Eloquence ; That even the neighbouring Trees and flow'rs have pi - tying sense ; And Cruelty alone knows in what sort , Against the moving sound to make defence , Who laughs at all despair and Death as sport . A dismal Wood the Rivers Banks do bear , Securing even the day from entering there ; The Suns bright Rays a passage cannot find , Whose Boughs make constant War against the Wind ; Yet though their Leaves glimmers a sullen Light ; Which renders all below more terrible than Night , And shows upon the Bark of every Tree , Sad stories carv'd of Love and Cruelty ; The Grove is fill'd with Sighs , with Crys , and Groans , Reproaches and Complaints in dying Moans ; The Neighbouring Eccho's nothing do repeat , But what the Soul sends forth with sad regret ; And all things there no other Murmurs make , But what from Language full of death they take , 'T was in this place dispairing ere to free Aminta from the Arms of Cruelty , That I design'd to render up my Breath , And charge the cruel Charmer with my Death .

The RESOLVE . NOw my fair Tyrant I despise your Pow'r ; 'T is Death , not you becomes my Conqueror ; This easy Trophy which your scorn , Led bleeding by your Chariot-side ; Your haughty Victory to adorn , Has broke the Fetters of your Pride , Death takes his quarrel now in hand , And laughs at all your Eyes can do ; His pow'r thy Beauty can withstand , Not all your Smiles can the grim victor bow . He 'll hold no Parley with your Wit , Nor understands your wanton play , Not all your Arts can force him to submit , Not all your Charms can teach him to obey , Your youth nor Beauty can inspire , His frozen Heart with Love's perswasive fire ; Alas , you cannot warm him to one soft desire ; Oh mighty Death that art above , The pow'r of Beauty or of Love ! Thus sullen with my Fate sometimes I grew , And then a fit of softness wou'd ensue , Then weep , and on my Knees implore my Fair , And speak as if Aminta present were .

The QUESTION . SAY my fair Charmer , must I fall , A Victim to your Cruelty ? And must I suffer as a Criminal ? Is it to Love offence enough to dye ? Is this the recompence at last , Of all the restless hours I 've past ? How oft my Awe , and my Respect , Have fed your Pride and Scorn ? How have I suffer'd your neglect , Too mighty to be born ? How have I strove to hide that flame You seem'd to dis-approve ? How careful to avoid the name Of Tenderness or Love ? Least at that Word some guilty Blush shou'd own , What your bright Eyes forbad me to make known . Thus fill'd the neighbouring Eccho's with my Cry , Did nothing but reproach , complain and dye : One day — All hopeless on the Rivers Brink I stood , Resolv'd to plunge into the Rapid Floud , That Floud that eases Lovers in despair , And puts an end to all their raging care : 'T is hither those betray'd by Beauty come , And from this kinder stream receive their doom ; Here Birds of Ominous presages Nest , Securing the forlorn Inhabitants from rest : Here Mid-night-Owls , night-Crows , and Ravens dwell , Filling the Air with Melancholy Yell : Here swims a thousand Swans , whose doleful moan Sing dying Lovers Requiems with their own : I gaz'd around , and many Lovers view'd , Gastly and pale , who my design pursu'd ; But most inspir'd by some new hope , or won To finish something they had left undone ; Some grand Important bus'ness of their Love , Did from the fatal precipice remove : For me , no Reason my designs disswade , Till Love all Breathless hasted to my Aid ; With force m' unfixing Feet he kindly graspt , And tenderly reproacht my desperate hast , Reproach'd my Courage , and condemn'd my Wit , That meanly cou'd t' a Womans scorn submit , That cou'd to feed her Pride , and make her vain , Destroy an Age of Life , for a short date of pain : He wou'd have left me here , but that I made , So many friendships as did soon perswade , The yielding Boy , who Smil'd , resolv'd and staid , He rais'd my Head , and did again renew , His Flatteries , and all the Arts he knew : To call my Courage to its wonted place . What cry'd he — ( sweetly Angry ) shall a Face Arm'd with the weak resistance of a Frown , Force us to lay our Claims and Titles down ? Shall Cruelty a peevish Woman prove , Too strong to be overcome by Youth and Love ? No! rally all thy Vigor , all thy Charms , And force her from the cruel Tyrants Arms ; Come , once more try th' incens'd Maid to appease , Death 's in our pow'r to grasp when ere we please ; He said — And I the heavenly voice attend , Whilst towards the Rock our hasty steps we bend , Before the Gates with all our forces lye , Resolv'd to Conquer , or resolv'd to dye ; In vain Love all his feeble Engines rears , His soft Artillery of Sighs and Tears , Were all in vain — against the Winds were sent , For she was proof 'gainst them and languishment : Repeated Vows and Prayers mov'd no Remorse , And 't was to Death alone I had Recourse : Love in my Anguish bore a mighty part , He pityed , but he cou'd not ease my Heart : A thousand several ways he had assay'd , To touch the Heart of this obdurate Maid ; Rebated all his Arrow 's still return , For she was fortify'd with Pride and Scorn . The useless Weapons now away he flung , Neglected lay his Ivory Bow unstrung , His gentle Azure Wings were all unprun'd , And the gay Plumes a fading Tinct assum'd ; Which down his snowy sides extended lay , And now no more in wanton Motions play . He blusht to think he had not left one dart , Of force enough to wound Aminta's Heart ; He blusht to think she shou'd her freedom boast , Whilst mine from the first Dart he sent was lost : Thus tir'd with our Complaints ; ( whilst no relief , Rescu'd the fleeting Soul , from killing Grief ) We saw a Maid approach , who 's lovely Face , Disdain'd the Beauties of the common race : Soft were her Eyes , where unfeign'd Sorrow dwelt , And on her Cheeks in pitying Show'rs they melt ; Soft was her Voice , and tenderly it strook , The eager listening Soul , when e're she spoke ; And what did yet my Courage more augment , She wore this sadness for my languishment . And sighing said , ah Gods ! have you Beheld this dying Youth , and never found , A pity for a Heart so true ? Which dyes adoring her that gave the Wound , His Youth , his Passion , and his Constancy , Merits ye God's a kinder Destiny . With pleasure I attended what she said , And wonder'd at the friendship of the Maid . Of LOVE I ask'd her name ? who answer'd me , 'T was Pity : Enemy to Cruelty : Who often came endeavouring to abate , The Languishments of the unfortunate ; And said , if she wou'd take my injur'd part , She soon wou'd soften fair Aminta's Heart ; For she knows all the subtillest Arts to move , And teach the timorous Virgin how to love . With Joy I heard , and my Address apply'd , To gain the Beauteous Pity to my Side : Nothing I left untold that might perswade , The listening Virgin to afford her aid . Told her my Passions , Sorrows , Pains and Fears , And whilst I spoke , confirm'd 'em with my Tears ; All which with down-cast Eyes she did attend , And blushing said , my Tale had made a Friend ; I bow'd and thankt her with a chearful look , Which being return'd by hers , her leave she took : Now to Aminta all in haste she hyes , Whom she assail'd with sorrow in her Eyes , And a sad story of my Miseries . Which she with so much tenderness exprest , As forc'd some Sighs from the fair Charmers Breast ; The subtil Pity found she should prevail , And oft repeats th' insinuating Tale , And does insensibly the Maid betray , Where Love and I , Panting and Trembling lay ; Where she beheld th' effects of her disdain , And in my languid Face she read my Pain . Down her fair Cheeks some pitying drops did glide ; Which cou'd not be restrain'd by feebler Pride ; Against my anguish she had no defence , Such Charms had grief , my Tears such Eloquence ; My Sighs and Murmurs she began t' approve , And listen'd to the story of my LOVE . With tenderness , she did my Sufferings hear , And even my Reproaches now cou'd bear : At last my trembling Hand in hers she took , And with a charming Blush , these Words she spoke : I. FAithful Lisander , I your Vows approve , And can no longer hide , My Sense of all your suffering Love , With the thin Veil of Pride . II. 'T was long in Vain that Pity did assail , My cold and stubborn Heart ; Ere on th' insensible she cou'd prevail , To render any Part. III. To her for all the tenderness , Which in my Eyes you find , You must your gratitude express , 'T is Pity only makes me kind . IV. Live then Lisander , since I must confess , In spight of all my native modesty , I cannot wish that you shou'd Love me less , Live then and hope the Circling Sun may see , In his swift course a grateful change in me , And that in time your Passion may receive , All you dare take , and all a Maid may give . Oh Lysidas , I cannot here relate , The Sense of Joy she did in me create ; The sudden Blessing overcame me so , It almost finisht , what Grieffail'd to do ; I wanted Courage for the soft surprize , And waited re-enforcements from her Eyes : At last with Transports which I cou'd not hide , Raising my self from off the ground , I cry'd .

The TRANSPORT . REjoyce ! my new made happy Soul , Rejoyce ! Bless the dear minute , bless the Heav'nly voice , That has revok't thy fatal doom ; Rejoyce ! Aminta leads thee from the Tomb. Banish the anxious thoughts of dying hours , Forget the shades and melancholy Bow'rs , Thy Eyes so oft bedew'd with falling show'rs ; Banish all Thoughts that do remain , Of Sighing Days and Nights of Pain , When on neglected Beds of Moss thou 'st lain : Oh happy Youth ! Aminta bids thee live ; Thank not the sullen God's or defer Stars , Since from her Hand thou dost the Prize receive ; Hers be the Service , as the bounty hers ; For all that Life must dedicated be , To the fair God-like Maid that gave it Thee . Now Lysidas , behold my happy State ; Behold me Blest , behold me Fortunate , And from the height of languishing despair , Rais'd to the Glory of Aminta's care : And this one moment of my Heaven of Joy , Did the remembrance of past Griefs destroy : And Pity ceas'd not here ; but with new Eloquence , Obliges the shy Maid to visit Confidence .

CONFIDENCE . A Lady lovely , with a charming Meen , Gay , frank , and open , and an Air serene ; In every Look she does her Soul impart , With ease one reads the Sent'ments of her Heart ; Her Humour generous , and her Language free , And all her Conversation graceful Liberty : Her Villa is Youth 's general Rendezvous , Where in delightful Gardens , winding Groves , The happy Lovers dwell with secresie , Un-interrupted by fond Jealousie : 'T is there with Innocence , they do and say A thousand things , to pass the short-liv'd day : There free from censuring Spies , they entertain , And pleasures tast , un-intermixt with pain . 'T is there we see , what most we do adore , And yet we languish to discover more . Hard fate of Lovers , who are ne'er content , In an Estate so Blest and Innocent . But still press forward , urg'd by soft desires , To Joys that oft extinguishes their Fires ; In this degree I found a happiness , Which nought but wishing more cou'd render less : I saw Aminta here without controul , And told her all the Secrets of my Soul ; Whilst she t' express her height of Amity , Communicated all her Thoughts to me .

The REFLECTION . OH with what Pleasure did I pass away , The too swift course of the delightful day ! What Joys I found in being a Slave , To every Conquering Smile she gave , Whose every sweetness wou'd inspire , The Cinick and the Fool with Love ; Alas , I needed no more Fire , Who did its height already prove : Ah my Aminta ! had I been content , With this degree of Ravishment , With the neer satisfy'd delight I took , Only to prattle Love , to sigh and look , With the dull Bartering Kiss for Kiss , And never aim'd at higher Bliss , With all the stealths forgetful Lovers make , When they their Little Covenants break : To these sad shades of Death I 'd not been hurl'd , And thou mightst still have blest the drooping World ; But though my Pleasure were thus vast and high , Yet Loves insatiate Luxury , Stillwish'd , reveal'd the unknown Mystery . But still Love importun'd , nor cou'd I rest , So often , and impatiently he prest , That I the lovely Virgin wou'd invite , To the so worshipp'd Temple of Delight . By all the Lovers Arts I strove to move , And watch the softest Minutes of her Love , Which against all my Vows and Prayers were proof . Alas she lov'd , but did not love enough : And I cou'd no returns but Anger get , Her Heart was not intirely conquer'd yet ; For liking , I mistook her Complysance , And that for Love ; when 't was her Confidence . But 't was not long my Sighs I did imploy , Before she rais'd me to the height of Joy . And all my Fears and Torments to remove , Yields I shall lead her to the Court of LOVE . Here Lysidas thou thinks me sure and blest , With Recompence for all my past unrest ; But fortun'd smil'd the easier to betray , She 's less inconstant than a Lover's Joy : For whilst our Chariot Wheels out-stript the Wind , Leaving all thought of Mortal Cares behind . Whilst we sate gazing full of new surprize , Exchanging Souls from eithers darting Eyes , We encounter'd One who seem'd of great Command , Who seiz'd the Reins with an all-pow'rful hand : Awful his looks , but rude in his Address , And his Authority roughly did express ; His violent Hands he on Aminta laid , And out of mine snatch'd the dear trembling Maid ; So suddenly as hinder'd my defence , And she cou'd only say in parting thence . Forgive Lisander what by force I do , Since nothing else can ravish me from you ; Make no resistance , I obey * * Duty . Devoir . Who values not thy Tears , thy Force or Prayer , Retain thy Faith and Love Aminta still , Since she abandons thee against her Will . Immoveable I remain'd with this surprize , Nor durst reply so much as with my Eyes . I saw her go , but was of Sense bereav'd , And only knew from what I heard , I liv'd ; Yes , yes , I heard her last Commands , and thence By violent degrees retriev'd my Sense . Ye Gods in this your Mercy was severe , You might have spar'd the useless favour here . But the first Thoughts my Reason did conceive , Were to pursue the injurious Fugitive . Raving , that way I did my haste direct , But once more met the Reverend Respect , From whom I strove my self to dis-ingage , And faign'd a calmness to disguise my Rage . In vain was all the Cheat , he soon perceiv'd , Spight of my Smiles , how much , and why I griev'd ; Saw my despairs , and what I meant to do , And begg'd I wou'd the rash Design forego ; A thousand dangers he did represent , T' win me from the desperate attempt . I ever found his Counsel just and good , And now resolv'd it shou'd not be withstood ; Thus he ore-came my Rage , but did not free , My Soul from Griefs more painful Tyranny ; Grief tho' more soft , did not less cruel prove , Madness is easier far then hopeless Love . I parted thus , but knew not what to do ; Nor where I went ; nor did I care to know ; With folded Arms , with weeping Eyes declin'd , I search the unknown shade , I cou'd not find , And mixt my constant Sighs with flying Wind. By slow unsteady steps the Paths I trace , Which undesign'd conduct me to a place Fit for a Soul distrest ; obscur'd with shade , Lonely and fit for Love and Sorrow made ; The Murmuring Boughs themselves together twist , And 't wou'd allow to Grief her self some rest , Inviron'd 't is with lofty Mountains round , From whence the Eccho's , Sighs , and Crys rebound ; Here in the midst and thickest of the Wood , Cover'd with bending Shades a Castle stood , Where Absence that dejected Maid remains , Who nothing but her Sorrow entertains .

ABSENCE . HER mourning languid Eyes are rarely shown , Unless to those afflicted like her own ; Her lone Apartment all obscure as Night , Discover'd only by a glimmering Light : Weeping she sate her Face with Grief dismaid , Which all its natural sweetness has decaid ; Yet in despight of Grief there does appear , The ruin'd Monuments of what was fair , E'r cruel Love and Grief had took possession there . These made her old without the aid of Years ; Worn out , and faint with lingring hopes and fears , She seldom answers ought but with her Tears . No Train attends , she only is obey'd By Melancholy , that soft , silent Maid : A Maid that fits her Humour every way , With whom she passes all the tedious day : No other object can her Mind content , She Feeds and Flatters all her languishment ; The noisy Streams that from high Mountains fall ; And water all the Neighbouring flowry Vale : The Murmurs of the Rivulets that glide , Against the bending Seges on the side ; Of mournful Birds the sad and tuneful Noats , The Bleats of straggling Lambs , and new yean'd Goats : The distant Pipe of some lone Mountain Swain , Who to his injur'd Passion fits his strain ; Is all the Harmony , her Soul can entertain . On a strict league of Friendship we agree , For I was sad , and as forlorn as she ; To all her Humours , I conform my own , Together Sigh , together Weep , and Moan ; Like her to Woods and Fountains I retreat , And urge the pitying Eccho's to repeat My tale of Love , and at each Period sound Aminta's name , and bear it all around , Whilst listening Voices do the charm reply , And lost in mixing Air , together dye . There minutes like dull days creep slowly on , And every day I drag an Age along ; The coming hours cou'd no more pleasures hast , Than those so insupportably I 'd past . I rav'd , I wept , I wisht , but all in vain , The distant Maid , nor saw , nor eas'd my pain ; With my sad tale , each tender Bark I fill , This — soft complaints , and that — my Ravings tell ; This bears vain Curses on my cruel fate , And Blessings on the Charming Virgin , that The Willow by the lonely Spring that grows , And o're the Stream bends his forsaken Boughs . I call Lisander , they like him I find , Murmur and ruffl'd are with every Wind. On the young springing Beech that 's straight and tall , I Carve her name , and that Aminta call ; But where I see an Oak that Climbs abové , The rest , and grows the Monster of the Grove ; Whose pow'rful Arms when aiding Winds do blow , Dash all the tender twining Shades below , And even in Calms maliciously do spread , That naught beneath can thrive , imbrace or breed ; Whose mischiefs far exceed his fancy'd good , Honour I call him : Tyrant of the Wood. Thus rove from Thought to Thought without relief : A change 't is true ; but 't is from Grief to Grief ; Which when above my silence they prevail , With Love I 'm froward , on my Fortune rail , And to the Winds breathe my neglected Tale.

To LOVE . I. FOnd Love thy pretty Flatteries cease , That feeble Hope you give ; Unless 't woud make my happiness , In vain dear Boy ; in vain you strive , It cannot keep my tortur'd Heart alive . II. Tho' thou shou'dst give me all the Joys , Luxurious Monarch's do possess , Without Aminta 't is but empty noise , Dull and insipid happiness ; And you in vain invite me to a Feast , Where my Aminta cannot be a Guest . III. Ye glorious Trifles , I renounce ye all , Since she no part of all your splendour makes Let the Dull unconcern'd obey your call , Let the gay Fop , who his Pert Courtship takes ; For Love , whilst he Profanes your Deity , Be Charm'd and Pleas'd with all your necessary vanity . IV. But give me leave , whose Soul 's inspir'd , With sacred , but despairing Love . To dye from all your noise retir'd , And Buried lie within this silent Grove . For whilst I Live , my Soul 's a prey , To insignificant desires , Whilst thou fond God of Love and Play , With all thy Darts , with all thy useless Fires , With all thy wanton flatteries cannot charm , Nor yet the frozen-hearted Virgin warm . V. Others by absence Cure their fire , Me it inrages more with pain ; Each thought of my Aminta blows it higher , And distance strengthens my desire ; I Faint with wishing , since I wish in vain ; Either be gone fond Love , or let me dye , Hopeless desire admits no other remedy . Here 't was the height of Cruelty I prov'd , By absence from the sacred Maid I lov'd : And here had dy'd , but that Love found a way , Some Letters from Aminta to convey , Which all the tender marks of pity gave , And hope enough to make me wish to Live . From Duty , now the lovely Maid is freed , And calls me from my lonely solitude : Whose cruel Memory in a Moments space , The thoughts of coming Pleasures quite deface ; With an impatient Lovers hast I flew , To the vast Blessing Love had set in view , But oh I found Aminta in a place , Where never any Lover happy was !

RIVALS . RIvals 't is call'd , a Village where The Inhabitants in Fury still appear ; Mali cious paleness , or a generous red , O'r every angry face is spread , Their Eyes are either smiling with disdain , Or fiercely glow with raging Fire . Gloomy and sullen with dissembl'd pain , Love in the Heart , Revenge in the desire : Combates , Duels , Challenges , Is the discourse , and all the business there . Respect of Blood , nor sacred friendship tyes ; Can reconcile the Civil War , Rage , Horror , Death , and wild despair , Are still Rencounter'd , and still practis'd there . 'T was here the lovely cruel Maid I found , Incompass'd with a thousand Lovers round ; At my approach I saw their Blushes rise , And they regarded me with angry Eyes . Aminta too , or else my Fancy 't was , Receiv'd me with a shy and cold Address , I cou'd not speak — but Sigh'd , retir'd and Bow'd ; With pain I heard her Talk and Laugh aloud , And deal her Freedoms to the greedy Crowd . I Curst her Smiles , and envy'd every look , And Swore it was too kind , what e're she spoke ; Condemn'd her Air , rail'd on her soft Address , And vow'd her Eyes did her false Heart confess , And vainly wisht their Charming Beauties less . A Secret hatred in my Soul I bear , Against these objects of my new despair ; I waited all the day , and all in vain ; Not one lone minute snatcht , to ease my pain ; Her Lovers went and came in such a sort , It rather seem'd Loves-Office than his Court , Made for eternal Bus'ness , not his Sport . Love saw my pain , and found my rage grew high , And led me off , to lodge at Jealousie .

JEALOUSIE . I. A Palace that is more un-easy far , Then those of cruelty and absence are , There constant show'rs of Hail and Rains do flow , Continual Murmuring Winds a-round do blow , Eternal Thunder rowling in the Air , And thick dark hanging Clouds the day obscure ; Whose sullen dawn all Objects multiplies , And render things that are not , to the Eyes . Fantoms appear by the dull gloomy light , That with such subtil Art delude the sight , That one can see no Object true or right . I here transported and impatient grow And all things out of order do ; Hasty and peevish every thing I say , Suspicion and distrust's my Passions sway , And bend all Nature that un-easy way . II. A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart ; A thousand Visions fill the Eyes , And Deaf to all that can relief impart , We hate the Counsel of the Wise , And Sense like Tales of Lunaticks despise : Faithless , as Couzen'd Maids , by Men undone , And obstinate as new Religion , As full of Error , and false Notion too , As Dangerous , and as Politick ; As Humerous as a Beauty without Wit ; As Vain and Fancyful in all we do : — Thus Wreck the Soul , as if it did conceal , Love Secrets which by torturing ' t wo'd reveal . Restless and wild , ranging each Field and Grove ; I meet the Author of my painful Love ; But still surrounded with a numerous Train Of Lovers , whom Love taught to Sigh and Fawn , At my approach , my Soul all Trembling flies , And tells its soft Resentment at my Eyes : My Face all pale , my steps unsteady fall , And faint Confusion spreads it self o're all . I listen to each low breath'd Word she says , And the returns the happy Answerer pays : When catching half the Sense , the rest Invent , And turn it still to what will most Torment ; If any thing by Whispers she impart , 'T is Mortal , 't is a Dagger at my Heart ; And every Smile , each Motion , Gesture , Sign , In favour of some Lover I explain : When I am absent , in some Rivals Arms , I Fancy she distributes all her Charms , And if alone I find her ; sighing cry , Some happier Lover she expects than I. So that I did not only Jealous grow , Of all I saw ; but all I fancy'd too .

The COMPLAINT . I. OFT in my Jealous Transports I wou'd cry , Ye happy shades , ye happy Bow'rs , Why speaks she tenderer things to you than me ? Why does she Smile , carress and praise your Flowers ? Why Sighs she ( opening Buds ) her Secrets all Into your fragrant Leaves ? Why does she to her Aid your sweetness call , Yet take less from you than she gives ? Why on your Beds must you be happy made , And be together with Aminta laid ? You from her Hands and Lips may KISSES take , And never meet Reproaches from her Pride ; A thousand Ravishing stealths may make , And even into her softer Bosome glide . And there expire ! Oh happy Rival flowers , How vainly do I wish my Fate like that of Yours ? II. Tell me ye silent Groves , whose Gloom invites , The lovely Charmer to your Solitudes ? Tell me for whom she languishes and sighs ? For whom she feels her soft Inquietudes ? Name me the Youth for whom she makes her Vows , For she has breath'd it oft amongst your listening Boughs ? Oh happy confidents of her Amours , How vainly do I wish my Fortune blest as Yours . III. Oh happy Brooks , oh happy Rivulets , And Springs that in a thousand Windings move ; Upon your Banks how oft Aminta sits , And prattles to you all her Tale of Love : Whilst your smooth surface little Circles bears , From the Impressions of her falling Tears , And as you want only reflecting pass , Glide o're the lovely Image of her Face ; And sanctifies your stream , which as you run , You Boast in Murmurs to the Banks along . Dear streams ! to whom she gives her softest hours , How vainly do I wish my happiness like yours . Sometimes I rail'd again , and wou'd upbraid , Reproachfully , the charming fickle Maid : Sometimes I vow'd to do 't no more , But one , vain , short-liv'd hour , Wou'd Perjure all I 'd Sworn before , And Damn my fancy'd Pow'r . Sometimes the sullen fit wou'd last , A teadious live-long day : But when the wrecking hours were past , With what Impatience wou'd I hast , And let her Feet weep my neglect away . Quarrels are the Reserves Love keeps in store , To aid his Flames and make 'em burn the more .

The PENITENT . I. WIth Rigor Arm your self , ( I cry'd ) It is but just and fit ; I merit all this Treatment from your Pride , All the reproaches of your Wit ; Put on the cruel Tyrant as you will , But know , my tender Heart adores you still . II. And yet that Heart has Murmur'd too , And been so insolent to let you know , It did complain , and rave , and rail'd at you ; Yet all the while by every God I swear , By every pitying Pow'r the wretched here ; By all those Charms that dis-ingage , My Soul from the extreams of Rage ; By all the Arts you have to save and kill , My faithful tender Heart adores you still . III. But oh you shou'd excuse my soft complaint , Even my wild Ravings too prefer , I sigh , I burn , I weep , I faint , And vent my Passions to the Air ; Whilst all my Torment , all my Care Serves but to make you put new Graces on , You Laugh , and Rally my despair , Which to my Rivals renders you more fair ; And but the more confirms my being undone : Sport with my Pain as gayly as you will , My fond , my tender Heart adores you still . My differing Passions thus , did never cease , Till they had touch'd her Soul with tenderness ; My Rivals now are banish'd by degrees , And with 'em all my Fears and Jealousies ; And all advanc'd , as if design'd to please .

The City of LOVE . IN this vast Isle a famous City stands , Who for its Beauty all the rest Commands , Built to delight the wondering Gazers Eyes , Of all the World the great Metropolis . Call'd by LOVE's name : and here the Charming God , When he retires to Pleasure , makes abode ; 'T is here both Art and Nature strive to show , What Pride , Expence , and Luxury , can do , To make it Ravishing and Awful too : All Nations hourly thither do resort , To add a splendour to this glorious Court ; The Young , the Old , the Witty , and the Wise , The Fair , the Ugly , Lavish , and Precise ; Cowards and Braves , the Modest , and the Lowd , Promiscuously are blended in the Crowd . From distant Shoars young Kings their Courts remove , To pay their Homage to the God of Love . Where all their sacred awful Majesty , Their boasted and their fond Divinity ; Loose their vast force ; as lesser Lights are hid , When the fierce God of Day his Beauties spread , The wondering World for Gods did Kings adore , Till LOVE confirm'd 'em Mortal by his Pow'r ; And in Loves Court , do with their Vassals live , Without or Homage , or Prerogative : Which the young God , not only Blind must show , But as Defective in his Judgment too .

LOVE's Temple . MIdst this Gay Court a famous Temple stands , Old as the Universe which it commands ; For mighty Love a sacred being had , Whilst yet 't was Chaos , e're the World was made , And nothing was compos'd without his Aid . Agreeing Attoms by his pow'r were hurl'd , And Love and Harmony compos'd the World . 'T is rich , 't is solemn all ! Divine yet Gay ! From the Jemm'd Roof the dazling Lights display , And all below inform without the Aids of day . All Nations hither bring rich offerings , And 't is endow'd with Gifts of Love-sick Kings . Upon an Altar ( whose un-bounded store , Has made the Rifled Universe so poor , Adorn'd with all the Treasure of the Seas , More than the Sun in his vast course surveys ) Was plac'd the God! with every Beauty formd , Of Smiling Youth , but Naked , un-adorn'd . His painted Wings displaid : His Bow laid by , ( For here Love needs not his Artillery . ) One of his little Hands aloft he bore , And grasp'd a wounded Heart that burnt all o're , Towards which he lookt with lovely Laughing Eyes : As pleas'd and vain , with the fond Sacrifice , The other pointing downward seem'd to say , Here at my Feet your grateful Victims lay , Whilst in a Golden Tablet o're his Head , 〈◊〉 Diamond Characters this Motto stood , ●hold the Pow'r that Conquers every GOD. The Temple Gates are open Night and Day , Love's Votaries at all hours Devotions pay , A Priest of Hymen gives attendance near , But very rarely shows his Function here , For Priest cou'd ne'r the Marriage-cheat improve , Were there no other Laws , but those of Love ! A Slavery generous Heav'n did ne'r design , Nor did its first lov'd Race of men confine ; A Trick , that Priest , whom Avarice cunning made , Did first contrive , then sacred did perswade , That on their numerous and unlucky Race , They might their base got Wealth securely place . Curse — cou'd they not their own loose Race inthral ' But they must spread the infection over all : That Race , whose Brutal heat was grown so wild , That even the Sacred Porches they defil'd ; And Ravisht all that for Devotion came , Their Function , nor the Place restrains their flame . But Love's soft Votaries no such injuries fear , No pamper'd Levits are in Pension here ; Here are no fatted Lambs to Sacrifice , No Oyl , fine Flower , or Wines of mighty price , The subtle Holy Cheats to Gormandize . Love's soft Religion knows no Tricks nor Arts , All the Attoning Offerings here are Hearts . The Mystery's silent , without noyse or show , In which the Holy Man has nought to do , The Lover is both Priest and Victim too . Hither with little force I did perswade , My lovely timorously yielding Maid , Implor'd we might together Sacrifice , And she agrees with Blushing down-cast Eyes ; 'T was then we both our Hearts an Offering made , Which at the Feet of the young God we laid , With equal Flames they Burnt ; with equal Joy , But with a Fire that neither did destroy ; Soft was its Force and Sympathy with them , Dispers'd it self through every trembling Limb ; We cou'd not hide our tender new surprize , We languisht and confest it with our Eyes ; Thus gaz'd we — when the Sacrifice perform'd , We found our Hearts entire — but still they burn , But by a Blessed change in taking back , The lovely Virgin did her Heart mistake : Her Bashful Eyes favour'd Love's great design , I took her Burning Victim : and she mine . Thus Lysidas without constraint or Art , I reign'd the Monarch of Aminta's Heart ; My great , my happy Title she allows , And makes me Lord of all her tender Vows , All my past Griefs in coming Joys were drown'd , And with eternal Pleasure I was Crown'd ; My Blessed hours in the extream of Joy , With my soft Languisher I still imploy ; When I am Gay , Love Revels in her Eyes , When sad — there the young God all panting lies . A thousand freedoms now she does impart , Shows all her tenderness dis-rob'd of Art , But oh this cou'd not satisfy my Heart . A thousand Anguishes that still contains , It sighs , and heaves , and pants with pleasing pains . We look , and Kiss , and Press with new desire , Whilst every touch Blows the unusual Fire . For Love's last Mystery was yet conceal'd , Which both still languisht for , both wisht reveal'd : Which I prest on — and faintly she deny'd , With all the weak efforts of dying Pride , Which struggled long for Empire in her Soul , Where it was wont to rule without controul . But Conquering Love had got possession now , And open'd every Sally to the Foe : And to secure my doubting happiness , Permits me to conduct her to the Bow'r of Bliss . That Bow'r that does eternal Pleasures yield , Where Psyche first the God of Love beheld : But oh , in entering this so blest abode , All Gay and Pleas'd as a Triumphing God , I new unlook'd for difficulties meet , Encountring Honour at the sacred Gate .

HONOUR . I. HOnour 's a mighty Phantom ! which around The sacred Bower does still appear ; All Day it haunts the hollow'd ground , And hinders Lovers entering there . It rarely ever takes its flight , But in the secret shades of night . Silence and gloom the charm can soonest end , And are the luckyest hours to lay the Fiend , Then 't is the Vision only will remove , With Incantations of soft Vows of Love . II. But as a God he 's Worshipt here , By all the lovely , young , and fair , Who all their kind desires controul , And plays the Tyrant o're the Soul : His chiefest Attributes , are Pride and Spight , His pow'r , is robbing Lovers of delight , An Enemy to Humane kind , But most to Youth severe ; As Age ill-natur'd , and as ignorance Blind , Boasting , and Baffled too , as Cowards are ; Fond in opinion , obstinately Wise , Fills the whole World with bus'ness and with noise . III. Where wert thou born ? from what didst thou begin ? And what strange Witchcraft brought thy Maxims in ? What hardy Fool first taught thee to the Crowd ? Or who the Duller Slaves that first believ'd ? Some Woman sure , ill-natur'd , old , and proud , Too ugly ever to have been deceiv'd ; Unskill'd in Love ; in Virtue , or in Truth , Preach'd thy false Notions first , and so debaucht our Youth IV. And as in other Sectuaries you find , His Votaries most consist of Womankind , Who Throng t' adore the necessary Evil , But most for fear , as Indians do the Devil . Peevish , un-easy all ; for in Revenge , Love shoots 'em with a thousand Darts . They feel , but not confess the change ; Their false Devotion cannot save their Hearts . Thus while the Idol Honour they obey , Swift time comes on , and blooming Charms decay , And Ruin'd Beauty does too late the Cheat betray . This Goblin here — the lovely Maid Alarms , And snatch'd her , even from my Trembling Arms , With all the Pow'r of Non-sence he commands , Which she for mighty Reason understands . Aminta fly , he crys ! fly heedless Maid , For if thou enter'st this Bewitching shade , Thy Flame , Content , and Lover , all are lost , And thou no more of Him , or Fame shall boast , The charming Pleasure soon the Youth will cloy , And what thou wouldst preserve , that will destroy . Oh hardy Maid by too much Love undone , Where are thy Modesty , and Blushes gone ? Where 's all that Virtue made thee so Ador'd ? For Beauty stript of Virtue , grows abhorr'd : Dyes like a flower whose scent quick Poyson gives , Though every gawdy Glory paints its leaves : Oh fly , fond Maid , fly that false happiness , That will attend Thee in the Bower of Bliss . Thus spoke the Phantom , while the listening Maid , Took in the fatal Councel ; and obey'd : Frighted she flys , even from the Temple door , And left me fainting on the sacred floor : LOVE saw my Griefs , and to my rescue came , Where on his Bosom , thus I did complain .

The LOSS . WEep , weep Lysander , for the lovely Maid , To whom thy sacred Vows were paid ; Regardless of thy Love , thy Youth , thy Vows , The Dull Advice of Honour now pursues ; Oh say my lovely Charmer , where Is all that softness gone ? Your tender Voice and Eyes did were , When first I was undone . Oh whether are your Sighs and Kisses fled ? Where are those clasping Arms , That left me oft with Pleasures dead , With their Excess of Charms ? Where is the Killing Language of thy Tongue , That did the Ravisht Soul surprize ? Where is that tender Rhetorick gone , That flow'd so softly in thy Eyes ? That did thy heavenly face so sweetly dress , That did thy wonderous Soul so well express ? All fled with Honour on a Phantom lost ; Where Youth 's vast store must perish unpossest . Ah my dear Boy thy loss with me bemoan , The lovely Fugitive is with Honour gone ! Love laughing spread his Wings and mounting flies , As swift as Lightning through the yielding Skies , Where Honour bore away the Trembling Prize . There at her Feet the Little Charmer falls , And to his Aid his powerful softness calls : Assails her with his Tears , his Sighs and Crys , Th' unfailing Language of his Tongue and Eyes . Return , said he , return oh fickle Maid , Who solid Joys abandon'st for a shade ; Turn and behold the Slaughter of thy Eyes ; See — the Heart-broken Youth all dying lyes . Why dost thou follow this Phantastick spright ? This faithless Ignis Fatuus of the Light ? This Foe to Youth , and Beauties worst Disease , Tyrant of Wit , of Pleasure , and of Ease ; Of all substantial Harms he Author is , But never pays us back one solid Bliss . — You 'l urge , your Fame is worth a thousand Joys ; Deluded Maid , trust not to empty noise , A sound , that for a poor Esteem to gain , Damns thy whole Life t' uneasyness and pain . Mistaken Virgin , that which pleases me I cannot by another tast and see ; And what 's the complementing of the World to thee ? No , no , return with me , and there receive , What poor , what scanted Honour cannot give , Starve not those Charms that were for pleasure made , Nor unpossest let the rich Treasure fade . When time comes on ; Honour that empty word , Will leave thee then fore-slighted Age to guard , Honour as other faithless Lovers are . Is only dealing with the young and fair ; Approaching Age makes the false Hero fly , He 's Honour with the Young , but with the old necessity . — Thus said the God! and all the while he spoke , Her Heart new Fire , her Eyes new softness took . Now crys , I yield , I yield the Victory ! Lead on young Charming Boy , I follow thee ; Lead to Lysander , quickly let 's be gone , I am resolv'd to Love , and be undone ; I must not , cannot , Love at cheaper rate , Love is the word , Lysander and my fate . Thus to my Arms Love brought the trembling Maid ; Who on my Bosom sighing , softly , said : Take charming Victor — what you must — subdue — 'T is Love — and not Aminta gives it you , Love that o're all , and every part does reign , And I shou'd plead — and struggle — but in vain ; Take what a yielding Virgin — can bestow , I am — dis-arm'd — of all resistance now . — Then down her Cheeks a tender shower did glide , The Trophies of my Victory , Joy , and Pride : She yields ye Gods ( I cry'd ) and in my Arms , Gives up the wonderous Treasure of her Charms . — Transported to the Bower of Bliss we high , But once more met Respect upon the way , But not as heretofore with Meen and Grace , All formal , but a gay and smiling Face ; A different sort of Air his looks now wears , Galljard and Joyful every part appears . And thus he said — Go happy Lovers , perfect the desires , That fill two Hearts that burn with equal Fires ; Receive the mighty Recompence at last , Of all the Anxious hours you 've past , Enter the Bower where endless Pleasures flow , Young Joys , new Raptures all the year , Respect has nothing now to do , He always leaves the Lover here . Young Loves attend and here supply all want , In secret Pleasures I 'm no confident . Respect here left me : and He scarce was gone , But I perceiv''d a Woman hasting on , Naked she came ; all lovely , and her Hair , Was loosely flying in the wanton Air : Love told me 't was Occasion , and if I , The swift pac'd Maid shou'd pass neglected by . My Love , my Hopes , and Industry were vain , For she but rarely e're return'd again . I stopt her speed , and did implore her Aid , Which granted , she Aminta did perswade . Into the Palace of true Joys , to hast , And thither 't was , we both arriv'd at last . Oh Lysidas , no Mortal Sense affords , No Wit , no Eloquence can furnish Words ; Fit for the soft Discription of the Bower , Some Love-blest God in the Triumphing hour , Can only guess , can only say what 't is ; Yet even that God but faintly wou'd express , Th' unbounded pleasures of the Bower of Bliss . A slight , a poor Idea may be given , Like that we fancy when we paint a Heav'n , As solid Christal , Diamonds , shining Gold , May fancy Light , that is not to be told . To vulgar Senses , Love like Heaven shou'd be ( To make it more Ador'd ) a Mystery : Eternal Powers ! when ere I sing of Love , And the unworthy Song immortal prove ; To please my wandering Ghost when I am Dead , Let none but Lovers the soft stories read ; Praise from the Wits and Braves I 'le not implore ; Listen ye Lovers all , I ask no more ; That where Words fail , you may with thought supply , If ever any lov'd like me , or were so blest as I. The Prospect and Bower of Bliss . I. T IS all eternal Spring around , And all the Trees with fragrant flowers are Crown'd ; No Clouds , no misty Showers obscure the Light , But all is calm , serene and gay , The Heavens are drest with a perpetual bright , And all the Earth with everlasting May. Each minute blows the Rose and Jesamine , And twines with new-born Eglantine , Each minute new Discoveries bring ; Of something sweet , of something ravishing . II. Fountains , wandering Brooks soft rills , That o're the wanton Pebbles play ; And all the Woods with tender murmuring fills , Inspiring my Love inciting Joy ; ( The sole , the solemn business of the day ) Through all the Groves , the Glades and thickets run , And nothing see but Love on all their Banks along ; A thousand Flowers of different kinds , The neighbouring Meads adorn ; Whose sweetness snatcht by flying Winds , O're all the Bow'r of Bliss is born ; Whether all things in nature strive to bring , All that is soft , all that is ravishing . III. The verdant Banks no other Prints retain , But where young Lovers , and young Loves have lain . For Love has nothing here to do , But to be wanton , soft and gay , And give a lavish loose to joy . His emptyed Quiver , and his Bow , In flowry Wreaths with rosy Garlands Crown'd , In Myrtle shades are hung , As Conquerors when the Victories won , Dispose their glorious Trophies all around . Soft Winds and Eccho's that do haunt each Grove , Still whisper , and repeat no other Songs than Love . Which round about the sacred Bower they sing , Where every thing arrives that's sweet and ravishing . IV. A thousand gloomy Walks the Bower contains , Sacred all to mighty Love ; A thousand winding turns where Pleasure reigns ; Obscur'd from day by twining Boughs above , Where Love invents a thousand Plays , Where Lovers act ten thousand Joys : Nature has taught each little Bird , A soft Example to afford ; They Bill and Look , and Sing and Love , And Charm the Air , and Charm the Grove ; Whilst underneath the Ravisht Swain is lying , Gazing , Sighing , Pressing , Dying ; Still with new desire warm'd , Still with new Joy , new Rapture charm'd ; Amongst the green soft Rivulets do pass , In winding Streams half hid in Flowers and Grass , Who Purl and Murmur as they glide along , And mix their Musick with the Shepherds Pipe and Song , Which Eccho's through the sacred Bower repeat , Where every thing arrives that 's ravishing and sweet . V. The Virgin here shows no disdain , Nor does the Shepherd Sigh in vain , This knows no Cruelty , nor that no Pain : No Youth complains upon his rigorous fair ; No injur'd Maid upon her perjur'd dear , 'T is only Love , fond Love finds entrance here ; The Notes of Birds , the Murmuring Boughs , When gentle Winds glide through the Glades , Soft Sighs of Love , and oft breath'd Vows , The tender Whisperings of the yielding Maids , Dashing Fountains , Purling Springs , The short breath'd crys from faint resistance sent . ( Crys which no aid desires or brings ) The soft effects of Fear and Languishment ; The little struggling of the fair , The trembling force of the young Conqueror , The tender Arguments he brings , The pretty Non-sence with which she assails , Which as she speaks , she hopes it nought prevails . But yielding owns her Love above her Reasonings , Is all is heard : Silence and shade the rest . Which best with Love , which best with Joys consist , All which young Eccho's through the Bower does sing , Where every thing is heard , that 's sweet and ravishing . VI. Recesses Dark , and Grotto's all conspire , To favour Love and soft desire ; Shades , Springs and Fountains flowry Beds , To Joys invites , to Pleasure leads , To Pleasure which all Humane thought exceeds . Heav'n , Earth , and Sea , here all combine , To propagate Love's great design , And render the Appointments all Divine . After long toyl , 't is here the Lover reaps , Transporting softnesses beyond his hopes ; 'T is here fair Eyes , all languishing impart The secrets of the fond inclining Heart ; Fine Hands and Arms for tender Pressings made , In Love's dear business always are imploy'd : The soft Inchantments of the Tongue , That does all other Eloquence controul , Is breath'd with broken Sighs among , Into the Ravish'd Shepherds Soul , Whilst all is taken , all is given , That can compleat a Lovers Heav'n : And Io Peans through the Woods do ring , From new fletch'd God , in Songs all Ravishing . Oh my dear Lysidas ! my faithful Friend , Woud I cou'd here with all my Pleasures end : 'T was Heaven ! 't was Extasie ! each minute brought New Raptures to my Senses , Soul and Thought ; Each Look , each Touch , my Ravisht fancy charm'd , Each Accent of her Voice my Blood Alarm'd ; I pant with every Glance , faint with a Kiss , Oh Judge my Transports then in higher Bliss . A while all Dead , between her Arms I lay , Unable to possess the conquer'd Joys ; But by degrees my Soul its sense retriev'd ; Shame and Confusion let me know I liv'd . I saw the trembling dis-appointed Maid , With charming angry Eyes my fault up-braid , While Love and Spight no kind Excuse affords , My Rage and Softness was above dull Words , And my Misfortune only was exprest , By Sighing out my Soul into her Brest : A thousand times I breath'd Aminta's name , Aminta ! call'd ! but that increas'd my flame . And as the Tide of Love flow'd in , so fast My Low , my Ebbing Vigor out did hast . But 't was not long , thus idly , and undone I lay , before vast Seas came rowling on , Spring-tides of Joy , that the rich neighboring shoar And down the fragrant Banks it proudly bore , O're-flow'd and ravisht all great Natures store . Swoln to Luxurious heights , no bounds it knows , But wantonly it Triumphs where it flows . Some God inform Thee of my blest Estate , But all their Powers divert thee from my Fate . 'T was thus we liv'd the wonder of the Groves , Fam'd for our Love , our mutual constant Loves . Young Amorous Hero's at her Feet did fall , Despair'd and dy'd , whilst I was Lord of All ; Her Empire o're my Soul each moment grew , New Charms each minute did appear in view , And each appointment Ravishing and New . Fonder each hour my tender Heart became , And that which us'd t' allay , increas'd my Flame . But on a day , oh may no chearful Ray , Of the Sun's Light , bless that succeeding day ! May the black hours from the account be torn , May no fair thing upon thy day be born ! May fate and Hell appoint thee for their own , May no good deed be in thy Circle done ! May Rapes , Conspiricies and Murders stay , Till thou com'st on , and hatch em in thy day ! — 'T was on this day all Joyful Gay and Fair , Fond as desire , and wanton as the Air ; Aminta did with me to the blest Bower repair . Beneath a Beechy Shade , a flowry Bed , Officious Cupid's for our Pleasure spred , Where never did the Charmer ere impart , More Joy , more Rapture to my ravisht Heart : 'T was all the first ; 't was all beginning Fire ! 'T was all new Love ! new Pleasure ! new Desire ! — Here stop my Soul — Stop thy carreer of Vanity and Pride , And only say , — 'T was here Aminta dy'd : The fleeting Soul as quickly dis-appears , As leaves blown off with Winds , or falling Stars ; And Life its flight assum'd with such a pace ; It took no farewel of her lovely Face . The Fugitive not one Beauty did surprize , It scarce took time to languish in her Eyes , But on my Bosom bow'd her charming Head ; And sighing , these surprizing words she said : " Joy of my Soul , my faithful tender Youth , Lord of my Vows , and Miracle of Truth : Thou soft obliger - : of thy Sex the best , Thou blessing too Extream to be possest ; The Angry God , designing we must part , Do render back the Treasure of thy Heart ; When in some new fair Breast , it finds a room , And I shall ly-neglected-in my Tomb — Remember-oh remember-the fair she , Can never love thee , darling Youth , like me . Then with a Sigh she sunk into my Brest , While her fair Eyes , her last farewel exprest ; To aiding God's I cry'd ; but they were Deaf , And no kind pow'r afforded me relief : I call her name , I weep , I rave and faint , And none but Eccho's answer my Complaint ; I Kiss and Bathe her stiffening Face with Tears , Press it to mine , as cold and pale as her's ; The fading Roses of her Lips I press , But no kind Word the silenc'd Pratlers will confess ; Her lovely Eyes I kiss , and call upon , But all their wonted answering Rhetorick's gone . Her charming little Hands in vain I ask , Those little Hands no more my Neck shall grasp ; No more about my Face her Fingers play , Nor brede my Hair , or the vain Curls display , No more her Tongue beguiling Stories tell , Whose wonderous Wit cou'd grace a Tale so well ; All , all is fled , to Death's cold Mansion gone , And I am left benighted and undone , And every day my Fate is hasting on . From the inchanting Bower I madly fly , That Bower that now no more affords me Joy . Love had not left for me one Bliss in store , Since my Aminta cou'd dispence no more . — Thence to a silent Desert I advance , And call'd the Desert of Remembrance ; A solitude upon a Mountain plac'd , All gloomy round , and wonderous high and vast , From whence Love's Island all appears in view , And distant Prospects renders near and true ; Each Bank , each Bower , each dear inviting Shade , That to our Sacred Loves was conscious made . Each flowry Bed , each Thicket and each Grove , Where I have lain Charm'd with Aminta's Love . ( Where e're she chear'd the day , and blest the Night ) Eternally are present to my Sight . Where e're I turn , the Landskip does confess , Something that calls to mind past happiness . This Lysidas , this is my wretched state , 'T is here I languish , and attend my Fate . But e're I go , 't wou'd wonderous Pleasure be , ( If such a thing can e're arrive to me ) To find some Pity ( Lysidas ) from thee . Then I shou'd take the Wing , and upward fly , And loose the Sight of this dull World with Joy . Your Lysander .

LYCIDUS : OR THE Lover in Fashion .

Being an Account from LYCIDUS to LYSANDER , Of his Voyage from the ISLAND of LOVE .

From the French .

By the same AUTHOR Of the Voyage to the Isle of LOVE .

Together with a MISCELLANY OF New Poems .

By Several HANDS .

LONDON : Printed for Joseph Knight , and Francis Saunders , at the Blew Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New-Exchange , 1688.

TO THE Earl of Melford , &c. KNIGHT Of the most Noble Order OF THE THISTLE .

My LORD ,

THis Epistle Dedicatory which humbly lays this Little Volume at your Lordships feet , and begs a Protection there , is rather an Address than a Dedication ; to which a great many hands have subscrib'd , it Presenting your Lordship a Garland whose Flowers are cull'd by several Judgments in which I claim the least part ; whose sole Ambition is this way to congratulate your Lordships new A ddition of Honour , that of the Most Noble Order of the Thistle , an Honour which preced's that of the Garter , having been supported by a long Race of of Kings , and only fell with the most Illustrious of Queens , whose memory ( which ought to be Establish'd , in all hearts can not be better preserv'd , ) than by reviving this so Ancient Order ; well has His Majesty chosen its Noble Champions , among whom none merits more the Glory of that Royal Favor than your Lordship : whose Basis's of Honour , as nothing can move or shake ; the Royal Interest being so greatly indeed the Property of Nobility , and so much even above life and Fortune : Especially when to support a Monarch so truly just , so wise and great ; a Monarch whom God Almighty Grant long to Reign over Us , and still to be serv'd by men of Principles so truly Brave , as those that shine in your Lordship .

Pardon , my Lord , this Digression and the meanness of this Present , which to a Person of your Lordships great and weighty Employments in the world may seem Improper , if I did not know that the most Glorious of Statesmen must somtimes unbend from Great Affaires , and seek a diversion in trivial Entertainments : Though Poetry will Justle for the Preheminency of all others , and I know is not the least in the Esteem of your Lordship , who is so admirable a Judg of it , if any thing here may be found worthy the Patronage it Implores , 't will be a sufficient Honour to ,

My Lord ,

Your Lordships most humble , most oblig'd , and obedient Servant ,

A. BEHN .

To Mrs. B. on her Poems . HAil , Beauteous Prophetess , in whom alone , Of all your sex Heav'ns master-piece is shewn . For wondrous skill it argues , wondrous care , Where two such Stars in firm conjunction are . A Brain so Glorious , and a Face so fair . Two Goddesses in your composure joyn'd , Nothing but Goddess cou'd , you 're so refin'd , Bright Venus Body gave , Minerva Mind . How soft and fine your manly numbers flow , Soft as your Lips , and smooth as is your brow . Gentle as Air , bright as the Noon-days Sky , Clear as your skin , and charming as your Eye . No craggy Precipice the Prospect spoyles , The Eye no tedious barren plain beguiles . But , like Thessalian Feilds your Volumes are , Rapture and charms o're all the soyl appear , Astrea and her verse are Tempe every where . Ah , more than Woman ! more than man she is , As Phaebus bright ; she 's too , as Phaebus wise . The Muses to our sex perverse and coy Astrea do's familiarly enjoy . She do's their veiled Glorys understand , And what we court with pain , with ease command . Their charming secrets they expanded lay , Reserv'd to us , to her they all display . Upon her Pen a wait those learned Nine . She ne're but like the Phosph'rus draws a line , As soon as toucht her subjects clearly shine . The femal Laurels were obscur'd till now , And they deserv'd the Shades in which they grew : But Daphne at your call return's her flight , Looks boldly up and dares the God of light . If we Orinda to your works compare , They uncouth , like her countrys soyle , appear , Mean as its Pesants , as its Mountains bare , Sappho tasts strongly of the sex , is weak and poor At second hand she russet Laurels wore , Yours are your own , a rich and verdant store . If Loves the Theme , you outdo Ovids Art , Loves God himself can't subtiller skill impart . Softer than 's plumes , more piercing than his Dart. If Pastoral be her Song , she glads the Swains With Livelier notes , with spritelier smiles the plains . More gayly than the Springs she decks the Bowrs And breaths a second May to Fields and Flowrs . If e're the golden Age again return And flash in shining Beames from 's Iron Urn , That Age not as it was before shall be , But as th' Idea is refin'd by thee . That seems the common ; thines the Elixir , Gold , So pure is thine , and so allay'd the old . Happy , ye Bards , by fair Astrea prais'd , If you 'r alive , to brighter life you 're rais'd ; For cherisht by her Beames you 'l loftyer grow , You must your former learned selves outdo , Thô you 'd the parts of Thirsis and of Strephon too . Hail , mighty Prophetess ! by whom we see Omnipotence almost in Poetry : Your flame can give to Graves Promethean fire , And Greenhills clay with living paint inspire ; For like some Mystick wand with awful Eyes You wave your Pen , and lo the dead Arise .

Kendrick .

Advertisement TO THE READER .

WHereas Mr. Higden , at the end of his Translation of the Tenth Satyr of Juvenal , has Printed a paper of Verses , entitul'd Cato's Answer to Labienus &c. without the Author's consent or knowledge ; and either he or the Printer has so alter'd'em , that the Author cannot own 'em for his : This is to let the World know , that that Copy so Printed by Mr. Higden , is false almost in every line , and that here is in this Miscellany a true Copy of the same Verses printed with the Author's consent , from the Original paper writ in his own hand , and corrected by him at the Press .

Licensed , May 13. 1687.

R. L. S.

LYCIDUS : OR , THE Lover in Fashion , &c.

I Have receiv'd your melancholy Epistle , with the Account of your Voyage to the Island of Love ; of your Adventures there , and the Relation of the death of your Aminta : At which you shall forgive me if I tell you I am neither surpris'd nor griev'd , but hope to see you the next Campagne , as absolutely reduc'd to reason as myself . When Love , that has so long deprived you of Glory ; shall give you no more Sighs but at the short remembrances of past Pleasures ; and that after you have heard my Account of the Voyage I made to the same place , with my more lucky one back again , ( for I , since I saw you , have been an Adventurer ) you will by my Example become of my Opinion , ( notwithstanding yourdismal Tales of Death and the eternal Shades , ) which is , that if there be nothing that will lay me in my Tomb till Love brings me thither , I shall live to Eternity .

I must confess 't is a great Inducement to Love , and a happy Advance to an Amour , to be handsom , finely shap'd , and to have a great deal of Wit ; these are Charms that subdue the Hearts of all the Fair : And one sees but very few Ladies , that can resist these good Qualities , especially in an Age so gallant as ours , yet all this is nothing if Fortune do not smile : And I have seen a Man handsom , well shap'd , and of a great deal of Wit , with the advantage of a thousand happy Adventures , yet finds himself in the end , fitter for an Hospital than the Elevation of Fortune : And the Women are not contented we should give them as much Love as they give us , ( which is but reasonable , ) but they would compel us all to Present and Treat 'em lavishly , till a Man hath consumed both Estate and Body in their Service . How many do we see , that are wretched Examples of this Truth , and who have nothing of all they enjoyed remaining with 'em , but a poor Idaea of past Pleasures , when rather the Injury the Jilt has done 'em , ought to be eternally present with 'em . Heaven keep me from being a Woman's Property . There are Cullies enough besides you or I , Lysander .

One would think now , That I , who can talk thus Learnedly and Gravely , had never been any of the number of those wretched , whining , sighing , dying Fops , I speak of , never been jilted and cozen'd of both my Heart and Reason ; but let me tell those that think so , they are mistaken , and that all this Wisdom and Discretion , I now seem replenish'd with , I have as dearly bought as any keeping Fool of 'em all . I was ly'd and flattered into Wit , jilted and cozen'd into Prudence , and , by ten thousand broken Vows and perjured Oaths , reduced to Sense again ; and can laugh at all my past Follies now .

After I have told you this , you may guess at a great part of my Story ; which , in short , is this : I would needs make a Voyage , as you did , to this fortunate Isle , and accompanyed with abundance of young Heirs , Cadets , Coxcombs , Wits , Blockheads , and Politicians , with a whole Cargo of Cullies all , nameless and numberless we Landed on the Inchanted Ground ; the first I saw , and lik'd , was charming Silvia ; you believe I thought her fair as Angels ; young , as the Spring , and sweet as all the Flowers the blooming Fields produce ; that when she blush'd , the Ruddy Morning open'd , the Rose-buds blew , and all the Pinks and Dazies spread ; that when she sigh'd or breath'd , Arabia's Spices , driven by gentle Winds , perfum'd all around ; that when she look'd on me , all Heaven was open'd in her Azure Eyes , from whence Love shot a thousand pointed Darts , and wounded me all over ; that when she spoke , the Musick of the Spheres , all that was ravishing in Harmony , blest the Adoring Listener ; that when she walk'd , Venus in the Mirtle Grove when she advanc'd to meet her lov'd Adonis , assuming all the Grace young Loves cou'd give , had not so much of Majesty as Silvia : In fine , she did deserve , and I compared her to all the Fopperies , the Suns , the Stars , the Coral , and the Pearl , the Roses and Lillies , Angels Spheres , and Goddesses , fond Lovers dress their Idols in . For she was all , fancy and fine imagination could adorn her with , at least , the gazing Puppy thought so . 'T was such I saw and lov'd ; but knowing I did Adore , I made my humble Court , and she , by all my trembling , sighings , pantings , the going and returning of my Blood , found all my Weakness and her own Power ; and using all the Arts of her Sex , both to ingage and secure me , play'd all the Woman over : She wou'd be scornful and kind by turns , as she saw convenient , This to check my Presumption and too easy hope ; That to preserve me from the brink of despair . Thus was I tost in the Blanket of Love , somtimes up , and somtimes down , as her Wit and Humor was in or out of tune , all which I watch'd , and waited like a Dog , that still the oftner kick'd wou'd fawn the more .

Oh , 't is an excellent Art this managing of a Coxcomb , the Serpent first taught it our Grandam Eve ; and Adam was the first kind Cully : E're since they have kept their Empire over Men , and we have , e're since , been Slaves . But I , the most submissive of the whole Creation , was long in gaining Grace ; she used me as she meant to keep me , Fool enough for her Purpose . She saw me young enough to do her Service , handsom enough to do her Credit , and Fortune enough to please her Vanity and Interest : She therefore suffer'd me to Love , and Bow among the Crowd , and fill her Train . She gave me hope enough to secure me too , but gave me nothing else , till she saw me languish to that degree , she feared , to lose the Glory of my Services , by my death ; only this Pleasure kept me alive , to see her treat all my Rivals with the greatest Rigour imaginable , and to me all sweetness , exposing their feblesses ; and having taken Notice of my Languishment , she suffered me Freedoms that wholely Ravish'd me , and gave me hopes I shou'd not be long a dying for all she cou'd give .

But , since I have a great deal to say of my Adventures in passing out of this Island of Love : I will be as brief as I can in what arrived to me on the Place ; and tell you , That after Ten thousand Vows of eternal Love on both sides , I had the Joy , not only to be believ'd and lov'd , but to have her put herself into my Possession , far from all my Rivals : Where , for some time I lived with this charming Maid , in all the Raptures of Pleasure , Youth , Beauty , and Love could create . Eternally we loved , and lived together , no day nor night separated us , no Frowns interrupted our Smiles , no Clouds our Sun-shine ; the Island was all perpetual Spring , still flowery and green , in Bowers , in Shades , by purling Springs and Fountains , we past our hours , unwearied and uninterrupted . I cannot express to you the happy Life I led , during this blessed Tranquility of Love , while Silvia still was pleased , and still was gay . We walked all day together in the Groves , and entertained ourselves with a thousand Stories of Love ; we laught at the foolish World , who could not make their Felicity with out Crowds and Noise : We pittied Kings in Courts in this Retirement , so well we liked our Solitude ; till on a day , ( blest be that joyful day , though then 't was most a-curst , ) I say upon that day , I know not by what accident I was parted from my Charmer , and left her all alone , but in my absence , there incountred her a Woman extremely ugly , and who was however very nice and peevish , inconstant in her temper , and no one place could continue her : The finest things in the World were troublesom to her , and she was Shagreen at every thing ; her Name is Indifference ; she is a Person of very great Power in this Island , ( though possibly you never incountred her there , ) and those that follow her , depart from the Isle of Love without any great pains . She brought Silvia to the Lake of Disgust , whether , in persuing her ( at my return , ) I found her , ready to take Boat to have past quite away , and where there are but too many to transport those Passengers , who follow Indifference over the Lake of Disgust . I saw this disagreeable Creature too , but she appeared too ugly for me to approach her , but forcing Silvia back , I returned again to the Palace of True Pleasure , where some days after there arrived to me a Misfortune , of which , I believed I should never have seen an end . I found Silvia inviron'd round with new Lovers , still adoring and pleasing her a thousand ways , and though none of 'em were so rich , so young , or so handsom as I , she nevertheless failed not to treat 'em with all the Smiles and Caresses 't was possible to imagin ; when I complain'd of this , she would satisfy my fears with so many Vows and Imprecations , that I would believe her , and think myself unreasonable , but when she would be absent whole days , in an hundred places , she would find such probable Excuse , and lye with such a Grace , no mortal cou'd have accused her , so that all the whole Island took notice that I was a baffled Cuckold , before I could believe she would deceive me , so heartily she damn'd herself : Through all the Groves I was the pointed Coxcomb , laught at aloud , and knew not where the jest lay ; but thought myself as secure in the Innocence of my deceiving fair One , as the first hour I Charmed her , and like a keeping Cully , lavish'd out my Fortune , my plenteous Fortune , to make her fine to Cuckold me . 'Sdeath ! how I scorn the Follies of my Dotage ; and am resolv'd to persue Love for the future , in such a manner as it shall never cost me a Sigh : This shall be my method .

A Constancy in Love I 'll prise , And be to Beauty true : And doat on all the lovely Eyes , That are but fair and new . On Cloris Charms to day I 'll feed , To morrow Daphne move ; For bright Lucinda next I 'll bleed , And still be true to Love . But Glory only and Renown My serious hours shall charm ; My Nobler Minutes those shall Crown , My looser hours , my Flame . All the Fatigues of Love I 'll hate , And Phillis's new Charms That hopeless Fire shall dissipate , My Heart for Cloe warms . The easie Nymph I once enjoy'd Neglected now shall pass , Possession , that has Love destroy'd Shall make me pitiless . In vain she now attracts and mourns , Her moving Power is gone , Too late ( when once enjoy'd , ) she burns , And yeilding , is undone . My Friend , the little charming Boy Conforms to my desires , And 't is but to augment my Joy He pains me with his Fires ; All that 's in happy Love I 'll tast , And rifle all his store , And for one Joy , that will not last , He brings a thousand more .

Perhaps , my Friend , at this Account of my Humor you may smile , but with a reasonable consideration you will commend it , at least , though you are not so wise as to persue my Dictates . Yet I know you will be diverted with my Adventures ; though there be no love in 'em that can resemble 'em to yours . Take then the History of my Heart , which I assure you , boasts itself of the Conquests it has made .

A thousand Martyrs I have made , All sacrific'd to my desire : A thousand Beauties have betray'd , That languish in resistless Fire . The untam'd Heart to hand I brought , And fixt the wild and wandring Thought . I never vow'd nor sigh'd in vain But both , thô false , were well receiv'd . The Fair are pleas'd to give us pain , And what they wish is soon believ'd . And thô I talk'd of Wounds and Smart , Loves Pleasures only toucht my Heart . Alone the Glory and the Spoil I always Laughing bore away ; The Triumphs , without Pain or Toil , Without the Hell , the Heav'n of Joy . And while I thus at random rove Despise the Fools that whine for Love .

I was a great while , ( like you , ) before I forgot the remembrance of my first Languishments , and I almost thought , ( by an excess of Melancholy , ) that the end of my Misfortunes were with my Life at hand : Yet still like a fond Slave , willing to drag my Fetterson , I hop'd she would find Arguments to convince me she was not false ; and in that Humor , fear'd only I should not be handsomly and neatly jilted . Could she but have dissembled well , I had been still her Cully . Could she have play'd her Game with discretion , but , vain of her Conquest , she boasted it to all the World , and I alone was the kind keeping Blockhead , to whom 't was unperceived , so well she swore me into belief of her Truth to me . Till one day , lying under a solitary Shade , with my sad Thoughts fixt on my declining Happiness , and almost drown'd in Tears , I saw a Woman drest in glorious Garments , all loose and flowing with the wind , scouring the Fields and Groves with such a pace , as Venus , when she heard her lov'd Youth was slain , hasted to behold her ruin . She past me , as I lay , with an unexpressable swiftness , and spoke as she run , with a loud Voice . At her first approach , I felt a strange trembling at my Heart without knowing the reason , and found at last this Woman was Fame . Yet I was not able to tell from whence proceeded my Inquietude : When her Words made me but too well understand the Cause : The fatal Subject of what she cry'd , in passing by me , were these ;

Poor Lycidus for shame arise , And wipe Loves Errors from thy Eyes ; Shake off the God that holds thy Heart ; Since Silvia for another burns , And all thy past Indurement scorns While thou the Cully art .

I believed , as she spoke , that I had ill understood her , but she repeated it so often , that I no longer doubted my wretchedness . I leave you , who so well can guess , to imagin , what Complaints I made , filling the Grove , where I was laid , with my pitious Cries ; somtimes I rose and raved , and rail'd on Love , and reproached the fair Fugitive . But the tender God was still pleading in my Heart , and made me ever end my noisy Griefs in Sighs and silent Tears . A thousand Thoughts of revenge I entertained against this happy Rival , and the charming ingrate : But those Thoughts , like my Rage , would also end in soft reproaching murmurs and regret only . And I would somtimes argue with Love in this manner .

Ah , cruel Love ! when will thy Torments cease ? And when shall I have leave to dye in Peace ? And why , too charming and too cruel Maid , Cou'd'st thou not yet thy fleeting Heart have stay'd ? And by degrees thy fickle Humor shewn , By turns the Enemy and Friend put on : Have us'd my Heart a little to thy scorn , The loss at least might have been easier born . With feigned Vows , ( that poor Expence of Breath , ) Alas thou might'st have sooth'd me to my death . Thy Coldness , and thy visible decays In time had put a period to my days . And lay'd me quietly into my Tomb , Before thy proof of Perjuries had come . You might have waited yet a little space And sav'd mine , and thy , Honour this disgrace ; Alas I languish'd and declin'd apace . I lov'd my Life too eagerly away To have disturb'd thee with too long a stay . Ah! cou'd you not my dying Heart have fed With some small Cordial Food , till I was dead ? Then uncontroul'd , and unreproach'd your Charms Might have been render'd to my Rival's Arms. Then all my right to him you might impart , And Triumph'd o're a true and broken Heart .

Though I complained thus for a good while , was not without some secret hope , that what I had heard was not true ; nor would I be persuaded to undeceive myself of that hope which was so dear and precious to me . I was not willing to be convinced I was intirely miserable , out of too great a fear to find it true ; and there were some Moments in which I believed Fame might falsly accuse Silvia , and it did not seem reasonable to me , that , after all the Vows and Oaths she had made , she should so easily betray 'em , and forgetting my Services , receive those of another , less capable of rendring them to her advantage . Somtimes I would excuse her ungratitude with a thousand things that seem'd reasonable , but still that was but to make me more sensible of my disgrace ; and then I would accuse myself of a thousand weaknesses below the Character of a Man ; I would even despise and loath my own easiness , and resolve to be no longer a Mark-out-fool for all the Rhiming Wits of the Island to aim their Dogrel at . And grown , as I imagined , brave at this thought , I resolved first to be fully convinced of the perfidy of my Mistress , and then to rent my Heart from the attachment that held it .

You know , that from the Desart of Remembrance , one does , with great facility , look over all the Island of Love . I was resolved to go thither one day ; and where indeed I could survey all things that past , in the Groves , the Bowers , by Rivers , or Fountains , or whatever other place , remote or obscure 't was from thence , that one day I saw the faithless Silvia , in the Palace of True Pleasure , in the very Bower of Bliss with one of my Rivals , but most intimate Friend .

'T was there , I saw my Rival take Pleasures , he knew how to make ; There he took , and there was given , All the Joys that Rival Heaven ; Kneeling at her Feet he lay , And in transports dy'd away : Where the faithless suffer'd too All the amorous Youth cou'd do . The Ardour of his fierce desire Set his Face and Eyes on fire . All their Language was the Blisses Of Ten thousand eager Kisses . While his ravish'd Neck she twin'd And to his Kisses , Kisses join'd . Till , both inflam'd , she yeilded so She suffer'd all the Youth cou'd do .

In fine , 't was there I saw that I must lose the day . And I saw in this Lover Ten thousand Charms of Youth and Beauty ; on which the ingrate with greedy languishing Eyes , eternally gazed with the same Joy she used to behold me when she made me most happy . I confess , this Object was so far from pleasing me , ( as I believed a confirmation would , ) that the change inspired me with a rage , which nothing else could do , and made me say things unbecoming the Dignity of my Sex , who ought to disdain those faithless Slaves , which Heaven first made to obey the Lords of the Creation . A thousand times I was about to have rush'd upon 'em , and have ended the Lives of the loose betrayers of my repose , but Love stepp'd in and stay'd my hand , preventing me from an Outrage , that would have cost me that rest of Honour , I yet had left : But when my rage was abated , I fell to a more insupportable Torment , that of extream Grief to find another possest of what I had been so long , and with so much Toil in gaining : 'T was thus I retir'd , and after a little while brought myself to make calm Reflections upon this Adventure , which reduced me to some reason . When one day as I was walking in an unfrequented Shade , whither my Melancholy had conducted me , I incountred a Man , of a hauty look and meen , his Apparel rich and glorious , his Eyes awful , and his Stature tall ; the very sight of him inspired me with coldness , which render'd me almost insensible of the infidelity of Silvia . This Person was Pride , who looking on me , as he past , with a fierce and disdainful Smile , over his Shoulder , and regarding me with scorn , said ;

Why shou'd that faithless wanton give Thy Heart so mortal pain , Whose Sighs were only to deceive , Her Oaths all false and vain ? Despise those Tears thou shedd'st for her , Disdain to sigh her Name . To Love , thy Liberty prefer ; To faithless Silvia , Fame .

I knew by his words he was Pride , or Disdain , and would have embraced him ; but he put me off seeing Love still by me , who had not yet abandoned me , and turned himself from me with a regardless scorn , but I , who was resolved not to forsake so discreet a Counsellor , rather chose to take my leave of little Love ; who had ever accompanyed me in this Voyage . But oh ! this adieu was not taken so easily and soon as I imagined . Love was not to be quitted without abundance of Sighs and Tears at parting , he had been a Witness to all my Adventures , my Confident in this Amour , and not to be deserted without a great deal of pain ; I stayed so long in bidding the dear Boy adieu , that I had almost forgot Disdain ; at last , though my Heart were breaking to part with the dear fondling , I was resolved and said ;

Farewel , my little charming Boy ! Farewel , my fond delight , My dear Instructer all the day , My soft repose at night . Thou , whom my Soul has so carest , And my poor Heart has held so fast , Thou never left me in my pain , Nor in my happier hours ; Thou eas'd me when I did complain , And dry'd my falling showrs . When Silvia frown'd still thou woud'st smile , And all my Cares and Griefs beguile . But Silvia's gone , and I have torn Her Witchcrafts from my Heart ; And nobly fortify'd by scorn Her Empire will subvert ; Thy Laws establish'd there destroy , And bid adieu to the dear charming Boy .

In quitting Love I was a great while before I could find Disdain , but I , at last , overtook him : He accompanyed me to a Village , where I received a Joy I had not known since my Arrival to the Isle of Love , and which Repose seemed the sweeter because it was new . When I came to this place , I saw all the World Easie , Idle , and at Liberty : This Village is like a Desart , and all the Inhabitants live within themselves , there is only one Gate , by which we enter into it from the Isle of Love .

This place is called Indifference , and takes its Name from a Princess inhabiting there , a Person very fair and well made ; but has a Grace and Meen of so little Wit , and seems so inutile and so silly , that it renders her even ridiculous . As soon as I arrived there , I called to my remembrance all those affronts and cheats of Love , that Silvia had put upon me , and which now served for my diversion , and were agreeable thoughts to me ; so that I called myself Ten thousand Sots and Fools for resenting 'em ; and that I did not heartily despise 'em , laugh at 'em , and make my Pleasure with the false One as well as the rest ; for she dissembled well , and for ought I knew , 't was but dissembled Love she paid my Rivals . But I , forsooth , was too nice a Coxcomb , I cou'd not feed as others did , and be contented with such Pleasures as she cou'd afford , but I must ingross all , and unreasonably believe a Woman of Youth and Wit had not a longer Race of Love to run than to my Arms alone . Well , 't is now confest I was a Fool , nor could I hinder myself from saying a thousand times a day ;

That Coxcomb can ne're be at ease , While Beauty inslaves his Soul . 'T is Liberty only can please , And he that 's Fetter'd is an Owl .

I found it very convenient and happy to disingage from Love , and I have wondred a thousand times at the Follies that God has made me commit : And though I somtimes thought on Silvia , I thought her less charming and fair than she was before her fall ; and the Humour I now was in represented her no more meriting that Passion I once had for her , and I fancied she had lost all those Graces for which once I lov'd her : In fine , I was so wholly recovered of my disease of Love for Silvia , that I began to be uneasie for want of imploying my Addresses ; and a change from so violent a Passion to such a degree of coldness , became insupportable to one of my Youth and natural Gayety ; insomuch , that I was seized with a Dulness , or Languishment , and so great a fit of Melancholy , as I had never felt the like ; and my Heart , that was so accustomed to Love , was so out of Humour , that it had no Object or Business for thought , that it lost all its Harmony and Wit ; it having nothing to excite it to Life and Motion , passing from so vast a degree of tenderness to an unconcern equally extream . I thought it rude , ill-bred , and idle , to live so indifferent and insignificant a Life . And walking perpetually by myself , ( or with those of my own Sex , that could not make my diversion , ) I sung all day this following Song to a Hum-drum Tune , to myself ;

Not to sigh and to be tender , Not to talk and prattle Love , Is a Life no good can render , And insipidly does move : Unconcern do's Life destroy , Which , without Love , can know no Joy . Life , without adoring Beauty , Will be useless all the day ; Love's a part of Human Duty , And 't is Pleasure to obey . In vain the Gods did Life bestow , Where kinder Love has nought to do . What is Life , but soft desires , And that Soul , that is not made To entertain what Love inspires , Oh thou dull immortal Shade ? Thou 'dst better part with Flesh and Blood , Than be , where Life 's not understood .

These were my notions of Life ; and I found myself altogether useless in the World without Love ; methought I had nothing to animate me to Gallant things , without Love , or Women : I had no use of Wit or Youth without the fair , and yet I did not wish wholly to ingage myself neither a second time , having been so ill-treated before by Love : But I found there were ways to entertain one's self agreeably enough without dying or venturing the breaking of a heart for the matter : That there were Beauties to be obtained without the hazard of hanging or drowning one's self : I never had tryed , but I found it natural enough to my Humour and Constitution , to flatter and dissemble , swear and lye ; I viewed my self in my Glass , and found myself very well recovered from the Ruins my first Amour had made , and believed myself as fit for Conquest , as any Sir Fopling , or Sir Courtly Nice of 'em all . To this fine Person and good Meen and Shape , ( as I thought , ) I added handsom Dressing , the thing that takes the Heart infinitely above all your other Parts , and thus set out a snare for vain Beauty ; I every day went out of the City of Indifference , to see what new Adventures I could meet withal .

One day I incountred a Woman , who , at first sight appeared very agreeable ; she had an Air easie , free , and Galliard ; such as fails not to take at first view : This was Coquettre , who , the very first time she saw me , Addrest herself to me with very great Complisance and good Humour , and invited me to her Apartment , where she assured me I should not fail to be entertained very agreeably ; and at the same time pulling out of her Pocket a Paper , she shewed me these Words written ;

Let Love no more your Heart inspire , Thô Beauty every hour you see ; Pass no farther than desire , If you 'll truly happy be . Every day fresh Objects view , And for all have Complisance . Search all places still for new , And to all make some Advance ; For where Wit and Youth agree , There 's no Life like Gallantry . Laura's Heart you may receive , And tomorrow Julia's prise : Take what young Diana gives , Pity Lucia when she dies : Portia's Face you must admire , And to Clorin's Shape submit . Phillis Dancing gives you Fire , Celia's Softness , Clara's Wit. Thus all at once you may persue , 'T is too little to Love two . The powerful smiling God of Hearts So much tenderness imparts , You must upon his Altars lay A thousand Offerings every day : And so soft is kind desire ; Oh! so Charming is the Fire , That if nice Adraste scorns , Gentler Ariadne burns . Still Another keep in play ( If One refuse , ) to give you Joy . Cease therefore to disturb your Hours , For having two desires A Heart can manage two Amours . And burn with several Fires . The day has hours enough in store To visit two or half a score .

I gave her thanks for her good Counsel , and found I needed not much persuasion to follow Coquettre to a City that bears her Name , and I saw over the Gate of the City at my Entrance , these Verses writ in Gold Letters ;

The God of Love beholding every day Slaves from his Empire to depart away ; ( For Hearts that have been once with Love fatigu'd , A second time are ne'r again intrigu'd : No second Beauty e'r can move The Soul to that degree of Love . ) This City built , that we might still obey , Thô we refus'd his Arbitrary Sway : 'T is here we find a grateful Recompence For all Loves former Violence ; Tir'd with his Laws we hither come To meet a kinder softer doom . 'T is here the God , without the Tyrant , Reigns , And Laws agreeable ordains ; Here 't is with Reason and with Wit he Rules , And whining Passion Ridicules . No check or bound to Nature gives , But kind desire rewarded thrives . Peevish uneasy Pride , the God Has banish'd from the blest abode : All Jealousies , all Quarrels cease , And here Love lives in perfect Peace .

This agreeable description , gave me new desire to enter into the City ; where I incountred a thousand fine Persons all gloriously drest , as if they were purposely set out for Conquest : There was nothing omitted of Cost and Gallantry , that might render 'em intirely Charming , and they employ'd all their Arts of Looks and Dress to gain Hearts .

It is , in a word , from these fair Creatures you are to draw your Satisfaction , and 't is indeed at a dear rate you buy it , yet , notwithstanding the Expence , a world of People persue 'em .

When I came into the City , I was soon perceived to be a Stranger there , and while I was considering whither I should go , or how to address myself to these fair Creatures , a little Coquett Cupid presented himself to me for a kind Instructer ; and to explain him , this in a word is his Character :

He is of the same Race with the other Cupids , has the same Mother too , Venus : He wears a Bow and Arrows , like the rest of the young Loves ; but he has no Bando , nothing to cover his Eyes , but he sees perfectly ; nor has he any Flambeau : And all the Laws of Coquettre he understands and observes exactly .

I had no sooner received the little Charming God , but he instructed me in all the most powerful Arts to please , in all his little wiles and agreeable deceits ; all which he admits of as the most necessary Recourses to that great end of Man , his true diversion : With all which I was so extreamly pleased , that resolving to be his Votary , I followed him to the most delightful place in the World , the City of Gallantry .

Gallantry is a City very magnificent ; at the Entrance of the Gate you incounter Liberality , a Woman of great Wit , delicate Coversation and Complisance : This Lady gives her Pasport to all that enter , and without which , you cannot pass , or at least , with great difficulty ; and then too you pass your time but very ill ; and the more Pasports you have , the better you are received from the fair Inhabitants , and pass your time more agreeable with the fine Conversation you meet with in this City . Love told me this , and it was therefore that I took a great many Pasports from this acceptable Person Liberality . But what renders you yet more Favoured by the Fair and the Young who reside at Gallantry , is , to have a delicate soft Wit , an assiduous Address and a tender way of Conversing ; but that which best cullies and pleases the Generality of People there , is Liberality and Complisance : This place of so great Divertisement is refrequented with all the Parties of the best and most amiaable Company , where they invent a thousand new Pleasures every day ; Feasting , Balls , Comedies , and Sports , Singing and Serinads , are what employs the whole Four and twenty hours .

By the Virtue of my Pasports from Liberality , I was introduced to all the fine Conversations and Places that afford Pleasure and Delight : I had the good Fortune to make Parties , insomuch , that I was soon known to all the Company in the City , and past the day in Feasting , going with the Young and Fair to delightful Villa's , Gardens , or Rivers in Chaces , and a thousand things that pleas'd ; and the Nights I passed in Serinading , so that I did not give myself time for Melancholy ; and yet for all this I was wearied and fatigued ; for when once one has tasted of the Pleasure of Loving and being Beloved , all , that comes after that , is but flat and dull ; and if one's Heart be not a little inflamed , all things else are insignificant , and make but very slight touches .

I began therefore for all this to be extreamly Shagreen and out of Humour , amid'st all these Pleasures , till one lucky day I met with an Adventure , that warmed my Heart with a tender flame which it had not felt since my happy beginning one for Silvia : One day , as I said , I was conducted by my officious Cupid into a Garden very beautiful , where there are a thousand Labyrinths and Arbours , Walks , Grotto's , Groves and Thickets ; and where all the Fair and the Gay resorted ; 't was here I incountred a young Beauty called Bellinda ; she was well made , and had an admirable meen , an Air of Gayety and Sweetness ; but that which charmed me most of all , was her Wit , which was too ingaging for me to defend my Heart against : I found mine immediately submitting to her Conversation , and you may imagine I did not part with her so long as Decency and good Manners permitted me to stay with her , which was as long as any Company was in the place ; nor then , till by my importunity I had gained so much upon her to suffer my Visits , which she did with a Condescention that gave me abundance of hope .

I was no sooner gone , but my Cupid , who took care of me , and entertained me to the best Advantage , carryed me that Evening to a Ball , where there were a world of Beauties , among the rest one fair as imagination can conceive ; she had all the Charmes of Youth and Beauty ; though not so much Wit and Air as Bellinda . To this young adorable I made my Court all the time I remained there , and fancied I never found myself so Charmed , I fancied all the Graces had taken up their dwelling in her Divine Face ; and that to subdue one so fair and so innocent , must needs be an extream Pleasure : Yet did I not so wholly fix my desires on this lovely Person , but that the Wit of Bellinda shared my Heart with the Beauty and Youth of Bellimante , so was this young Charmer called : I was extreamly well pleas'd to find I could a-new take fire ; and infinitely more , when I found I should not be subdued by one alone ; nor confined to dull Dotage on a single Beauty ; but that I was able to attain to the greatest Pleasure , that of Loving two amiable Persons at once : If with two , I hoped I might with Two score if I pleas'd and had occasion ; and though at first it seemed to be very strange and improbable to feel a Passion for two , yet I found it true , and could not determin which I had the greatest tenderness for , or inclination to : But 't is most certain , that this Night I found , or thought I found , more for Bellimante , who fired me with every Smile ; I confess she wanted that Gayety of Spirit Bellinda had , to maintain that fire she raised : And ever when I was thoughtful a moment , Coquettre ( who is ever in all the Conversation , and where she appears very magnificent and with a great Train , ) would , smiling , sing softly in my Ear this Song , for she is very Galliard ;

Cease to defend your Amorous Heart , Against a double flame ; Where two may claim an equal Part Without reproach or shame . 'T is Love that makes Life's happiness , And he that best wou'd live By Love alone must Life caress , And all his Darts receive .

Coquettre is a Person , that endeavours to please and humour every Body , but of all those who every day fill her Train , she caresses none with that Address and Assiduity as she did me , for I was a new Face , to whom she is ever most obliging and entertaining . However , notwithstanding the Advice of Coquettre , I fancied this young Charmer had ingaged all my Soul ; and while I gazed on her Beauty , I thought on Bellinda no more ; but believed I should wholly devote myself to Bellimante , whose Eyes alone seemed capable to inflame me .

I took my leave with Sighs , and went home extream well pleas'd with this days Adventure . All this Night I slept as well as if no tenderness had toucht my Heart , and though I Lov'd infinitely , it gave me no disturbance ; the next morning a thousand pleasant things Bellinda had said to me , came into my mind , and gave me a new inclination to entertain myself with that witty Beauty ; and dressing myself in haste with the desire I had to be with her , I went again , the morning being very inviting , to the Garden , where before I had seen her , and was so lucky to encounter her ; I found her blush at my approach ; which I counted a good O men of my future happiness ; she received me with all the Gayety and Joy good liking and Wit could inspire : Nor was I backward on my part , but addrest myself to her with all imaginable respect , and as much Love in my Eyes as I was able to put on ; which , I found , she saw with Pleasure ; she had not entertained me half an hour , but I was so absolutely charmed , that I forgot there was a Bellaminte in the World .

Thus for several days I lived ; every day visiting both these attracting Beauties , and at Night , when I was retired , was not able to inform myself which I liked best : Both were equally beloved , and it was now , that methought I began to tast of true Joy ; I found myself in Love without any sort of inquietude , when I was Melancholy , I went to visit Bellinda , and she with her Gayety and Wit would inspire me with good Humour ; If I were over-prest with good Company , and too much Conversation and Noise , I would visit Bellimante , who by a certain softness in her discourse , and a natural Languishment in her Eyes and Manners , charmed and calmed me to a reposed tranquillity ; so that to make me fortunate in Love , I could not have fixed my desires better : I had too little Love to be wretched , and enough to make my happiness and Pleasure .

After I had past my time a while thus in Coquettre , this little Love , who was my Guide , carried me to Declaration : I thought then upon the time of my first Arrival on the Isle of Love ; and how Respect , that awful hinderer of our Pleasure , prevented me from going to this Place : I urg'd this very argument Respect then made me , to my Coquet Love now , who for answer return'd me nothing but loud Laughter ; and when I askt his reason , he replyd , that Respect did not forbid any to go to Declaration , but those only who knew not how to behave themselves well there , and who were not so well fashion'd and bred as they ought to be , who go thither : And that it was a mere cheat in Respect to conduct people to Love by Discretion , that being much the farthest way about , and under favor to Monsieur Respect he is but a troublesome companion to a Lover , who designs to cure those wounds the fair has given him , and , if he have no better counsellor , he may languish all his life without revealing the secret of his soul to the object belov'd , and so never find redress . But this Sir Formal , ( Respect , says Love , ) is a very great favorite of the Lady's , who is always in fee with them as a Jilt with a Justice ; who manages their Fools just as they wou'd have 'em ; for it is the most agreeable thing in the World to them , and what the most feeds their vanity , to see at their feet a thousand Lovers sigh , burn , and languish ; the fair are never angry to find themselves belov'd , nor ever weary of being Ador'd . I was extreamly pleas'd at this frank Humour of my little Love who told me this , and without much scruple or consideration to Respect I follow'd him towards Declaration , and in my way he gave me this Advice .

When you Love , or speak of it , Make no serious matter on 't , 'T will make but subject for her wit And gain her scorn in lieu of Grant . Sneeking , whining , dull Grimasses Pale the Appetite , they 'd move ; Only Boys and formal Asses Thus are Ridicul'd by Love . While you make a Mystery Of your Love and awful flame ; Young and tender Hearts will fly , Frighted at the very name ; Always brisk and gayly court Make Love your pleasure not your pain , 'T is by wanton play and sport Heedless Virgins you will gain .

By this time we were arriv'd to Declaration , which is a very little Village , since it is only for Passengers to pass thrô , and none live there , the Country is very Perilous , and those that make a false step run a great risque of falling from some Precipice : Round about rises a very great mist , and people have much ado to know each other ; of these mists there are two sorts : The one on the side of Denial , the other on that of Permission , the first is very disagreeable and draws a very ill consequence with it ; the other directs you to a place of intire divertisment , but I had so good a guide that the entrance gave me no trouble at all . When I came to the Village , I found Bellimante , and Bellinda , to whom by turns I told all my heart ; and discover'd all its passion or its tenderness which was to me much better .

When to the charming Bellinda I came , With my heart full of Love and desire , To gain my wisht end I talkt of a flame , Of sighing , and dying , and fire , I swore to her charms that my soul did submit , And the slave was undone by the force of her Wit. To fair Bellimante the same tale I told , And I vow'd and I swore her fair Eyes No Heart-Ravisht mortal cou'd ever behold But he panting and languishing Dys , And while I was vowing , the ardor of youth Made myself even believe what I swore was all truth .

I confess to you , my dear Lysander , that it was a great while before I cou'd make myself be believ'd by Bellinda , or gain any credit upon her heart , she had a great deal of Wit and cou'd see farther into the designs of her Lovers than those who had not so much , or had had so many vows pay'd them : I perceiv'd well enough , I was not hated by her , and that she had not a heart wholly insensible ; so that I never quitted her till I had gain'd so much upon her to accompany me to Permission , where for some time we pass our days very pleasantly ; and having so good fortune with Bellinda , I had now a great desire to try my power over Bellimante : and where indeed , contrary to my expectation , I was not so happy : But she went from me to Denial ; and I was for that hour oblig'd to return again to Bellinda , it was some time I searcht her in vain , but at last found her at a little Village , extreamly agreeable . There are very few Inhabitants , but those that are live in perpetual union , yet do not talk much , for they understand one another with half words : A sign of the Hand , the Head or the Eye , a glance or smile is sufficient to declare a great part of the Inclination . It is here where the Lover takes all freedoms , without controul , and says and dos all that soft Love can permit : And every day they take and give a secret Entertainment , speaking a particular Language , which every body does not understand , and none but Lovers can reply too , in effect , there are as many Languages as persons .

The Governess of this Village is very charming to those that are acquainted with her ; and as disagreeable to those that are not ; she is a person of a great deal of Wit , and knows all things . She has a thousand ways to make herself understood , and comprehends all in a moment , that you wou'd or can say to her .

In this place , to divert , we make a thousand pretty sorts of Entertainments ; and we have abundance of Artifices , which signify nothing , and yet they serve to make life Agreeable and Pleasant .

'T was thus I liv'd at Intelligence ; when I understood that Bellimante was retir'd to Cruelty . This news afflicted me extreamly , but I was not now of a humour to swell the Floods with my tears , or increase the rude winds with my ruder sighs ; to tear my hair and beat my Innocent breast as I us'd in my first Amour to do . However I was so far concern'd , that I made it my business not to lose this insensible fair one , but making her a visit in spight of her retreat , I reproacht her with cruelty .

Why , fair Maid , are you uneasy , When a slave designs to please you ; When he at your feet is lying Sighing , languishing , and dying ? Why do you preserve your charms Only for offensive Armes ? What the Lover wou'd possess You maintain but to oppress . Cease , fair Maid , your cruel sway , And let your Lover dy a nobler way .

Who the Devil wou'd not believe me as much in love now as I ever was with Silvia : My heart had learn't then all the soft Language of Love which now it cou'd prattle as naturally as its Mother Tongue ; and sighing and dying was as ready for my mouth as when it came from my very heart ; and cost me nothing to speak ; Love being as cheaply made now by me as a barter for a Horse or a Coach ; and with as little concern almost : It pleas'd me while I was speaking , and while I believ'd I was gaining the vanity and pleasure of a conquest over an unvanquisht heart . However I cou'd yet perceive no Grist come to my Mill ; no heart to my Lure ; young as it was , it had a cunning that was harder to deceive than all Bellinda's Wit : And seeing her persist still in her Resolution I left her with a heart , whose pride more than Passion resented the obduratness of this Maid , I went as well compos'd however as I cou'd to Intelligence ; and found even some pleasure in the cruelty and charming resistance of Bellimante , since I propos'd to myself an infinite happyness in softning a heart so averse to Love , and which I knew I shou'd compel to yeild some time or other with very little pains and force .

Oh! what Pleasure 't is to find A coy heart melt by slow degrees ; When to yeilding t is inclin'd , Yet her fear a ruin sees . When her tears do kindly flow , And her sighs do come and goe . Oh! how charming tis , to meet Soft resistance from the fair ; When her pride and wishes meet And by turns increase her care . Oh! how charming 't is to know , She wou'd yeild but can't tell how , Oh! how pretty is her scorn When confus'd 'twixt Love and Shame , Still refusing ( though she burn , ) The soft pressures of my Flame . Her Pride in her denyal lies , And mine is in my Victories .

I feigned nevertheless abundance of Grief to find her still persist in her rigorous Cruelty ; and I made her believe , that all my absent hours I abandoned myself to sorrows and despairs ; though Love knows I parted with all those things in Silvia's Arms. But whatever I pretend , to appear at Cruelty and before Bellimante ; at Intelligence I was all Galliard and never in better Humour in my Life than when I went to visit Bellinda : I put on the Gravity of a Lover , and beheld her with a Solemn Languishing Look : In fine , I accustomed myself to counterfeit my Humour , whenever I found it convenient for my Advantage : Tears , Vows , and Sighs cost me nothing , and I knew all the Arts to jilt for Love , and could act the dying Lover , whenever it made for my Satisfaction .

He that wou'd precious time improve , And husband well his hours , Let him complain and dye for Love , And spare no Sighs or Showers . To second which , let Vows and Oaths Be ready at your will , And fittest times and seasons chuse , To shew your cozening skill .

In fine , after I had sufficiently acted the Languishing Lover , for the accomplishment of all my Wishes , I thought it time to change the Scene , and without having recourse to Pity , I followed all the Counsels of my Cupid ; who told me , that in stead of dying and whining at her Feet , and damning myself to obtain her Grace , I should affect a Coldness , and an Unconcern ; for , Lycidus , assure yourself , said he , there is nothing a Woman will not do , rather than lose her Lover either from Vanity or Inclination . I thanked Love for his kind Advice ; and to persue it , the next day I drest myself in all the Gayety imaginable : My Eyes , my Air , my Language , were all changed ; and thus fortified with all the put-on indifference in the World , I made Bellimante a Visit ; and after a thousand things all cold and unconcerned , far from Love or my former Softness , I cried laughing to her ;

Cease , cease , that vain and useless scorn , Or save it for the Slaves that dye ; I in your Flames no longer burn , No more the whining Fool you fly ; But all your Cruelty defie . My Heart your Empire now disdains , And Frown , or Smile , all 's one to me : The Slave has broke his Servial Chains , And spight of all your Pride is free From the Tyrannick Slavery . Be kind or cruel every day , Your Eyes may wear what dress they please , 'T will not affect me either way , How my fond Heart has found its Peace , And all my Tears and Sighings cease . I must confess you 're wondrous fair , And know , to conquer such a Heart ; Is worth an Age of sad despair , If Lovers Merits were Desert : But you 're unjust as well as fair , And Love subsists not with despair , No more than Lovers by the Air. I 've spar'd no Sighs nor Floods of Tears , Nor any thing to move your Mind , With sacred Vows I fed your Cares ; But found your rebel Heart unkind , And Vanity had made you blind . No more my Knees shall bow before Those unconcern'd and haughty Eyes , Nor be so sensless to adore That Saint , that all my Prayers despise : No , I contemn your Cruelty Since in a Humor not to dye .

Having said all this with an Air of Disdain , I , smiling , took my leave , with much less Civility and Respect than I used to do ; and hasting to Intelligence , I past my time very well with Bellinda , to whom I paid all my Visits , and omitted nothing that might make Bellimante know I had forgot her : But at the end of some days by a very happy change , she finding more inclination to Love than to Cruelty , banishing all Obstacles in Favour of a Lover , she came to Intelligence ; where at first sight she made me some little Reproaches , and that in so soft a manner , that I did not doubt but I had toucht her Heart : I swore a thousand times , that all I had done , was only put on to see if it were possible she could resent it , and force from her Heart some little concern for my supposed loss . At this time I had abundance of Intreagues upon my hands , for it was not with Bellinda and Bellimante , with whom I lived in this manner ; and indeed it is impossible to remain at Intelligence and to make a Court but to two Persons only , where there are so many of the Fair and the Young . I writ every day several Billets ; and received every day as many : I had every day two or three Rendezvous ; and one ought to manage matters very discreetly , that neither Party might come to the knowledge of the others concern ; and one ought to be a Man of great Address and Subtilty to love more than one securely ; and though this gave me some pain , it was nevertheless an Ambaras very agreeable , and in which I could have lived a great while ; if Envy , which cannot suffer any Body to be happy in Intelligence , had not arrived there and told a great many things which discovered my Intreagues ; so that Bellinda , with whom I had lived there with great Tranquillity a long time , and Bellimante , with whom I was but just beginning to be happy , were both obliged to quit this delightful place , where we enjoyed so many happy hours ; and they retired till the noise was a little over ; and with them all those who had afforded me any hope : If any one of these had stayed , I had been contented well enough and one might have consol'd me for the loss of the other , but in one day to lose all that made my happiness , put me into such a Melancholy , I knew not for the present what to do for myself ; but Coquet Love conducted me to a Village , that gave a me new Pleasure : The scituation of it is marvellous , the Fields and the Groves all about it the most pleasant in the World ; the Meadows enamel'd with Rivulets , which run winding here and there , and lose themselves in the Thickets and the Woods . In going , Love said to me : In absence it is in vain to abandon yourself to sorrow . Alas ! What signifies it to sigh night and day ; the Absent does not hear us ; nor can the most tender Affliction or Complaint render a Lover happy , unless the Fair One were present to hear all his Moans , then perhaps they might avail . There was reason in what he said , and I was pleas'd and calm'd ; and we arrived at the same time at this Village : All the Houses were fine , and pleasant , we saw all the Graces there by Fountains and by Flowery Springs , and all the Objects that could be imagined agreeable ; and the least amiable ones , we saw , gave us a Joy ! All the World that inhabit there contribute to Diversion ; and this place is called Amusement : Amusement is a young Boy , who stops and gazes at every thing that meets his Eyes , and he makes his Pleasure with every Novelty .

As soon as I arrived at this Village I thought to divert myself , as others did ; and to hinder my Thoughts from fixing on the loss of my two Mistresses , and to banish from my mind the Shagrins their Absence gave me ; withdrawn from the fair Eyes of Bellimante , and the Charming Wit of Bellinda , and to give my sighing Heart a little ease ; upon a thousand Objects I formed my desires , and took a thousand Pleasures to divert my Melancholy : And all the time I lived at this dear place , I passed my time without any inquietude ; for every day afforded me new Objects to give me new Wishes . And I now expected , without much impatience , the return of Bellinda and Bellimante ; nor did I tire myself with writing to 'em every day ; and when I did write , to save the expence of thought , the same Billet served both ; a thousand little tender things I said of course to both : And somtimes , especially while I was writing , I thought I had rather have seen them than have lived at Amusement , but since it was necessary they should be absent , I bore it with all the Patience I could ; somtimes we were in a fit of writing very regularly to one another , but on a sudden I received no Letters at all ; the reason of this was , they both understood I lived at Amusement , and had retired themselves to the Palace of Spight : I no sooner received this News , but I rendered myself there also ; it is a place where there is alwaies abundance of Tumult , Outrage , Quarrels and Noise : And Spight is a Person who eternally gives occasion of Discontent and Broil ; causing People often to fall out with those they love most , and to caress those they hate : But the Quarrels she occasions us with those we love , last but a very short season , and Love reconciles those differences that Spight obliges us to make : Thô 't is somtime pleasant enough to see those we Love extreamly , and violently , fall into the highest rage , and say a thousand things injurious and unreasonable , and to swear all the Oaths that angry Love and Fury can inspire , never to see or converse with one another again , and in a moment after to grow calm , weep , and reunite ; to be perjured on both sides , and become more fond than ever they were .

A Lovers Rage and Jealousie One short moment do's confess : How can they long angry be Whose Hearts are full of tenderness ?

In this Place there wou'd be eternal War , but for a person who inhabits there , and is always the Mediator for Peace , t is he that assists to accommodate and bring the Lovers together . This is a very honest person , call'd Right Understanding , he brought me to Bellinda , whom I found accompany'd with a Man that made her a thousand caresses , at my approach she made as if she knew me not , which I took in such disdain , that I apply'd myself to Spight , with a design to be reveng'd on this Haughty scorner . In this humour I made a visit to Bellimante but found her as Implacable as Bellinda , whom no excuses , no reason , cou'd reduce to the temper I had once seen her ; in a rage , ten times more than I was before , fill'd with disdain and revenge I complain'd of this treatment to my little Love , who immediately led me into a Grove , where the Beauties and the Graces us'd to walk , to consult upon what return to make for my affront ; from one place to another we past on till we came to a little Thicket , on the other side of which , by a little Rivulet we cou'd hear , but not see , two persons discoursing , they were women , and one seemed in a violent Rage against her Lover , who had newly offended her , whilst the other strove in vain to reconcile her , but she went on , vowing to revenge herself with the next object she shou'd Incounter that had but Wit , Youth , and fortune enough to Justifie her Love , and make her conquest glorious ; her resolution agreeing so with mine , and her manner of speaking , gave me new hope and pleasure , and a great curiosity to see her face ; I found by her Resentment she was young and of Quality , and that alone was enough to make me resolve upon Addressing myself to her , and the other person had no sooner left her , but I advanced towards her , with as good a grace as I cou'd put on , she was a little surprised , and blushing at first , but I soon reconcil'd her to my conversation . I found her handsom enough to ingage me , and she was as well pleased with me as I was with her , both having the same design which was that of revenge , and you may Imagin , our business being the same , our entertainment was not at first extraordinary , but as my cause of Anger was more reasonable than hers , I began to find myself to soften into liking of this new fair one , who was called Cemena , and who , to spight her former Lover , endeavor'd to be seen with me in all the publick places she cou'd , which gave him Infinite torments of Jealousie . One day as I was walking with this Cemena in a place where the young and the fair frequent , Bellinda and Bellimante often passed by us , and saw us both well pleas'd and in good humour , I cou'd perceive their colour goe and come , and that they were as uneasy at this object , as my heart cou'd wish , and by their quitting of the place immediatly after , I was assured of all my hope , and believed I had gained my Point ; at the end of two or three days , one Morning walking alone in the same place I incountered Bellimante , who hapned to be attended with her Woman onely , she chang'd colour at my approach , and wou'd have passed me by but I stay'd her by the Robe ; and said a thousand things to her that angry Love inspir'd me with , while she on her side did the same , till we had talk'd ourselves by degrees into reason , and good understanding . I found her Resentment to be only the excess of Love , and all those faults are easily forgiven , I immediatly threw myself at her Feet , and made her a thousand protestations of my fidelity , and she , in her turn , excused herself with all the tenderness imaginable , she made me a thousand new vowes and caresses and forgot nothing that might persuade me , that all she did was by the Counsel of Spight .

Oh! how soft it is to see The fair one we believe untrue , Eagar and impatient be To be reconcil'd a new ; When their little cheats of Love Shall with reasons be excus'd , Oh! how soft it is to prove , With what ease we are abus'd ! When we come to understand How unjust are all our fears ; And to feel the lovely hand Wiping from our Eyes the tears . And a thousand Favors pay For every drop they kiss away , Oh! how soft it is to yeild , To the maid just reconcil'd .

I found this accommodement extreamly agreeable , and it was in these transports the Lovely Bellimante detain'd me for some days without quiting her , but I found too much Joy in a new reconciliation not to endeavor to make one also with Bellinda ; as soon then as Bellimante grew a little off my heart by so long a conversation with one and the same Woman , I , on pretence of some affairs , left her extreamly charm'd and satisfi'd , and hasted to Bellinda , who , methought , was now a new Beauty ; at least I found her too considerable to lose the Glory of ingaging her intirely ; t is possible that both these Ladys , being agitated with as little faith as myself , deceiv'd me with the same design I did them , to make their pleasure only , and thô this very often came into my thoughts , yet it gave me no great inquietude , they dissembl'd well , and I cou'd not see it , I had the satisfaction and the vanity of 'em , that was as much as I desir'd from any of the fair since Silvia toucht my heart , they both swore they lov'd and both fear'd to displease , if they were unfaithful they had a thousand stratagems to hide their infidelity , and took a great deal of care to keep me , which shew'd a value in me above all the rest of my Rivals , and I beheld myself with some Pride and esteem for having so much power ; when ever they offended me they had all the Arts to mollify me , and who wou'd be so critically in love as not to be willing to be so well abus'd ? For my part , I will not be so nice , as to penetrat into their thoughts , to find what wou'd but displease me if found ; but content myself with all I see and find that looks like Love at least and good humour . Nay even in their worst I find a thousand pleasures , those of their quarrels which somtimes happen twenty times a day , when every reconciliation is like a new Mistress , so well they strive to please and be reconcil'd .

But all these pleasures did not satisfy me , there were greater yet behind which I had not arriv'd to with these fair charmers , and however I liv'd at Amusement , making a thousand Amours with a hundred of the most Beautiful , still I had a desire to subdue intirely to my pleasure these two the most hard to gain , but now I was pretty well secur'd of both their hearts and yet neither knew , they were each others Rivals in mine . They knew one another , converst , and play'd and walkt together , yet so discreet I was in this Amour that neither was jealous of the other , nor suspected I lov'd both with an equal Ardor ; when I hapned to be with 'em both I carried myself so equally Gallant that both commended my conduct and imagin'd I did it to hide the secret passion I had for herself , and so many little Arts my Coquet love had taught me I cou'd with ease manage abundance of intregues at one and the same time .

But as I said , this did not suffice , nor cou'd the fires , that some more willing Beauties allay'd , hinder me from wishing and burning and persuing those two fair persons with an Ardor that had no appearance of decay from any others goodness to me , but in my daily visits to 'em , I eternally solicited them to suffer me to accompany them to that charming place call'd Favors , which is a very Beautiful Castle rais'd in a Vally . I confest to you that my Coquet Cupid advis'd me not to go , for fear of attaching myself too much to a place so extreamly agreeable ; the Mountains , that inviron this Castle , are very high and full of hollow Rocks , which made the scituation very sullen . The Castle itself was delicately built , and surrounded with tall Trees , so thick that one cou'd hardly see the Edifice , nor cou'd the Sun-beams dart throw the gloomy shade ; and eternal Night seem'd to sit there in awful state and pleasure : For the more obscure this place is and secret from all Eyes , the better and more acceptable it is to all that enter there , and thô this Vally have many inhabitants , it appears to have none at all ; because they love solitude , and , banishing all Publick society , content themselves only to be but two in company together , if there be more they are receiv'd with a very ill welcome , for a third Person in this place wou'd destroy the Pleasure and the harmony . The Inhabitants of this Castle never shew themselves but to those that are very importune , and then not every day , the Ladies that command there are many Sisters all of the name of the Castle ; and all very fair , and still one more fair than the other , and when you visit 'em you see 'em not all at once but by degrees and the last you behold is the fairest , and by the pleasure you have in seeing one , you desire to see 'em all . For there are no limits to be given to desire ; and as they are never seen by any body altogether , it happens very often that you see but one , and you must have address and great assiduity , abstinence , and good fortune to obtain one of these Favors ; but the last will cost you much more trouble than all the rest put together , so very fair , so very nice and coy she is : But when once obtain'd she brings you to the Palace of intire Pleasure ; which is neighbouring to the Castle of Favors ; but I , who wou'd very fain , at once , have brought to this delicate place both Bellinda and Bellimante ; found myself extream uneasy , because , as I said , only two can be well entertain'd at a time ! I found it against my humour and against the advice of Love to abandon all , and retire with one only , for in decency and good manners , those , who go to this Castle of Favors , are oblig'd to continue there some time ; and I found , I shou'd be extreamly shagrin after a little while with one alone ; but both were obstinate and wou'd not suffer a third : and having been so very importune with both , I was asham'd to repent and recant all those things I had said , to persuade them to go , thô in my heart I was very ill satisfi'd I had not persu'd the counsel , Love had given me not to go to Favors at all ; he foreseeing an inconveniencie in such a retreat , which I , with all my young desires about me and fond of novelty , cou'd not , so well as he , discern , however I had propos'd it with some ardency and wou'd not go back , but resolv'd to make the best advantage of my voyage , and wou'd not declare my regreet till I cou'd no longer hinder it : So that Bellimante , yeilding to my Implorings , consented next day to go with me to this retreat of Favors .

Accordingly the next morning we set out for this amiable place ; where we arrived , and finding myself all alone , without interruption or fear , with this very fair Creature , I advanced to a thousand Freedoms which she , with some resistance , permitted me to take : I was all Joy and Transport at every advance , and still the nearer I approached to the last Favour , the more blest I imagined myself ; I grew more resolved , and she more feeble : and at last , I was the Victor and Bellimante the Victim ; I remained some days with her , and one would have imagined I should have been intirely happy in this place with one so young and fair : But behold the fickleness of Youth , and Man's nature .

Thô my Heart were full of Passion , And I found the yeilding Maid Give a loose to inclination While her Love her Flame betray'd ; Yet thô all she did impart , Pain and Anguish prest my Heart . Thô I found her all o'r Charming , Fond and sighing in my Arms ; Yet my Heart a-new was warming For Bellinda's unknown Charms ; Thought , if Beauty pleas'd me so , What must Wit and Beauty too ?

And though next day I found myself an hundred times more in Love with Bellimante than before , yet unless I could possess Bellinda too , I thought myself miserable : Yet every time she charmed me a-new I was upon the point of renouncing eternally Bellinda , and sacrificing her to my Passion for Bellimante : But I did not remain long in that Humour , but every day grew more and more unresolved in that point ; and as Bellimante grew more fond I grew more cold ; not but I had learnt to say so many kind and soft things in the time of my real Passion with Silvia , that I found it easie to speak every day such endearing Words as gave her no doubt of my Heart ; nor was willing she should see to the bottom of it , where she would most certainly have found Bellinda ; yet with such a mixture of Passion for herself , that it would have been hard to have distinguished , which had had the ascendant there ; only my desire at present was the most considerable for the fair Object I had not yet possest , and whom I long'd to vanquish ; perhaps , as much for the Glory , as the Pleasure , though my Heart did not at this moment think so .

After some time that I had lived here with Bellimante , I made some pretext to leave her for a little while ; she ; who was extreamly charmed with that Solitude , resolved to wait there my return , so that I had some pain in contriving how I should bring Bellinda to the same Castle as I wished to do ; but it had in it many Mansions and Apartments , and , as I said , so retired from one another , that it was difficult to come at any time together or to meet : This consideration made me resolved , and very pressing with Bellinda , to go to this place , assuring her of such Diversion as she never met with in any other part of the World : She loved and was not long in persuading , and I had the Glory to conduct her in spight of all her Wit and Gayety , to this retreat of Solitude with me ; where , unperceived , I obliged her to render me all that Love could allow , and more than Honour would permit : And I was for some days extreamly happy , and possibly had continued so , ( going from one Apartment to another , and , like the Great Sultan , visiting by turns my Beauties , ) had not a malicious fate prevented my Grandeur and Pleasure .

It hapned one day that I had sued a repetition of Favours from Bellinda ; she seeming resolved to grant me no more , repenting of those I had taken , and with a charming Sorrow reproaching me , making me a thousand times more pressing than before : At last her force growing weaker , her denials fainter , and my importunities more raging ; I found her yeilding , the Lilly in her Face gave place to the Roses , and Love and Trembling made her Eyes more fair , and just ready to render me all . We saw approaching us Bellimante , who , having heard how I sometimes past my hours , resolved to surprise me in my perfidie ; and accordingly found us in a gloomy Arbour with all the Transports of Love in both our Faces , which it was too late to resettle and hide from this too sensible and jealous fair One : In vain I strove with all the Arguments of Love and Tenderness to appease her , or , if by any thing I said , I found her inclined to pardon me , on the other side it but served to incense and inrage Bellinda , to whom I had made equal Vows ( at her coming to that place , ) of eternal Fidelity . I am not able to express to you , my dear Lysander , what confusion I found myself in , I divided my Heart and my Intreaties between 'em , and knew not to which I most ardently meant 'em ; I was very sensible , that while I treated both with equal Love and Respect , that I should gain neither , and yet if what I said to both had been addrest to any one of 'em , it would have prevailed ; and I found it easie to have kept either , if I would resolve to quit the other ; but my heart not inclining to that , or if it wou'd , not knowing which I shou'd chuse , made me remain between 'em both the most out-of-countenanced coxcomb , that ever was taken in the cheats of Love , while both were on either side reproaching me with all the malice and noise imaginable , so that not being able longer to endure the clamour , I took my flight from 'em both , and ran with all the force I cou'd to a Village call'd Irresolution ; and where Coquet Love abandon'd me saying that place was not proper for him .

The Houses of this Village are for the most part not half built , but all appears very desolate and ruinous : It appertains to a Lady very fantastique of the same name . She maks a Figure pleasant enough , she never dresses herself , because she cannot determin what habit to put on ; she is ever tormenting herself , still turning to this side and to that , yet never stirs from the place , because undetermin'd she knows not whither nor which way to go : And having so many in her mind resolves to go to neither ; one always sees an Agitation in her Eyes , that keeps them in perpetual motion and fixt on nothing . You see her perpetually perplext with a thousand designs in her head at once , but puts none of them in execution .

I found myself in this place Ambarassed with a thousand confusions and thoughts , for Bellinda and Bellimante had equally shar'd my soul , and I knew not for which I shou'd declare ; nor whether the Wit and extream good Humour of the first were more powerful upon my heart , than the Beauty and softness of the last , so that I was wholly unable to determin which I shou'd quit , having the same sentiments for one as for the other , and resolv'd to abandon both rather than content myself with one : And the fear of losing one was the occasion of my losing both , in fine I was in the most cruel incertainty in the World . And I cou'd not forbear saying a thousand times to myself ,

When Love shall two fair objects mix , And in the Heart two passions fix : 'T is a pleasure too severe , Cruel Joy we cannot bear . Too much Love for two I own , But too little flame for one .

While I was thus perplext betwixt these two violent passions , when no reason cou'd resolve me which to choose , as I was one day meditating what to do in this extreamity , a Woman presented herself to me , whose Beauty was infinitely transcending all I had ever beheld ; she had a noble and Majestick meen , a most Divine Air , and her charms cast so great a Lustre that I was dazl'd with Gazing on her ; she struck me with so profound a respect at the first sight of her Glory 's , that I cou'd not forbear throwing myself at her feet , imploring I might be eternally permitted to Adore her ; and to become her slave . When raising me from the ground , and looking on me with Eyes more Majestick than kind , she said to me in a loud voyce .

Fly , Lysidus , this hated Place , Too long thou 'st bin a slave to Love . Thy youth has yet a nobler Race In more Illustrious paths to move . Glory your fonder flame controuls , Glory , the life os generous Souls . Once you must Love to learn to live , 'T is the first lesson youth shou'd learn ; Useful instructions Love will give , If you avoid too much concern : Loves flame , thô in appearance bright , Deceives with false and glittering light . But , Lysidus , the time is come You must to Beauty bid adieu ; Recal your wandering passions home , And only be to Glory true ; She is a Mistress that will last When all Loves fires are gone and past .

Those words , repeated to me with an Air haughty and imperious , toucht me to the very Soul , and made me blush a thousand times with shame to behold myself in that ridiculous state , almost reduc'd to the same tenderness for Bellinda and Bellimante I had before had for Silvia ; but I soon found my error and in an instant became more in Love with Glory than I had ever been in my life . Insomuch that I resolv'd to leave Irresolution and follow her . I confess at first it gave my heart som little pain to withdraw and disingage it from so long and so fond a custom , and I was more than once forc'd to parly thus with my imtractable and stubborn heart .

Oh! fond remembrance ! do not bring False notions to my easy heart . And make the foolish tender thing Think , that with Love it cannot part ; Or dy when e're the charming God Forsak's his old and kind abode . And thou , my heart , be calm and Pleas'd , For better hours thou now shalt see , Of all thy Anxious torments eas'd From all thy toyles and slavery free , From Beauties Pride and peevish scorns From Wits Intregueing false returns . 'T is Honour now thou shalt persue , Her dictates only shalt obey ; Yet Beauty en Passant may view And be with all loves Pleasures Gay , Quench when you please resistless fires , But make no business of desires .

Thus , my dear Lysander , following Glory , I soon arriv'd at the extent of the Island of Love , and there I incounter'd a thousand Beauties , Attractions , Graces and Agreements ; all which endeavor'd a new , but in vain , to engage me . I past by 'em all without any regard only sight , as I beheld 'em with the remembrance , how once the meanest of those Beauties wou'd have charm'd me . I lookt back on all those happy shades , who had been conscious of my softest pleasures , and a thousand times I sighing bid 'em farwel , the Rivers , Springs and Fountains had my wishes that they might still be true and favor Lovers , as they had a thousand times done me . These dear rememberance , you may believe , stay'd some time with me , yet I wou'd not for an Empire have return'd to 'em again , nor have liv'd that life over a new I had so long and with so much pleasure persu'd .

After this I took a Vessel and put off from that shore , where , thô I had met with many Misfortunes , I had also receiv'd a thousand joys : While it was in view I found myself toucht with some regret , but being sail'd out of sight of it , I sigh'd no more , but bid adieu to fond Love for ever .

All you Beauties and Attractions , That make so many hearts submit ; Soft inspirers of affection Mistresses of dear bought wit . To whose Empire we resigning Prove our homage justly due After all our sighs and whining Dear delight we bid adieu . After all your fond Caprices , All your Arts to seem Divine , Painting , Patching and your Dresses , Easy votaryes to incline . After all your couzening Billets Sighs and tears , but all untrue , To your Gilting tricks and quillets , I for ever bid adieu .

The Table TO a fair Lady , sent with a Miscellany of Poems . P. 1 To Urania in Mourning . 2 SONG . 3 On Beauty , A Pindarick . 4 SONG . 10 SONG . Ibid. To the Heroick Antonia . 11 To Laurinda . 13 On a Lady singing . 15 To Mr. W. 16 Armida : Or , the fair Gill. 17 Predictions for Saturday next . 21 To Astrea , on her sending me a Bottle of Orange Flower-Water . 22 To Cloris , going into the Country . 23 SONG . 24 To a Lady , ( whom he never saw , nor had any description of , ) to prove he loves her , By a Person of Quality . 24 Song by the same hand . 26 Sleeping on her fair hand . 28 To Gloriana , on saying I had a tough heart . Ibid. Sent with Ovid's Epistles to a fair Lady . 29 Sent with a Basket of Fruit. 30 Love cannot be indifferent . 31 To Astrea . On her absence , during which I could not write . 32 To the most accomplisht Heroick , and incomparable , the Lady Antonia . 33 Sent with Cowley's Works to Astrea . 35 To my Heart . 36 Dialogue . Thirsis and Clarona . 39 SONG . 40 Strephon , to his three Mistresses . 42 To the Fam'd Antonia . On her Duelling . 44 SONG . 47 On an ungrateful and undeserving Mistress , whom he could not help loving . 49 On the Death of Melantha . 55 To the Nightingal coming in the Spring . 60 A Pastoral on the Marriage of the Right Honourable the Earl of Ossory , to the Lady Mary Somerset . By Edw. Arwaker , M. A. 71 A SONG . 80 A Pastoral on the Death of His late Majesty , writtet by M. Otway . 81 SONG . 83 Strephons complaint banisht from Sacarisa , 84 An Elegie written by Mr. W. O. 85 A Pindarick to Mrs. Behn , on her Poem on the Coronation written by a Lady . 89 To Mr. Wolseley on his Preface to Valentinan . By a Lady of Quality . 95 Mr. Wolseley's Answer to the foregoing Copy . 96 To the Honourable Sir Francis Fane on his Play called the Sacrifice , by Mrs. A. B. 102 Cato's Answer to Labienus , when he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 consult the 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 To his 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Gove●●●● 〈◊〉〈◊〉 SONG . 〈…〉 To Damon . 〈…〉 Song of Basset , by Sir George Etherege , 〈◊〉 To the Lord Bishop of Rochester on his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Plot. 120 Upon the arrival of his Excellency the Earl of Clarendon in Ireland , by a M. of A. 122 A Poem against Fruition , by Alexis . 127 To Alexis in Answer to his Poem against Fruition . 129 To Alexis , on his saying , I lov'd a man that talkt much by Mrs. B. 132 A Pastoral on the Marriage of the Right Honourable the Earl of Dorset and Middlesex , to the Lady Mary Compton by Mrs. Behn . 134 On desire . A Pindarick by Mrs. B. 145 Song . By a Person of Quality . 152 Song . By a Person of Quality . 153 Song . By the same hand . 154 A Pastoral Song on the late King . 157 The departure , by Damon : Novemb. 78. 159 To Amintas , upon reading the lives of some of the Romans by Mrs. B. 161 On the first discovery of falseness in Aminta , by Mrs. B. 164 SONG . 167 On a Blew spot made in a Ladys neck by Gun-powder , by a Person of Quality . 168 On Dido . 169 SONG . Ibid. The Choice . 170 A Letter to Astrea : 171 To Mrs. B. from a Lady who had a desire to see her . 172 To the fair Clarinda , who made Love to me , imagin'd more than Woman . By Mrs. B. 175 FINIS .

A Miscellany OF POEMS .

To a Fair Lady , sent with a Miscellany of Poems . FAir Charmer see how various Poets meet To lay their several Labours at your Feet , Whose different Fancies different Passions move , The grinning Satyr , and the smiling Love , And sure there 's somthing that you may approve . The Volume like a Landskip will appear , Some parts less Beautiful , some Bright and Clear ; But where Defects i' th' Picture you shall spy , Be pleas'd their want of Lustre to supply , And gild it with a Beam from your bright Eye .

To Urania in Mourning . SEE where she sits in mourning Robes aray'd , Like Night's bright Goddess shining thro' a shade . What Charms has this fair Mourner that can make The sable dress of Grief such Beauty take . Dull Custom has prescrib'd this sad Attire , When Sorrow reigns , and Beauty wou'd retire . But Sorrows self when by Urania worn , Looks fair and charming as the rising Morn . Thus when descending Angels would disguise Their bright celestial Form from human Eyes ; Their Splendor thro' the borrow'd shape will shine , And we perceive an Excellence Divine . But while this lovely mourning Nymph we view , We sigh , weep , languish , and turn Mourners too ; Yet with this difference , that while others weep For Friends expir'd , and lodg'd in Death's calm Sleep , A restless waking Passion makes our Grief That ne're can dye , nor ever hope Relief : Yet would Urania from her Sorrows spare To my Distress one balmy pitying Tear ; That Charity wou'd make me bless my Pain , And never wish to be at Ease again .

SONG . AS wretched , vain , and indiscreet Those Matches I deplore , Whose Bartering Friends in Counsel meet , To huddle in a Wedding Sheet Some miserable Pair that never met before . Poor Love of no account must be , Tho' ne're so fixt and true , No Merit but in Gold they see , So Portion and Estate agree , No matter what the Bride and Bridegroom do . Curst may all covetous Husbands be That Wed with such Design , And Curst they are ; For while they ply Their Wealth , some Lover by the By Reaps the true Bliss , and digs the richer Mine .

On Beauty . A PINDARIC . SAY all ye Judging wise , Who into Nature's Secrets dive , And can her unknown Reasons give From whence great Beauties wond'rous power do's rise , Whose Universal Tyranny Subdues the Tributary World , and brings In equal Fetters Slaves and Kings , To languish in a soft Captivity . It triumphs o're the Strong and Proud , It calms the Stormy and the Loud . The stubborn and the frozen Cold dissolves , Perverts the wise Mans best Resolves . The Genius of the Wits , and Braves imploys In the important Subject of its Praise . The Fool and Coward too inspires This with prevailing Wit , that with Heroick Fires . Judah's wise King , when he Had studied Nature o're and o're , Surveying all her hidden Store , Even from the Reed to the triumphant Tree , Thro' all the spacious Universal round , Soft Beauty was the only good he found Worth setting his select Affections on . 'T was there he bounded his Delights , His chearful Days , and charming Nights , On that most perfect Bliss beneath the Sun . Beauty alone inspir'd him with the Theme Of the bright Virgins of Hierusalem . From that alone his Divine Raptures sprung , Beauty his Business was , and Love was all his Song . When Alexander had his Conquest hurl'd O're all the yielding Tributary World , And found no more that could afford New Business for his Glory , and his Sword , 'T is said , He wept ; but when the Persian Maid ( With greater Charms ) the Hero had survey'd , He found the toil of Conquering her much more Than all his worthless Worlds before . He sigh'd and bow'd , lookt pale and red by turns , To serve her was his whole delight , Thinks it as brave , while thus he burns Under soft Venus , as rough Mars to fight . And Sieges lays of Sighs and Tears , And tells soft Stories of his Heart , Of restless Nights , and Days of Cares , Of Pains , and Flames , and wild Despairs , Of bleeding Wounds and Smart , And found that no Fatigues of War Were half so great as vanquishing the Fair ! But oh , no Victory cou'd so Charming prove , As that of the dear Maids confessing Love ! David , whose harmonious String Cou'd Saul's infernal Tempest calm , And by the Musicks strange mysterious Balm , Appeas'd the Frenzies of a raging King ; Yet stranger Charms in the fair Hittite found , Which kindled to a softer Fire His cold and languishing Desire . And strugling Virtue in strong Fetters bound , That pow'rful Aid was useless now , When yet more pow'rful Beauty was in view , He found no Musick cou'd appease The troubled Spirits her fair Eyes did raise . The Musick of her Voice did but inspire A more tormenting Fire ; So great a Sympathy There is between soft Love and Harmony . In the wild darkness of Idolatry Did Clodovaeus see 'T was more than vulgar Light That made the fair Clotilda look so bright , When from her conquering Eyes Surpriz'd , he saw such sparkling Flames arise , And therefore wisht to know The Spring from whence such streams of Light did flow . Why then shou'd I , Ye learned Stoicks tell me why ? Think it unworthy of my Name To own a Generous and a Noble Flame , Since Love's Almighty Pow'r To whom the Young , the Great and Brave , The Wise , the Politick and Grave , Have bow'd to as their Conqueror . What reasonable Man desires to pass For one more great and good than David was ? Or who for Wisdom ever hop'd Renown Like wise , like sacred Solomon ? Or who in glorious Arms cou'd ever dare Like the fam'd Son of Jupiter ? Or if thou ly'st beneath the common Curse Of being Bad , what than a Heathen worse ; Yet Clodovaeus by Beauties piercing fight Was brought from his Egyptian Night , Directed by so fair a Hand , He cou'd not miss the promis'd Land . Then ye fond Stoicks flie Your Learn'd , your Dull-School Foolery , And lay your Speculation by , Or you are greater Fops than I. Lay by your Books , and this believe By charming Beauty 't is alone , That true and false are to be known , 'T is Beauty is alone Superlative .

SONG . FReedom is a real Treasure , Love a Dream , all false and vain , Short , uncertain is the Pleasure , Sure and lasting is the Pain . A sincere and tender Passion Some ill Planet over-rules , Ah how blind is Inclination , Fate and Women dote on Fools .

SONG . AH how Dull it is to love , Ah how Dull is past Desire , How insipidly we move In the flames of dying Fire . Maidens if you will be Wise , Rather dye than lose the Prize . Ah what Angel things are Men Ere the last Desires obtained , But alas are Devils when Cold forc'd Kisses are but fained . Maidens ah be warn'd by me , Rather Dye than Conquer'd be .

To the Heroick Antonia . Madam , WHen first I saw your Conquering Face , You appear'd so Charming , and so full of Grace , My Soul was into a new Wonder wrought , Which took increase from every look and thought . In all your Actions all the Virtues shin'd , And every Word confest your generous Mind . The Number of such gallant Maids are few , Our Ages Birth has but produc'd us two , The fam'd Astrea , and more famous you . Thou Monarch of your Sex alone dost Reign , And their lost Glory Nobly dost regain ; Thou shewst the Paths that do to Honour guide , How to be Great without the Vice of Pride . That vanity of a Spirit basely born , Thy Nobler Flights thy Sexes Arts do scorn . In thy gay Temper more true Graces lie , Than all their boasted fond Formality . Would they arrive at an Immortal Fame , And at the Amazonian Glory's aim , They must your generous Presidents persue , Tho' still alas they must submit to you . With the learn'd Pen of some fam'd ancient Wit , In thy high Praise a Volume might be writ ; But humbler I with Blushes do confess , The Muses never did my Fancy bless To dip in Helicon have no pretence , And aim no higher than to praise with Sense ; Since at your Feet no Scepters I can lay , Let a mean Wreath of Flowers the Tribute pay .

To Laurinda . PRoduce aspiring Muse thy Noblest strain , To sing the Charmer of our Court and Plain , No common one Laurinda's Praise can fit Empress of Beauty , Patroness of Wit. 'T were Sacrilege this Tribute to defer , For Wit was born and flourishes with her . She makes Wits Court where ere she do's repair , The Muses and the Sacred Train are there . Where ere she moves the Graces lead the way , And just Devotion to their Goddess pay . This is the she , whose Praise we must Indite , Transcending mortal Verse , and common Flight . Hear then industrious Muse , and understand The vast important Task thou hast in hand . Fetch me the Beauties of the blooming Spring , The richest Odors spicy Gales can bring . All Nature's scatter'd Glories join'd in one , A Present to the bright Laurinda's Throne . The Smiles that did the Infant World adorn , The fairest Lustre of the Rising Morn , The Calm , the Joy that breaking Day inspires , When it to Anthems wakes the fether'd Quires , The Souls of Stars are yet more pure and bright , Abstracted Beams , and Empyrean Light . The Pride of Halcyon Seas , unclouded Air , All these my Muse with wond'rous skill prepare A Diadem for bright Laurinda's hair . Desist deluded Muse , we vainly toil , All these will prove but fair Laurinda's Foil . In vain thou seekst abroad the blooming Year , The Beauties of the Spring are all in her . All Nature's scatter'd Glories thou wilt find Already center'd in her Form and Mind . The Smiles that did the Infant World adorn , Less bright than those that on her Face are worn . Her Presence Joy and Summer calm , supplies , And Day is always breaking in her Eyes , Herself the sweetest Anthem , will inspire , And teach us to excel the fether'd Quire . Her Charms excel the pride of Earth and Air , No Sea-born Venus e're was half so fair . Thus slender Muse thy daring Course is crost , And in the Ocean of Perfection lost . Yet somthing thou art still oblig'd to say , Thy grateful Offering on her Altar lay , And own at least the Debt thou canst not pay . Seize the Occasion , and this Boon obtain To be the humblest Waiter in her Train .

On a Lady singing . HOw like Elizium is the Grove When chaste Dorinda sings of Love , It charms the troubled Soul to rest , And makes a Calm in every Breast , With various kinds of Harmony She strikes at once the Ear and Eye ; So soft a Voice , and she so Fair , Gives double sweetness to the Air. The wretched Strephon dumb with Pain And Grief , too heavy to complain When young Dorinda tunes her Voice , Forgets his Woes , and dreams of Joys , Ah lovely Charmer be so kind To ease somtimes a tortur'd Mind , His Groans with gentle Sighs controul , And breathe a Calm into my Soul .

To Mr. W. WHY this talking still of Dying , Why this dismal Look and Groan , Leave fond Lover , leave your Sighing , Let these fruitless Arts alone , Love 's the Child of Joy and Pleasure , Born of Beauty , nurst with Wit , Much amiss you take your measure , This dull whining way to hit . Tender Maids you fright from loving By th' effect they see in you . If you wou'd be truly moving , Eagerly the Point persue . Brisk and gay appear in Woing , Pleasant be if you wou'd please ; All this Talking , and no Doing , Will not Love , but Hate , increase .

Armida : Or , The Fair Gill. NOT Circe nor Medea had such Art , Or pow'rful Charms to captivate a Heart ; Nor Syren's Voices with so pleasing sound , Lull those asleep whom they design to wound . For a new Conquest all her Skill she tries , But yet by different ways to gain the Prize , As Time and Humors fit , Her Looks appear Bashful somtimes , and full of Virgin fear . Then earnest and lascivious as she finds Her Beauty work upon her Lovers minds , When e're the bashful Youth fears his Success : She gives the Trembler hopes by soft Address , Advances with more sweetness in her Face , And fires him with some kind peculiar Grace , Sooths his fond Heart , and dissipates his Fear , And thaws the Ice her Scorns had gather'd there . But if the God of Love infuse his Dart , And captivate a bold and forward Heart . Her Eyes assume their state , and her neglect Creates a doubtful Fear mixt with respect . Yet lest too much of Scorn produce Despair , Some glance of kindness in her Eyes appear , While hardly gain'd she makes the blessing dear . But still the Cloud she cunningly declines , And fits her Looks to second her Designs . Somtimes she seems to smother Sighs with Pain , And calls up Tears , then turns 'em back again . As if the softning Tide she wou'd not shew , But that in spite of all her Pride , they flow . And all to make a thousand easie Hearts To weep in earnest by her coz'ning Arts. And with the flames of Pity tempers so The Darts of Love , none can resist the Blow . And when she finds a Lover coming on , Yet not so fast to be too soon undone , There all her Arts of Languishment she tries , Sweetens her whispering Voice , softens her Eyes , Touches his hand as if it were by chance , And yields herself to every kind advance . Looks on his Eyes , then strait declines her own , And seems to love , as not to have it shewn . And having thus proceeded in her Art , Breaks forth , as if she cou'd not guard her Heart . Too long , she cries , I have supprest my Fire , Take all my Heart , and all Love can desire . Thus while she softly speaks , and sweetly smiles , And doubly charms the Senses by these Wiles , She do's a Faith in strongest Souls create , And gains a Conquest in despite of Fate . Ah cruel Love ! the Honey and the Gall , Which thou afford'st , do equally Enthral ; And all our Ills , and all our Cures from Thee , Are mortal to us in the same degree : If any of Inconstancy complain Of broken Vows and her unjust disdain , She fains herself unpractis'd in Loves Arts , And that she wants the charms should vanquish hearts . And looks with such a Blushing Modesty , As undeceives your fancy'd Injury . And thus the Thorne lies hid that she does bear Under the Roses which her Beauties wear . So in the earliest rise of day , we spy The ruddy Morning mingled with the Sky . While shame and anger in her looks appear , Both seem confus'dly mixt together there . Thus in delusive Dream the time being spent , Weary with cozenage and discontent , Even hope itself he scarcely now retaines , But like a Hunter at the last remaines , Who having to no purpose spent the day , At last loses the track of the lost Prey . Such were the Practices and such the Arts , By which she can insnare ten thousand hearts ; Or rather such the pow'rful armes do prove , By which she conquers and makes slaves to Love .

Predictions for Saturday next . ON Saturday the twenty fourth , ( The wind fresh blowing from the North , ) Two glorious Stars their Spheres shall change , And into other Climats range . Then tell me , Muse , and tell me true , What Alterations shall ensue : Predict at least , what weather shall Our Dark Horizon then befal . Tempests and Earth-quakes , I presage , Shall at that Dreadful season rage . A Cloud of dark desponding Fears , A storm of Sigh's and flood of Teares ; And many a wretched Lovers heart Be wreckt and torne , when they depart .

To Astrea , on her sending me a Bottle of Orange-floure Water . COu'd I but half so rich a Verse invent , As was the Cordial which Astrea sent ; My Muse herself the Messenger wou'd prove , Born on the wings of Poetry and Love : But all the Muses spring can ne're repay The Present my Astrea did convey . Now , Strephon , hope , Astrea does incline To Pity thee , since Cordials so Divine Are only fit for hearts that bleed , like mine .

To Cloris going into the Country . OH , tell me Cloris , tell me , why You take delight to see men dy . And , Parthian-like , kill , while you fly . Return , if not for charity , At least for Pride , return to see The Trophies of your Victory . Can you such crueltie persue ? And make your Eyes those mischeifs do , Which they despise , or fear to rue ? Ah Nymph , if you persist to take This course , and every place forsake , Assoon as you a Lover make . No Residence for Cloris can be found , Since where soere she goes she 's sure to wound .

SONG . IN vain does Hymen with Religious Vows Oblige his Slaves to wear his chaines with ease , A Privilege alone that Love allows , T is Love alone can make our Fetters please . The Angry Tyrant lays his Yoke on all , Yet in his fiercest Rage is charming still : Officious Hymen comes whener'e we call , But haughty Love comes only when He will .

To a Lady , ( whom he never saw , nor had any description of , ) to prove he Loves her . By a Person of Quality . BRightest of Virgins ! Whose high Race and Name Bespeaks you worthy of the Noblest flame , Armes you with power Divine , that can dispense Its Influence beyond the reach of sence , Making us frame of you , as Heaven above , Idea's of our Ignorance and Love . Disdain not , fairest , such Devotions then As the best worshippers offer to Heav'n . Nor think'em feign'd , since things above do grow ( Concealed and distant ) more admir'd below . Absence creates esteem , and makes that fire ( Which the Suns near approaches quench ) aspire , While those who do enjoy perpetual rays Curse those bright Beames that Crown our Halcyon days . Know then , my Passion Real is and Great , Not such as from dull sence derives its heat , But Sympathy ; that Royal Law that binds In a close union things of different kinds , That secret charm of Nature which inspires The whole creation with Harmonious fires . Heads Cupids Arrows , guides his Roving , Bow , Extends its Empire o're all things below . Since then you know I Love , how much , and how , If of my Passion you still disallow , Know then the Lot is cast , the Gods approve The Fates Decree , and have pronounc'd , I Love ?

Song by the same hand . SOme Brag of there Cloris , and some of their Phyllis , Some cry up their Celia's and bright Amarillis , Thus Poets and Lovers their Mistresses Dub , And Goddesses frame from the Wash-boul and Tub ; But away with these fictions , and counterfait folly , There 's a thousand more charmes in the name of my Dolly . I cannot describe nor her Beauty and Wit , Like Manna to each she 's the Relishing Bit She alone by enjoyment the more does prevail , And still with fresh pleasure does hoist up your sail , Nay had you a surfeit took of all others One Look of my Doll strait your stomach recovers . But when I consider her Humour and feature , I 'm apt to suspect she 's inclin'd to the creature , What contrary winds in my Breast then arise , What hopes and what fear and what doubt do surprise ? What Storms do I feel of trouble and care , While my wishes themselves at variance are ? For somtimes I wish her more cruel , less fair , But then I should either not Love , or despair : I 'd have her to Love too , not Amorous be , I 'd have her be coy , but kinder to me . But should she in me this Humour discover , She 'd quickly discard her Impertinent Lover .

Sleeeping on her fair hand . IF custom those for Poets does allow , That once have slept upon Parnassus brow , Why may not I to that Ambition grow , Who Slept upon this fairer Hill of Snow . At least in this our fancies do agree They of their Mountain write and I of thee . And as they beg the favor of the nine , To match their noblest flights I ask but thine .

To Gloriana on saying I had a tough heart . FIrst let the Lyon dread the bleating Sheep , The winds be husht , the Sea's and Fountains sleep . The day 's bright Empire to the night resign , And water freez beneath the burning Line , These contradictions sooner shall be found Than Gloriana's Beauty fail to wound . Allow , fair charmer , that ( as you have said , ) My heart were of the toughest Temper made , What privilege can thence to me befal , 'Gainst those prevailing powers , that conquer all . If feebler charmes the force of Love can shew , Then how much deeper must his Arrows go When Gloriana's Eye-brow is the Bow .

Sent with Ovids Epistles , to a fair Lady . A Juster Present sure was never made , Than these Epistles to your hand convey'd . For there the Loves of Ladies most appear . These cuplets only Strephons Passion bear . A Passion true as theirs , more full of heart And brings in substance , what it wants in Art . But if in slighted Flames they ever burn'd Their wrongs upon our sex are now return'd For never they their Lovers did persue With half that Passion that I sigh for you ; Of Love , the only Picture there you see But have the true Original in me . Your Justice therefore must this truth approve , They better write of Love , I better Love .

Sent with a Basket of Fruit : THe Streets with flowry Garlands we shou'd croun To welcom fair Astrea to the Town . Officious Cupids at her feet shou'd lay The fairest Treasures of the Blooming May ; But now we seek the Summers store in vain , For these Autumnal Fruits alone remain , Which mourning Loves shou'd to Astrea bear , As Legacies of the departed year . But when the little Messengers shall spye The Charming Nymph , transported they will cry , No more , my Mates , your Winter Presents bring , For we have found the Goddess of the Spring .

Love cannot be indifferent . INdifference in Love ? it cannot be , 'T is contradiction to the last degree ? Cool temp'rate Passion is an empty name , And greater nonsence than a freezing flame : Hope , fear , and joy may with degrees dispense , These Passions but by halves affect our sense , But when we love , 't is still with violence . And that dull Shepherd , who this truth denies Sure never must have seen Astrea's eyes ; Half Beauties may perhaps half Passions move , But She still wounds with all the force of Love : Yet whilst such rigorous flames she does inspire , Preserves herself Unmov'd by any fire : Who gaze upon her Charms are sure to burn , And are as certain to have no return , Yet ne're repent them of their destiny , But count it greater Bliss for her to dye Than in the Armes of other Beauties lye .

To Astrea , On her absence , during which I cou'd not write . IF e're I had a sparke o' the Poets flame From fair Astrea's quickning Beams it came . And since the meanest Writer will aspire To call his faculty a sacred fire ; Why may not I presume that mine is so , That from a cause so excellent did grow ? But it s not strange , since it was born so high That like an earthly vapour it shou'd dye . No , no , Astrea , t is my greatest Pride , That in appearance for a while it dy'd : This seeming weakness proves its birth was true , And that the noble flame was caus'd by you : 'T was in your absence , that my Muse lay dead But at the sight of you lifts up its head : She wakes Astrea's Graces to rehearse , And pay the tribute of a thankful verse ; So the Springs Bird , the Swallow 's seen no more When Winters stormy Blasts begin to roar . But with the Springs return , she sings again And takes her nimble flight o're ev'ry Plain . Yet thô the Poets fire grew cold , my breast Retain'd one flame , that cou'd not be supprest , A flame , that like the other did arise , And first was kindled by Astrea's Ey 's . But , This no Absence can destroy , 't will burn Thô with despair opprest and sure of no Return .

To the most accomplisht Heroick , and incomparable , the Lady Antonia . Madam , YOur charming sex , t is true , can only claim By native right th' exalted Poets flame . But nature has so frugally to most Dispens'd her gifts , that few perfection boast . Beauty for one she thinks a Portion fit , Where Beauty failes she makes amends with wit . But where her niggard hand does neither grant , A generous soul supplys the double want . On all the rest her favours singly fall , Antonia only has engrost them all . Thus when my Muse wou'd shew herself with Grace I bid her Copy from Antonia's face , And when with wit she wou'd my verse inspire , Take from your Eyes the brisk enlivening fire . Or if she wou'd present an Empress part , Than to consult Antonia's generous heart . Oh! had Apelles , when he Venus drew And robb'd the Sex to make his Picture true , Had the great Artist once Antonia seen , Once view'd her Beauty and Heroick Meen , The whole sex to his Aid he need not call To glean the several charmes — For in your Person he had found them all .

Sent with Cowleys workes to Astrea . THe Gentle Cowley , in a mournful strain , Once of Injurious fortune did complain . But thought not then , that our obliging times Wou'd recompence his unrewarded Rhimes ; For now presented at Astrea's feet His noble Muse her full reward does meet : The Mistress , whose bright charmes such fame did gain , Was but a fair creation of his Brain . And nature griev'd , to see the Art of thought Exceed the finest Pieces , she had wrought , Resolv'd to try the best her Power cou'd do , Expressing all his fancy'd charmes in you : Since then in you those reall beauties live , That to those Poems such applause cou'd give , No wonder that I feel a flame for you , Beyond what Cowley e're describ'd or knew , Think therefore , when his tender lines you see , Your self the Mistress , and the Lover me .

To my Heart . WHat ail'st thou , oh thou trembling thing To Pant and Languish in my Breast , Like Birds that fain wou'd try the callow wing And leave the Downy nest ? Why hast thou fill'd thyself with thought Strange , new , fantastick as the Air ? Why to thy Peaceful Empire hast thou brought That restless Tyrant , Care ? But oh alas , I ask in vain Thou answer'st nothing back again , But in soft sighs Amintor's name . Oh thou betrayer of my liberty , Thou fond deceiver , what 's the youth to thee ! What has he done , what has he said That thus has conquer'd or betray'd ? He came and saw but 't was by such a light , As scarce distinguisht day from night ; Such as in thick-grown shades is found When here and there a peircing Beam Scatters faint spangl'd Sun-shine on the ground And casts about a melancholy gleam , But so obscure I cou'd not see The charming Eyes that wounded thee , But they , like gems , by their own light Betray'd their value through the gloom of Night . I felt thee heave at every look , And stop my Language as I spoke . I felt thy Blood fly upward to my Face , While thou unguarded lay Yeilding to every word , to every Grace , Fond to be made a prey . I left thee watching in my Eyes And listning in my Eare. Discovering weakness in thy sighs Uneasy with thy fear . Suffering Imagination to deceive , I found thee willing to believe , And with the treacherous shade conspire , To let into thyself a dangerous fire . Ah foolish wanderer , say , what woudst thou do . If thou shou'dst find at second view , That all thou fanciest now were true , If thou shou'dst find by day those charms , Which thus observ'd threaten undoing harms . If thou shou'dst find that awful meen , Not the effects of first Address , Nor of my conversation disesteem But noble native sullenness ; If thou shouldst find that soft good-natur'd voyce ( Unused to insolence and noise , ) Still thus adorn'd with modesty . And his minds virtues with his wit agree , Tell me , thou forward lavish fool , What reason cou'd thy fate controul , Or save the ruin of thy Soul ? Cease then to languish for the coming day , That may direct his wandering steps that way , When I again shall the loud form survey .

DIALOGUE Thirsis and Clarona , Thirsis . HAil , Clarona , clear as Morning In its brightest gay attire , Love and Beauties chief adorning Mistress of all soft desire ; Hail , Clarona , Joy of Swains , Charmer of the Fields and Plaines . Clarona . Thirsis , often have you crown'd me In the Shady Cyprus Grove , And your flowing sighs did wound me , When you wept and talk't of Love . And when for kisses you have strove , Thô I cha'ft and thô I cry'd , With much ado you were deny'd . But , Thirsis , if you will be true , I can Love as well as you , Thô once I said I wou'd deceive ye , Yet , my Thirsis , dont believe me . Thirsis . Oh , Clarona , Joy attend thee All the Gods and powers defend thee ; Sweeter are thy words , than Song , Melting Musick 's in thy Tongue . Chorus . Now we 'll chant , we 'll live and love And welcome in the Spring . Our Pleasures we will still improve , In every Thicket , Shade and Grove , With Love and Musicks trembling string .

SONG . BEneath a cool shade , where some here have been , Convenient for Lovers , most pleasant and green ; Alexis and Cloris lay pressing soft Flowers , With Kissing and Loving they past the dull hours . She close in his Arms with her head on his brest , And fainting with pleasure ; you guess at the rest : She blusht and she sigh'd with a Joy beyond measure , All ravisht with Billing and dying with Pleasure . But while thus in Transports extended they lay , A Hansom young Shepherd was passing that way ! She saw him and cry'd — oh Alexis , betray'd ! Oh what have you done — you have ruin'd a Maid ; But the Shepherd being modest discreetly past by , And fest 'em again at their leisure to dy . And often they Languish'd with Joy beyond measure , All Ravisht with Billing and dying with Pleasure .

Strephon to his three Mistresses . SEE , fair Astrea , what your charms can do , To make a Lover and a Poet two . Where yours and Gloriana's Powrful Beams With Beautiful Eliza are the Theams , The heaviest fancy to a Height must soar , So easie 't is to write when we adore . Each like a Planet singly and apart Can thro' the Soul your piercing fancy's dart ; How strangely then must you affect the mind , When thus in Glorious constellation joyn'd ? Ah! too like Planets each her powr employs , Bright while she wounds ; and shines while she destroys . Each is the dazling object of desire , But oh ! alike creates a hopeless fire . Astrea , alwaies Airy , Witty , Gay , As Nymphs that by Diana's fountain play , Against th' assaults of Love her heart maintains , And ne're regards the sighs of dying Swains . In vain I gaze on Gloriana's Eyes Already made another Shepherds prize . One truely happy Swain injoys intire Those precious charms for which the rest Expire . And thô Eliza's free , I 'm wretched still : For what availes the powr without the will . How strange a fate ha's Love for me decreed , For one I burn , and for other Bleed , Dy for the third , and yet with none succeed .

To the Fam'd Antonia , on her Dwelling . THou Glory of the Age , best of thy kind , An Angels fabrick , and an Angels mind . Thou , whose Heroick vertues may atone For all the vice thy frailer sex have shewn : To more than common greatness thou wer 't born No scanty Glories did thy fame adorn , Thy Soul all Man ; soft Woman all thy Form . At once his Arms possess , who thee ▪ embrace , A Heroin Venus , and a Love-sick Mars . All that thy sex cou'd ever render fair All that fond man thinks worthy of his care , In thy bright Mind and Body center'd are , Some power Divine still dwells upon thy Tongue , And all thou speak'st is one Immortal Song ; Angels and Gods of Love do listning sit , Charm'd with the Musick of thy voyce and wit . A wit uncircumscrib'd by femal rules , That nice , that dull , excuse for silent Fooles . You never speak , but like the sacred Word It does a blessing to mankind afford ; Use and instruction t is , that never fails , A Rhetorick , that in spight of force prevailes . Generous as nature , when first Spring she bred , And o're the new-born World her Bounties shed , Like Heaven dispensing goodness all a round , And thy large Soul , like that , admits no bound . Oh hadst thou liv'd in those Illustrious days , When Rome did Statues to vast Merits raise , Thine in their Temples had Triumphant stood , And found an equal worship with some God . Fondly they now adore their Portia's name , Who for one single wound atchiev'd such fame , When 't was but female cunning at the best , To buy the secret from her Husbands breast . 'T was Lust of curiosity alone , Thy undesigning valor 's all thy own . Born in thy mighty Soul , and lives and Reigns Scorning returns of mercenary gains . Had'st thou bin Portia , thou had'st farther gone , And not content the great design t' have known Had'st help't the Generous youth the deed to do , And 'mongst the number fixt thy Dagger two ; She but th' indulgent Wife exprest alone , But thou much more the Wife and Friend had'st shewn . And with a just disdain of Tyrannie Assisted in the noble Victory , On thy firm faith great Brutus might rely , Who seeing him conquer'd cou'd as bravely dy : Let Rome adore recorded Portia's fame , While Britain boast's alone thy mightier na

SONG . on occasion . ALL Joy to mortals ! Joy and mirth Eternal Io's sing , The Gods of Love descend to Earth Their Darts have lost the sting . The Youth shall now complain no more On Silvias needless scorn , But she shall Love , if he Adore ; And melt when he shall Burn. The Nymph no longer shall be shy , But leave the gilting Road ; And Daphne now no more shall fly The wounded panting God! But all shall be serene and fair , No sad complaints of Love Shall fill the gentle whispering Air ; No Ecchoing sighs the Grove . Beneath the shade's young Strephon lies , Of all his wish possest , Gazing on Silvia's charming Eyes , Whose Soul is there confest . All soft and sweet the Maid appears , With looks that know no Art ; And tho' she yield with trembling fears , She yeilds with all her Heart .

On an ungrateful and undeserving Mistress , whom he cou'd not help Loving . Being a Paraphrastical Translation of Ovid's 10th Elegie Lib. 3. Amorum . I Have too long endur'd her guilty scorn , Too long her falsness my fond love has born : My freedom and my Wit at length I claim , Be gon , base Passion ! dy , unworthy flame ! My lifes sole torment , and my honours stain , Quit this tir'd heart and end my lingring pain . I have resolv'd to be myself once more ; Long banisht reason to her rights restore . And throw off Loves Tyrannick sway , that still incroching powr . My growing shame I see at last , thô late , And my past follies both despise and hate ; Hold out , my heart , nor let her Beauti 's move , Be constant in thy Anger , as thy Love . Thy present pains shall give thee future ease , As bitter Potions cure , thô they displease . 'T is for this end , for freedom more assur'd , I have so long such shameful pains endur'd . Like a scorn'd slave before her door I lay , And proud repulses suffer'd every day . Without complayning , banisht from her sight , On the cold ground I spent the tedious night . While some glad Rival in her Arms did lye , Glutted with Love and surfeited with Joy . Thence have I seen the tir'd Adulterer come , Dragging a weak exhausted Carkass home ; And yet this curse a blessing I esteem , Compar'd to that of being seen by him ! By him descry'd attending in the street , May my Foes onely such disgraces meet . What toyl and time has this false Woman cost , How much of unreturning Youth has for her sake bin lost ? How long did I , where fancy led or fate , Unthank'd , unminded , on her Rambles waite ; Her steps , her looks , were still by mine persu'd , And watch'd by me , she charm'd the gazing crowd . My diligent Love and over-fond desire Has bin the means to kindle Others fire . What need I mention every little wrong , Or curse the softness of her soothing Tongue : The private love-signs that in publick pass Between her and some common staring Ass , The Coqutes Arts her faithless heart allows , Or tax her with a thousand broken vowes . I hear she 's sick and with wild haste I run , Officious haste , and visit Importune . Entring , my Rival on her bed I see , The Politique sickness onely was to me , With this and more oft has my Love been try'd , Some other Coxcomb let her now provide , To bear her jilting and maintayn her pride . My batter'd Bark has reach'd the Port at last , Nor fears again the billows , it has past . Cease your soft Oaths and that still ready showre , Those once dear words have lost their wonted Power . In vain you flatter , I am now no more That easy fool you found me heretofore . Anger and Love a doubtful fight maintain , Each strive by turns my staggering heart to gain . But what can long against Loves Power contend ? My Love , I fear , will Conquer in the end . I 'll do what e're I can to hate you still ; And if I Love , know 't is against my will . So the Bull hates the Plowmans Yoke to wear , Yet what he hates his stubborn neck must bear . Her Manners oft my indignation raise , But streight her Beauty the short storm always . Her Life I loath , her Person I adore , Much I condemn her , but I Love her more : Both with her and without her , I 'm in pain , And rage to lose what I shou'd blush to gain , Uncertain yet at what my wishes aim : Loth to abandon Love , or part with Fame . That Angel-Form ill suits a Soul all sin , Ah! be less fair without , or more within . When those soft smiles my yeilding powers invade , In vain I call her Vices to my Ayd . Thô now disdaining the disguise of Art , In my esteem her conduct claims no part , Her Face a natural right has to my heart . No crimes so black are to deform her Eyes , Those Clouds must scatter when these Suns shall rise . Enough , fair Conquerour , the day 's your own ; See at your feet Lov 's Uanquish'd Rebel thrown . By those dear Joys , Joys dear thô they are past , When in the kindest links of Love we held each other fast . By the injur'd Gods , your false Oaths did profane , By all those Beauties that inspire disdain , By that Lov'd face from the whole sex elect , To which I all my Vows and Pray'rs direct . And equal with a Power divine respect , By every feature of a form so fine , And by those Eyes that charm and dazle mine , Spare from new triumph , cherish without Art This ever faithful , this too tender , heart . A heart , that was respectful while it strove , But yeilding is all blind impetuous Love . Live as you please , torment me as you will , Still are you fair , and I must Love you still , Think only if with just and clement Reign , A willing subject you wou'd chuse to gain , Or drag a Conquer'd Vassal in a chain . But to what ever conduct you incline Do , suffer , be , what my worst fears divine ; You are , you ought , you must , you shall be Mine . Reason , for ever the vain strife give o're , Thy cruel wisdom I can bear no more ; Let me indulge this one soft Passions rule , Curb vexing Sence , and be a happy fool . With ful-spread Sayls the tempting gale obey , That down Loves-current drives me fast away .

On the Death of Melantha . WEep , all you Virgins , meet o're this sad Hearse , And you , great Goddess of Immortal Verse : Come here a while and Mourn , Weave not with Rosy Crowns your hair , Let tears be all the Gems you wear . And shed them plentifully on this Urne , For 't is Melantha , 't is that lovely fair , That lys beneath this weeping Marble here . But wou'd you know , why she has took her flight Into the Bosom of eternal night , Before her Beauties scarce had shew'd their light . Hark , and lament her fate ; As the young God of Love one day Sate on a Rock at play , And wantonly let fly his darts Among the Nymphs and Shepherds hearts . Melantha by unhappy chance came by , Love jesting cry'd , I 'le make her prove The Godhead , she contemn'd , of Love . In scorn she bad him strike and did his shaft defy , While the Boy slightly threw a dart To wound , but not destroy , her Heart , But greedy Death , fond of this Beauteous prey , Caught the swift Arrow as it flew , And added to 't his own strength too , Which made so deep a wound , that , as she lay , In silent sighs she breath'd her Soul away . Then all the little Gods begun to weep , Oh let your sighs with theirs due measure keep : For fair Melantha she is dead . Her Beauteous Soul to Deaths dark Empire 's fled . Flora , the Bounteous Goddess of the Plains , Who in fresh Groves and sweetest Meadows raigns , Hearing the fair Melantha dead , Brought all her Odorous wealth to spread Over the grave where she was laid . Then straight the Infant Spring began to fade , And all the Fields where she did keep , And fold her bleating Flocks of Sheep , Their influence lost , with her fair Eyes , decayed ; For fair Melantha , by whose cruel pride So many sad despairing Swains had dy'd , Felt Love at last , but death she rather chose Than own she Lov'd , or the hid flame disclose . Speak , Muses , for you hold immortal state With Gods and know the Mysteries of fate , You all what ever 's past or present see , And read the unwritten Pages o're Of times great Chronicle before Events , and time , had writ what fate resolv'd shou'd be . Tell me , what Beauty is , whose force controuls Reason and Power , and over mankind rules : Kings stoop to Beauty and the Crowns they wear Shine not with so much lustre , as the fair . Beauty a larger Empire do's command Than the great Monarch of the Seas and Land . She can the coldest Anchorits inflame , Cool Tyrants rage , and stroke their passions tame . She can call youth to her forsaken seat In wither'd Veines , and give new life and heat . She can subdue the fierce , the proud , and strong , Give courage to the weak , the fearful ▪ and the young . Beauty , the only Deity , we know , With fear and aw we to her Altars go , And there our purest zeal of Prayers , and vows , bestow . Sure then it onely seems to dy , And when it leaves us , mounts above To the Eternal roof of Jove , To be a Constellation and inrich the Sky , But shou'd I search the spangled sphear For Metamorphets Beauty there , Nothing of Helen now is seen , Nor the fair Egyptian Queen : Or thou , whose Eyes were constellations here , Oh then thy fate we can't enough deplore With thee thy Beauty dy'd and 't is no more , Then let us give Melantha's fate ' its due ; Strew Cyprus on her Hearse , and wreaths of Yew , For fair Melantha , poore Melantha's dead , Her sighing Soul to deaths eternal Empire 's fled .

To the NIGHTINGAL coming in the Spring . To invite Cloe from the Tumults of the Town to the innocent retreat in the Country . Written by a Person of Quality in 1680. LIttle Songster , who do'st bring Ioy and Musick to the Spring , Welcome to our grateful Swains , And the Nymphs , that grace the Plains . How the Youths thy absence mourn ? What their Joy at thy return ? For their mirth and sports are done All the year that thou art gone , But at thy approach , their joys Take new date from thy dear voyce . Every Shepherd chuses then Some fair Nymph for Valentine . While the Maid with equal Love Do's the happy choyce approve : Underneath some shade he sits , Where soft silence Love begets And in Artless sighs he beares Untaught passion to her Eares , No deceit is in his Tongue , Nor she fears , nor suffers wrong ; But each others faith believe , And each hour their Loves revive . Often have I wisht to be , Happy Damon , blest as thee , Not that I for Silvia pine , Silvia , who is onely thine , But that Cloe cannot be Kind , as Silvia is to thee . Thou , dear Bird , whose voice may find Charms perhaps to make her kind , Bear a message to her Breast , And make me happy as the rest . [ London in the Plot. time . ] In the Place where Tumult dwells , Treasons Lurk , Ambition swells , Pride erects her monstrous head , And Perjury swears the guiltless , dead , Powr oppresses , envy pines , Friends betray , and fraud designs . Fears and Jealousie surprise Rest and slumber from our Eyes , And where vice all Ill contains , And in gloomy glory reigns ; Where the Loyal , Brave and Just Are victims to Phanatick Lust , Where the noble Staffords blood Calls from Heaven Revenge aloud . In this place there lives a Maid , Bright as nature ever made . Fair beyond dull Beauties name Can express her lovely frame . In her charming Eyes reside Love , disdain , desire , and pride . Such , we know not which to call , But has the excellence of all . The first blushes of the Day Or the new-blown Rose in May , Or the Rich Sidonian dy Wrought for Eastern Majesty , Is not gayer than the Red , Nature on her cheeks has spread . Her soft Lips still feed new wishes Of a thousand fancy'd kisses . Gently swelling , plump and round , With young smiles ▪ and graces crown'd ; Her round Breasts are whiter far Than the backs of Ermins are . Or the wanton Breast of Jove , When a Swan for Leda's Love . Eyes that charm when e're they Dart , And never miss the destin'd heart . Woud'st thou have me tell thee more , And describe her Beauties o're ; I perhaps might make a Rape On my Ideas naked shape , Therefore fly , you 'l quickly see By this Picture which is Shee . Tell her the loud winds are Dumb , Winter's past and Spring is come , The delightful Spring ! that reigns Sweets and plenty o're the Plains . And with shady Garlands crown'd All the Woods and Groves around . If she see the wing'd Quire , Chuse this season to retire To the shelter of the Grove , 'T is by Instinct ( say ) of Love . If she see the Herds and Flocks Wanton round the Meads and Rocks , Thus their wishing Males to move , 'T is the Instinct ( say , ) of Love . If she see the Bull among Crowds of Femals sleek and young , Fight His Rival of the Drove , 'T is by Instinct ( say , ) of Love . If she see the blooming vines , In their season , fold their twines Round the Oake that neer her grows , Say , 't is nature mixt their boughs : Then if Instinct these do move , We by reason ought to Love . Tell the fair one , every day Youth and Beauty steale away , And within a little space Will destroy her charming face . Every grace and smile , that lyes Languishing in Lips and Eyes , First he 'l make his prey , and then , Leave to Death , what do's remain . Who old Time do's only send To begin what he must end . If she ask , what hour and place , Where and when , Time wounds the face ? Say , it is not in the Night , Nor when Day renews her light . In the Morning , or at noon . Or at Evening when alone , Or when entertained at home , Or abroad this hour will come , But swift time is always by , First to perfect , then destroy . And in vain you seek a cure Since his wounds are every hour : Bid her view Aurelia's brow , Naked of her Glories now , Yet she once cou'd charm the throng , Conquering with her Eyes and tongue . Now , only's left this weak relief , ( To support her years and grief , ) When she cou'd she us'd her prime And enjoy'd the fruitis of time : And where ever she profest Love , or hate , she kill'd , or blest . While the neighbouring Plains were fill'd With their names she Lov'd and kill'd . Oh , when youth and Beautie 's past , That poor pleasure that do's last Is to think they were admir'd , And by every youth desir'd , While the Dotage of each Swain She return'd with scorn again . Oh then let my Cloe know , When her youth is faded so , And a race of Nymphs appears , Gay and sprightly in their years , Proud and wanton in their Loves , While the Shepherds of the Groves Strive with Presents who shall share Most the favors of the fair ; And herself she do's behold Like Aurelia now grown old , Sighing to herself she 'l say I was once ador'd , as they ! Yet with Pleasure think , that she Lov'd and was belov'd by me . Therefore bid her haste and prove , While she may , the joys of Love . I will lead her to a soyle Where perpetual Summers smile , Without Autumn which bereaves Fairest Cedars of their leaves ; Where she shall behold the Meads Ever Green , the Groves with Shades : Lasting Flowrs the banks shall wear , And Birds shall warble all the year . Where the rustick swain do's ow Nothing to the Spade and Plow . For their Harvest , natures care Without toyle relieves 'em there , And no differing seasons bring Changes to the constant Spring . In the Morn she shall awake With the noyse the Shepherds make , Cheering , with the Ecchoing sounds Of their Horns , the eager Hounds . Nymphs , as well as Shepherds too In these Groves the chase persue . While at their backs their flowing hair Loosely wantons in the Air ; Guilded Quivers on their thighs , With Darts less fatal than their Eyes . Each the others sloth do's blame , While they seek the Hart for game . Who , poor Fool , his Feet employs And thr'ow Woods and dales he flys . Over plains and Rivers bounds , And out-flies the Winds and Hounds . When perhaps some Nymph , whose Eyes Makes both men and Beast her Prize , Swifter than Camilla's pace Soon o'retakes the winged race , And with one bright Glance she wounds , And his fancy'd hope confounds . Who , reflecting his faint Eyes On her Face , with pleasure dy's . When the sports are done , they rest Underneath some shade , and feast On sweet Beds of Violets crown'd With sweet Roses on the ground . Where they Garlands weave and Poses Of Green Mirtle , Pinks and Roses : For which grace the ravisht Swains Pay soft kisses for their Pains . Thus they Dally till the Light Falls behind the Scene of Night .

A PASTORAL On the Marriage of the right Honourable the Earle of Ossery to the Lady Mary Somerset . In a Dialogue between Damon and Menalcas , written by Mr. Edmond Arwaker . M. A. Damon . WHat mighty Joy affects Menalca's breast , Who 's Extasie is in his face exprest ? Sure his Laurinda now to smile begins , Or his full Ews increase his Flocks with twins . Men. Laurinda's frowns or smiles are now despis'd , Far less her favors than this bliss are pris'd . And all my Ews henceforth may barren be , 'T is wealth enough this happy day to see . Dam. What has this day produc'd to make it blest ? Men. Joy too transporting to be well exprest ! Joys which to Damon should not be unknown , Since they concern the lovely Celladon . Dam. The lovely Celladon ! ah courteous swain ! Repeat and bless me with that name again ! Say , what new Triumph , what deserv'd success , Do the large volume of his fame encrease : Has he at wrastling purchas 't more Renown Or won some other Race and weares the Crown ! Men. He has , and justly , won a Nobler Prize , The Dazling Joy of all beholders Eyes , For what can Heav'n inlarge to him beside , Now the admir'd Clorinda is his bride . Dam. Clorinda , his ? then for this happy day A sacrifice of six choyce Lambs I 'le pay , That Ewe with twins shall recompence thy news , Or , cull my Flocks , and , what thou fancyest , chuse , I 'm so o're joy'd that should'st thou take 'em all , I still shall think it a reward too small . Men. The Gods do merit sacrifice , 't is true , But the bright pair deserve an offering too ; To them we 'll now an humble Tribute bring : Clorinda you , I Celladon will sing . Dam. 'T is well propos'd , and now the Song begin . Men. Then rouse , my Muse , and let thy subject be Gay , soft , and fair , yet lofty too as he ; To Celladon thy verse is justly due , Thou learn'd thy Art , whence his first Honours grew ▪ From his great Ancestors magnificence , And ow'st thy growth to that blest influence : Then what that gave , thou must return again , And to his service consecrate thy pen. Young Celladon , the glory of our Plains , Joy of the Nymphs and envy of the Swains ; Whose charming voyce each melting passion moves As gentle Zephyrs bend the yeilding Groves . To him the Nymphs their easy hearts resign , For him despairing Shepherdesses pine . Serene his face , as a rejoycing sky , And Glorious , as a rising Sun , his Eye . Dam. Sweet , as a blooming Spring , Clorinda's face , More sooth and clear than her own chrystal Glass ; For her with folded Armes and heads hung low The hopeless Shepherds vent their restless woe ; While o're the Plains their flocks neglected stray , As in loves maze themselves have lost the way . But she do's all for Celladon despise , And at his heart alone , the noblest Prize , She darts the poynted Glories of her Eyes . Men. The God of Love had not another Dart , Able to peirce the wondrous Shepherds heart . Had he alone attack't th' Heroick Swain The mighty Conqueror had been captive ta'ne , For Celladon inur'd to wars Alarms And , thô all peaceful , takes delight in Arms , Best pleas'd when most expos'd , with noble heat He danger seeks and dares the hand of Fate . Once he persu'd it to a foreign shore , Where his great Fathers name was fear'd before . France . But all the damage by that terror done Has ample reparation from the Son : The favor , they from his Access receiv'd , Aton'd for routed Troops and Towns releiv'd . Monts . Not only glory did engage his Sword , Duty unsheath'd it too to serve his Lord . When bold Rebellion did the Throne invade With broken faith , and fortune for ' its aid . The Western War . With early zeal the Shepherd did appear ; His valor now had found' its proper sphear : Call'd to the Battle by these loud Alarms . He broke away even from Clorindas Armes . Death , in the Royal cause had more , than Beauty , charms . Dam. He left Clorinda's Armes but not her heart , There he was still , nor thence cou'd ever part : That , to the bloody field marcht bravely out , And there with pious prayers and wishes fought . While she at home was never free from fear , For the rich venture she had trusted there ; Yet hop't him safe in her great Fathers care . Nor could she justly any danger dread For him who fought along with Diomed : Duke of Beaufort Eternal Laurels Crown that happy name , The dear , the sweet , the noble theme of fame ; To all his proofes of Loyalty before The glorious Hero still is adding more . Firme to his Prince and faithful to his trust And daring to be hazardously just : Profuse of Life in his great Masters cause , And better pleas'd with service than applause . Some happy Muse , worthy a Theme so great , In lofty strains thy fame shall celebrate . Whose noble blood , which no corruption stains , Gives the rich Tincture to Clorinda's veines . Men. While Diomede with Armes protects the Throne , Nestor with Councel do's support the Crown ; Duke of Ormond . Nestor , no less couragious still than wise , And able once to act as to advise . Nestor , the partner of his Master's fate , Did all his injuries participate , When usurpation banisht him the Throne , Nestor indur'd not he shou'd go alone , His Kingdom lost , and loyal subjects few , Himself a King in Nestors heart he knew ; The Monarchy for which he was design'd Was there preserv'd as thither 't was confin'd . Nor were his limits scant , for his large soul Has ' its unbounded sphear above the pole . One subject of such vast Magnificence Might make at any time a Glorious Prince . But time sits heavy on his shoulders now , And his declining head begins to bow ; Yet still so gracefully he treads the stage , He makes th' admiring World in love with age , Long may he cause their wonder and delight , Long be his day and far remote his night , The night , when he to us shall disappear , Call'd hence to gild some other Hemisphear . Excellent Prince ! in whom the World do's see A Species of untainted Loyalty . May Heav'n indulge our wishes long in thee , But if the fates deny this bliss to give , The Phaenix will in Celladon revive : To him our Homage we must then transfer , As much thy virtues , as thy fortunes , Heir . Dam. See , Swain , the Sun exalts his shining head , Brisk as a Bridegroom from Aurora's Bed , While , like a blushing Bride , the dawning morn Do's in her Gay attire herself adorn . 'T is time the lovely pair , like them , shou'd rise , And we their presence want to bless our Eyes ; The expecting World ' its patience has outstay'd , Le ts hast and wake 'em with a serinade .

A Song . AH ! Blame me not , if no despair , A passion you inspire , can end . Nor think it strange , too charming fair , If Love , like other flames , ascend . If to approach a Saint with Prayer Unworthy votarys pretend , Above all merit Heaven and you To the Sincere only are due . Long did respect awe my proud aim And fear t' offend the madness cover , Like you it still reproves my flame And in the friend wou'd hide the Lover . But by things that want a name I the too bold truth discover . My words in vain are in my pow'r My looks betray me every hour .

A PASTORAL On the Death of His late Majesty written by Mr. Otway . WHat horrors this that dwells upon the Plain , And thus disturbs the Shepherds peaceful Reign ? A dismal sound breaks thro' the yeilding air Forewarning us somedreadful storm is neer , The bleating flocks in wild confusion stray The early Larks forsake their wandring way And cease to welcome in the new-born day . Each Nymph possest with a distracted fear Disorder'd hangs her loose dishevell'd hair , Diseases with her strong convulsions reign , And deities not known before to pain Are now with Apoplectick seizures slain : Hence flow our sorrows , hence increase our fears Each humble plant do's drop her silver tears . Ye tender Lambs stray not so fast away , To weep and mourn let us together stay , O're all the universe let it be spread That now the Shepherd of the flock is dead . The Royal Pan , that shepherd of the sheep , He , who to leave his flock did dying weep , Is gone , ah gone , ne're to return from deaths Eternal sleep . Begin , Damela , let thy numbers fly Aloft , where the safe milkey way does ly , Mop'sus who Daphnis to the Stars did sing Shall joyn with you and hither waft our King . Play gently on your Reeds a mournful strain And tell in notes thro' all th' Arcadian Plain The Royal Pan , the Shepherd of the sheep He who to leave his Flock did dying weep Is gone ! is gone , ne're to return from death's eternal sleep .

SONG . NO more will I my Passion hide Tho' too presuming it appear , When long despair a heart has try'd What other torment can it fear ? Unlov'd of her I would not live Nor dy till she the sentence give . Why shou'd the fair offended be If vertue charm in Beauty's dress : If where so much divine I see My open vows the Saint confess . Awak'd by wonders in her Eyes My former Idols I despise .

Strephons complaint banisht from Sacarisa . HOW long shall I thus live condemn'd to mourn In vain my Sacarisa's cruel scorn ? For ever let these Eyes be shut to light , Since the bright Nymph has robb'd me of her sight All other objects dull and useless grow No more their wonted form of colour shew . In glooming shades may I for ever live Sad as my sorrows , silent as my grave . Since Sacarisa's Eyes withdraw their light Darkness to me is Day , the Morning Night . No more the Sun , the Worlds majestick Eye , Shall dart his golden Beams thrô th' Azure Sky : Let sullen darkness on the Earth display His sable wings t' eclips the hated day As when in Chaos , uncreated night Sat Brooding on the seeds of Infant-light , And no kind Beams did on the surface play Till the Sun rose and made a perfect day ; So till my Nymph brings back her sparkling light Darkness to me is Day , the Morning Night .

An Elegie written by Mr. W. O. Damon , and Thirsis . Dam. WElcome , dear Thirsis far above , The sweetest Emphasis of Love . More welcome than the fairest Dame That ever crost this awful Plain , With all her tender Virgin Train . Thirs . I thank thee , Shepherd , for thy Love , But how canst thou so soon remove The Passion which inrag'd thy brest , And kept thy better part from rest ? Dam. Believe me , Thirsis , for t is true They that Love long are very few , I pip'd , I sung , I liv'd in pain , In hope the Shepherdess to gain ; Now vain my sute , in vain I cry , I sigh in vain , unhappy me , Condemn'd to such a Destinie Only to see the once lov'd Deitie . Thirs . Tell me , Damon , prithee do , Who 's this Nymph that grieves thee so , By great Pan's all sacred name The wildest heart for thee i 'le tame : Dam. Oh my friend ! she 's gone too far , Thou can'st not reach the charming fair : She 's fled into the wisht for place , Where Love is acted o're in every grace . Thirs . What s her name ? I can't contain , My blood runs swift in every veine . I 'le ravage all the Woods and Groves , Th' intreguing Court for billing Lov 's : No pains nor toyle for thee I 'le spare , Come — let me know the cruel fair . Dam. Phillis , the Glory of our Isle , Who charm'd my Soul with every smile , Ah shee ! the lovely torturing maid H 'as now my heart , my all , betray'd ; And my adoring Love with scorn repaid . Unhappy swain ! dejected and forlorn , Ah me ! how sadly am I left alone , To envy those Transporting charms She yeilds up to my happy Rivals Armes . Thirs . I le go — Dam. Stay , Shepherd , t is in vain to try To disappoint the Nuptial tye . No , no , she s gone to make my Rival blest , And left her Image only in my brest . Hence forth in Lovers tales let it be said , That thy poor friend , thy Damon , dy'd a maid . While no one part of me remains with her , But constant wishes and this humble Pray'r . Fairest of Nymphs — May all your Glorys , like the youthful Sun , Beame forth and in their purest lustre Burn. May all your days be as a day of bliss , And all your sorrows close still with a kiss ; Happy the God , that succor'd your desire , And set the Hymenean Lamp on fire : May he in whole blest Armes you slumbringly , Be sensible of the vast envyed joy , While I who lost you lay me down and dy .

A PINDARICK To Mrs. Behn on her Poem on the Coronation . Written by a Lady . HAil , thou sole Empress of the Land of wit , To whom all conquer'd Authors must submit , And at thy feet their fading Laurels lay , The utmost tribute that a Muse can pay , To thy unlabour'd Song o' th' Coronation day . The subject was Divine we all confess , Nor was that flame , thy mighty fancy , less . That cloth'd thy thought in such a pleasing dress , As did at once a Masculine wit express , And all the softness of a Femal tenderness . No more shall men their fancy'd Empire hold , Since thou Astrea form'd of finer mould , By nature temper'd more with humid cold , Doth man excel — Not in soft strokes alone , but even in the bold . And as thy purer Blood , Thrô more transparent vessels is convey'd Thy spirits more fine and subtil do thy brain invade . And nimbler come uncall'd unto thy aide ; So the gay thought — Which thy still flowing fancy does inspire New , uncontroul'd , and warm , as young desire , Have more of kindling heat and fiercer fire ; Not to be reach't , or prays'd , unless by such As the same happy temperament possess ; Since none with equal numbers can reward thy Lays , May the just Monarch , which you praise , Daine to acknowledg this . Not with a short applause of crackling Bays But a return that may revive thy days ; And thy well-meaning grateful loyal Muse Cherisht by that blest theam its zeale did chuse . Maist thou be blest with such a sweet retreat , That with contempt thou maist behold the great ; Such as the mighty Cowlys well-known seat . Whose lofty Elms I wou'd have all thy own , And in the mid'st a spacious shady Throne , Rais'd on a Mount that shou'd Parnassus be , And every Muse included all in thee . On whose coole top alone thou shoud'st dispense The Laws of Wit , Love , Loyalty and Sense : The new Arcadia shou'd the Grove be nam'd And for the guift our grateful Monarch fam'd . Amidst the shade , I 'd wish a well built House , Like Sidneys Noble Kalendar shou'd stand , Raising its head and all the rest command . It s out-side gay , its inside clean and neat With all of lifes conveniencies replete , Where all the Elements at once conspire To give what mans necessities require , Rich soyle , pure Aire , streams coole , and useful fire . The fertil spot with pleasure shou'd abound And with Elizium-Spring be ever crown'd . When thou thy mind unbend'st from thoughtful hours , Then shou'dst thou be refresht with Fruits and Flowrs , The Gods and Nymphs of Woods and Springs Shall Dance in Antique Rural Rings : While scaly Trytons and grim Satyrs play Such Tunes , as Birds compose , to welcome day . Till the glad noyse to distant shores resound , And flying Birds joyn in th' Harmonious sound . Which listning Echo's catch at the rebound . Here without toyle , or pining want perplext Thy Body easy and thy mind at rest , With all Lifes valu'd pleasures blest , Thy largest wishes still thou shoud'st enjoy Inviron'd with delights that ne're can cloy . Accept , thou much lov'd Sappho of our Isle , This hearty wish , and grace it with a smile , When thou shalt know that thy Harmonious Lire Did me , the meanest of thy sex , inspire . And that thy own unimitable lays Are cause alone that I attempt thy praise . Which in unequal measure I rehearse Because unskill'd in numbers Grace , or Verse ; Great Pindars flights are fit alone for thee , The witty Horace's Iambicks be Like Virgils lofty strains , alas too hard for me . And if enough this do not plead excuse , Pity the failings of a Virgin Muse. That never in this kind before essai'd , Her Muse till now was , like her self , — a Maid . Whose Blooming labours thus she dedicates to you , A Tribute justly to your merits due ; At least her part of gratitude to pay For that best Song o' th' Coronation day . How bad wou'd the Ill-natur'd World requite Thy noble labours if they do not write , Who have , perhaps , been happy in this kind To own thou 'st now out-done all that they e're design'd . Sure none with malice e're was so accurst , This to deny but will with envy burst , Since even thy own more envious sex agree The glorious theam had right alone from thee ; The femal Writers thou hast all excell'd , Since the first mother of mankind rebell'd .

To Mr. Wolseley on his Preface to Valentinian . By a Lady of Quality . TO you , the generous task belongs alone To clear the injur'd and instruct the Town : Where , but in you is found a mind so brave To stretch the bounds of Love beyond the grave ? Anger may last , but friendships quickly dy , For anxious thoughts are longer-liv'd than joy . Yet those , whom active fancies have misled So far as to assault the mighty dead ; Now , taught by your reproofes a noble shame , Will strive by surer ways to raise their fame . But from our sex what praise do you deserve ? We by your help may all our rights preserve , While others rob the Deities they serve , For never sacriledge cou'd greater be Than to steal Honour from a Deitie . Such are the paths to fame , in which you tread , You bafle envy , while you nobly aide The helpless living and more helpless dead .

Mr. Wolsely's Answer to the forgoing Copy . WHile soaring high above Orinda's flights , Equal to Sappho fam'd Urania writes ; And feareless of an Host of byast men In my defence draws her all-conquering pen. While forcing every caviller to submit , Her approbation stamps my question'd wit . And a new way , by all the Nine inspir'd , Commending mine she makes her own admir'd . While that kind Balme's restoring virtue cures The Criticks bite and lasting life assures . Delight extream rewarding all my pain , Spirits my genius and improves my vein . A useful pride the unhop'd Honour brings , Like that which from a sense of virtue springs . While thro her Sexes finer mould she pours Thoughts of the substance and the strength of ours . And in her draughts , grac'd with a sweeter Air , The Poet borrows softness from the fair : While with a wit that does the Age surprise , Just as her heart and powerful as her Eyes , My Panegyrick's fame she do's intend , Her easyer turn instructs me how to mend , Her still-fresh flights inriching every Theam Flow equal , like a smooth untroubl'd stream , Whose cheerful current , without tides is strong And thrô green Meadows purling glides along . How rare is praise in fitting words exprest With judgment heighten'd and with skill addrest Those who deserve it most can give it best . How flat and tastless is a fool's applause , Whose want of knowledge do's his wonder cause ? More fulsom is the fawning of a knave Whose narrow mind his little ends enslave : Whose Pen for ever fear and int'rest guide Whom each his stage which like contemning Pride All wealthy fops and prosperous villains ride ; Who can to none but fortune faithful be , False to desert , and Prostitute as she . But just Urania , truth and virtues friend , Quick to discern , and sparing to commend , Whom in-born worth above mean aimes does raise Can no more give than need such hackney Bays . Her mind to Earth , wits rightful Soveraign came , By Heaven instructed to distribute fame ; What Stoick soul has temper to refuse Th' uncommon favors of so chast a Muse ? While her soft strain , in which no toyl appears , With divine Musick bribes our ravisht eares . And her wit varying a thousand ways With that strong Philtre baits her powrful praise , Her flowing lines such skilful measures bound , The sense is not more charming than the sound : So does her verse in words well-plac'd and chose Her rich Invention's beauteous store disclose . As calm Favonius with his gentle wing Opens the Flowers and spreads the sweets of spring . When stopt by Trees , chance into arbour weaves His murmuring voyce , some Lovers care deceives , And breathing Roses whistles thrô the leaves When thus like Her 's which no rich Rogue can share Praise comes both from the knowing and sincere , Just is the pride , as the delight is rare . Like Hope , it flatters ; like Ambition , warms ; And like a Lovers happy moment , charms . When first to ease the long unpitied swain His cruel fair confesses equal pain , When first he sees within her kindling Eyes A guilty care and Bashful sweetness rise . Oft when perplext with timorous doubts unrest , I read her praise in which my Muse is drest With all the grace and all the power of Poetry exprest . Raptures so strong my happier thoughts employ , As pain perception , and oppress with Joy . The rich Ragoust , wit 's too profuse expence , A flavor gives that conquers human sense ; A tast too high for weak man to digest , Ambrosia 't is , on which Immortals feast , The Fruit of life's fair Tree to Martyrs given When fin'd from flesh and purg'd of Earths dull Leaven Their frames can bear the Luxury of Heaven . Cease England , thy late loss so high to rate , Here learn thy mighty sorrow to abate , By her instructive gentle song half reconcil'd to fate . Your tender moan , you tuneful Nine give o're , Lament your darling Bion's death no more . In her lov'd Lays his better part survives , He dyes not all , while soft Urania lives . Her Heaven has warm'd , with the same pleasing fires The Earl of Rochester , her Uncle , In her like nobleblood , like noble thoughts inspires . His perishing goods to others let him leave , To Her his deathless Pen he did bequeave ; And if my humble Muse , whose luckless strain Was us'd alone of Beauty to complain And sing in melancholy notes love's unregarded pain , Rais'd by that theme , above her usual height Cou'd clear his fame , or do his virtue right , How well do's she the trifling debt acquit , She whose resembling Genius shews her fit To be his sole Executrix in wit .

On the Honourable Sir Francis Fane , on his Play call'd the Sacrifice . by Mrs. A. B. LOng have our Priests condemn'd a wicked Age , And every little criticks sensless rage Damn'd a forsaken self-declining stage : Great 't is confest and many are our crimes , And no less profligate the vitious times , But yet no wonder both prevail so ill , The Poets fury and the Preachers skill ; While to the World it is so plainly known They blame our faults , with greatones of their own , Let their dull Pens flow with unlearned spight And weakly censure what the skilful write ; You , learned Sir , a nobler passion shew , Our best of rules and best example too . Precepts and grave instructions dully move , The brave Performer better do's improve , Ver'st in the truest Satyr you excel And shew how ill we write by writing well . This noble Piece which well deserves your name I read with pleasure thô I read with shame . The tender Laurels which my brows had drest Flag , like young Flowers , with too much heat opprest . The generous fire I felt in every line Shew'd me the cold , the feeble , force of mine . Henceforth I 'le you for imitation chuse Your nobler flights will wing my Callow Muse ; So the young Eagle is inform'd to fly By seeing the Monarch Bird ascend the sky . And thô with less success her strength she 'l try , Spreads her soft plumes and his vast tracks persues Thô far above the towring Prince she views : High as she can she 'll bear your deathless fame , And make my song Immortal by your name . But where the work is so Divinely wrought , The rules so just and so sublime each thought , When with so strict an Art your scenes are plac'd With wit so new , and so uncommon , grac'd , In vain , alas ! I shou'd attempt to tell Where , or in what , your Muse do's most excel . Each character performs its noble part , And stamps its Image on the Readers heart . In Tamerlan you a true Hero drest , A generous conflict wars within his breast , This there the mightyest passions you have shew'd By turns confest the Mortal and the God . When e're his steps approach the haughty fair He bows indeed but like a Conqueror , Compell'd to Love yet scorns his servial chain , In spight of all you make the Monarch reign . But who without resistless tears can see The bright , the innocent , Irene die : Axalla's life a noble ransom paid , In vain to save the much-lov'd charming maid , Nought surely cou'd but your own flame inspire Your happy Muse to reach so soft a fire . Yet with what Art you turn the pow'rful stream When trecherous Ragallzan is the theam : You mix our different passions with such skill , We feel 'em all and all with pleasure feel . We love the mischief , thô the harms we grieve , And for his wit the villain we forgive . In your Despina all those passions meet , Which womans frailties perfectly compleat . Pride and Revenge , Ambition , Love and Rage , At once her wilful haughty Soul engage ; And while her rigid Honour we esteem , The dire effects as justly must condemn . She shews a virtue so severely nice As has betray'd it to a pitch of vice . All which confess a God-like pow'r in you Who cou'd form woman to herself so true . Live , mighty Sir , to reconcile the Age To the first glories of the useful Stage . 'T is you her rifl'd Empire may restore And give her power she ne're cou'd boast before .

Cato's Answer to Labienus , when he advis'd him to consult the Oracle of Jupiter Ammon . Being a Paraphrastical Translation of part of the 9th Bookof Lucan , beginning at — Quid quaeri , Labiene , Jubes , &c. WHat shou'd I ask my friend , which best wou'd be To live inslav'd , or thus in Armes die free ? If any force can Honour's price abate ? Or virtue bow beneath the blows of fate ? If fortunes threats a steady Soul disdains , Or if the Joys of Life be worth the pains ? If it our happiness at all import Whether the foolish scene be long , or short . If when we do but aim at noble ends The attempt alone Immortal fame attends ? If for bad accidents , which thickest press On merit , we shou'd like a good cause less ? Or be the fonder of it for success ? All this is clear , wove in our minds it sticks , Nor Ammon , nor his Priest's can deeper fix ; Without the Clergy's venal cant and pains Gods never-frustrate Will holds ours in chains , Nor can we Act but what th' All-wise ordains . Who needs no voyce , nor perishing words to aw Our wild desires , and give his creatures Law : What e're to know , or needful was or fit . In the wise frame of human souls 't is writ , Both what we ought to do , and what forbear , He once for all , did at our births declare . But never did he seek out Desart Lands To bury truth in unfrequented Sands ; Or to a corner of the World withdrew , Head of a sect and partial to a few . Nature's vast fabrick is his house alone , This Globe his foot-stool , and high Heav'n his throne . In Earth , Air , Sea , and in who e're excells In knowing heads and honest hearts he dwells ; Why seek we then among these barren sands , In narrow shrines and temples built with hands , Him whose dread presence does all places fill ? Or look but in our reason for his will ? All we e're saw is God! in all we find Apparent Prints of the eternal mind ; Let floating fools their course by Prophets steer And always of the future live in fear ; No Oracle , or Dream the crowd is told Can make me more or less resolv'd and bold . But surer death , which equally on all Both on the coward and the brave must fall . This said , and turning with disdain about , He left scorn'd Ammon to the vulgar Rout.

To his Grace the Duke of Ormond , upon his leaving the Government of Ireland . HAve we a farther trouble yet in store , And can our destinie afflict us more ? To lose our Prince we thought too great a blow , And must we lose his glorious Image too ? Ireland for more than twice seven years has bin Envy'd without , for being so blest within ; While Plague , Fire , Famin , War abroad has Reign'd , This only was the safe and happy Land ; Which happiness , great Sir , to you we owe Next to the God above and God below . The Irish Harp , which long abus'd had lain , Your skilful hand first brought in tune again . And when some others by our King were sent To play upon the noble Instrument , Such was their Ignorance , or their Error such They prov'd but foyles to your Melodious touch . Into your hands then , which before it grac'd , The noble Instrument again was plac'd . On which a long , soft tune again you play'd , When Jarring discord did all else invade , And we rejoyc'd to think you wou'd play on : But Heavens and the Kings will must still be done , While we submit as humbly to that power Which can the bliss , it takes away , restore , More we can't have , nor do we wish for more . Adieu then , much lov'd Prince , With mournful hearts we make this Prayer for you , Greatest and best of uncrown'd Heads adieu , And since you must goe hence — We 'll waft you o're with steady Gales of Prayers , And bear you on a Sea of humble tears , All the Amends which for your mighty toyle , Can be return'd by a poor widow'd Isle . Such now alas , She is , and ne're till now That Ormonds noble house did wholly from her go , Not leaving to support her mighty Mind , An Arran , or an Ossory behind . May Heavens choice blessings on 'em all attend , And bring 'em to a calm and glorious end . Glorious and calm may all their passage be As was the hour in which they put to Sea . And landed , wheresoere her Ormond goes , May England doat on him as Ireland do's .

SONG . BReak , Break , sad heart , unload thy grief , Give , give , thy sorrows way . Seek out thy only last relief , And thy hard Stars obey : Those Stars that doom thee to revere What do's themselves outshine . And plac'd her too in such a Sphear That she can ne're be mine . Because Endymion once did move Nights Goddess to come down , And listen to his tale of Love , Aim not thou idly at the Moon . Be it thy pleasure and thy Pride That wreckt on stretch't desire , Thou canst thy fiercest torments hide , And silently expire .

To Damon . To inquire of him if he cou'd tell me by the Style , who writ me a Copy of Verses that came to me in an unknown Hand , by Mrs. A. B. OH , Damon , if thou ever wers't That certain friend thou hast profest , Relieve the Pantings of my heart , Restore me to my wonted rest . Late in the Silvian Grove I sat , Free as the Air , and calm as that ; For as no winds the boughs opprest , No storms of Love were in my breast . A long Adieu I 'd bid to that Ere since Amintas prov'd ingrate . And with indifference , or disdain , I lookt around upon the Plain . And worth my favor found no sighing Swain ; But oh , my Damon , all in vain I triumph'd in security , In vain absented from the Plain . The wanton God his Power to try In lone recesses makes us yeild , As well as in the open feild ; For where no human thing was found My heedless heart receiv'd a wound Assist me , Shepherd , or I dye , Help to unfold this Mystery . No Swain was by , no flattering Nymph was neer , Soft tales of Love to whisper to my Ear. In sleep , no Dream my fancy fir'd With Images , my waking wish desir'd . No fond Idea fill'd my mind ; Nor to the faithless sex one thought inclin'd ; I sigh'd for no deceiving youth , Who forfeited his vows and truth ; I waited no Assigning Swain Whose disappointment gave me pain . My fancy did no prospect take Of Conquest 's I design'd to make . No snares for Lovers I had laid , Nor was of any snare afraid . But calm and innocent I sate , Content with my indifferent fate . ( A Medium , I confess , I hate . ) For when the mind so cool is grown As neither Love nor Hate to own , The Life but dully lingers on . Thus in the mid'st of careless thought , A paper to my hand was brought . What hidden charms were lodg'd within , To my unwary Eyes unseen , Alas ! no Human thought can guess ; But ho ! it robb'd me of my peace . A Philter 't was , that darted pain Thrô every pleas'd and trembling vein . A stratagem , to send a Dart By a new way into the heart , Th' Ignoble Policie of Love By a clandestin means to move . Which possibly the Instrument Did ne're design to that intent , But only form , and complement . While Love did the occasion take And hid beneath his flowres a snake O're every line did Poyson fling In every word he lurk't a sting . So Matrons are , by Demons charms , Thô harmless , capable of harms . The verse was smooth , the thought was fine , The fancy new , the wit divine . But fill'd with praises of my face and Eyes , My verse , and all those usual flatteries To me as common as the Air ; Nor cou'd my vanity procure my care . All which as things of course are writ And less to shew esteem than wit . But here was some strange somthing more Than ever flatter'd me before ; My heart was by my Eyes misled : I blusht and trembl'd as I read . And every guilty look confest I was with new surprise opprest . From every view I felt a pain And by the Soul , I drew the Swain . Charming as fancy cou'd create Fine as his Poem , and as soft as that , I drew him all the heart cou'd move I drew him all that women Love . And such a dear Idea made As has my whole repose betray'd . Pigmalion thus his Image form'd , And for the charms he made , he sigh'd and burn'd . Oh thou that know'st each Shepherds Strains That Pipes and Sings upon the Plains ; Inform me where the youth remains . The spightful Paper bare no name , Nor can I guess from whom it came , Or if at least a guess I found , 'T was not t' instruct but to confound .

SONG of Basset , by Sir George Ethrege . LEt Equipage and Dress despair , Since Basset is come in , For nothing can oblige the fair Like Money and Morine . Is any Countess in distress She flys not to the Beau , 'T is only Cony can redress Her grief with a Rouleau . By this bewitching Game betray'd Poor Love is bought and sold. And that which shou'd be a free Trade , Is now ingross'd by Gold . Even sense is brought into disgrace , Where company is met Or silent stands , or leaves the Place , While all the talk 's Basset . Why , Ladys , will you stake your hearts , Where a Plain cheat is found , You first are rookt out of those Darts , That gave your selves the wound . The time , which shou'd be kindly lent To plays and witty men , In waiting for a knave is spent Or wishing for a ten . Stand in defence of your own charms , Throw down this Favorite , That threatens with his dazling Arms Your Beauty and your Wit. What pity t is , those conquering Eyes , Which all the World subdue , Shou'd while the Lover gazing dyes Be only on Alpue .

To the Lord Bishop of Rochester , on His History of the Plot written by His late Majesties command . And an Apologie for these Verses call'd the Advice to a Painter , by the same Author . My Lord , WIth humble hope your goodness will excuse The hasty zeal of an aspiring Muse ; I with unequal pace your steps persue , And thought I trod securely following you , Repenting now , like Phaeton , too late I feebly sink beneath the Glorious weight . And own the work for all but you too great : The hand that rivall'd Heaven took thence its fire Er'e he the sensless Machin cou'd inspire ; And the rash Author wou'd attempt in vain , Unless he borrow'd your diviner Pen ; To imitate or praise with equal flight What only Charles cou'd Dictate , only you cou'd Write . If trouble past by repetition please , Thô meaner tongues the grateful tale reherse , What mighty Raptures must these Ills create , Which bravely , as he conquer'd , you relate ; Our joys without our sufferings had been less , And for the remedy , the wound we bless . So did not Catilines defeated rage Your much-lov'd Tullies daring Pen engage , His Rome wou'd want one Glory of his tongue , The World a Master-peece , and Fame a Song .

Upon the Arrival of his Excellency Henry Earle of Clarendon , And his entring upon the Government of Ireland , Jan : 1685/6. by a M. of A. Mart: Ep: Phosphore , redde diem , quid Gaudia noster moraris , Caesare venturo , Phosphore , redde Diem . WHen Glorious Ormond , as belov'd as Great , His gentle course of Government being run , With the Day 's ruler in the Ocean set And layd the burden of his Empire down . Like Northern Mariners , our longing Eyes A thousand times towards the East were sent , Expecting still the same bright Sun wou'd rise , And bring us back the joys that with him went . Meane while , the wisht-for blessing to ensure , Our earthly God design'd for us below , His absence that we better might endure , Two shining Planets did on us bestow . Stars to benighted Travellers still dear , Benign and Joyful , as the God of Light , Who whensoer'e together they appear , Quickly remove all terrors of the Night . Ever Immortal Castor first did shine , The Churches Angel and the kingdoms Eye , With whom our Jove did noble Pollux joyn , To share in Castor's Immortality . The Radiant pair both now and heretofore Have made us safe with their united Beam . We fear'd no Rocks , nor heard we Tempests roar , Enlighten'd once and influenc'd by them . Perhaps some noysy bug-bears of the Night Or stalking shade , which dares not see the Day May howl and menace and the feeble fright And huff the timorous — because they may . Such empty Mormo's possibly might scare The unexperienc'd Mariners awhile , But these bright Stars such happy omens are , As make the knowing at their threatnings smile . For now the shining Twins about to set Point out to us another rising Sun , Which will the fantôms of the Night defeat And make grim Specters from his presence run . Not the Illustrious Ormond , whose bright ray So long had cheer'd us , we desir'd it still . But a new Sun will walk in Ormonds way And all that Princes brave desire fulfil . Sprung from a Loyal Sire ! Renoun'd , and wise ; Akin to Princes and to Crowns allied : Whom Great men Honor and whom Good men prise . How happy are we in so blest a guide ! Hail , Glorious light ! long lookt for Sun , all Hail , Welcome as Day to Winter Passengers , Whose warm and powerful influence will not fail To raise our Spirits and repress our fears . He with wise conduct and resistless Art Will charm our foes and all our doubts will clear , Fresh vigor and new courage will impart , A frighted Church and fainting Kingdom cheer . Then , Ireland , once more lift thy drooping head , And read thy safety in thy Rulers face ; His Power which cou'd ev'n raise thee from the Dead Will soon restore thee to thy former grace . From forth an Orbe of able Statesmen chose By our discerning Monarch , wise , and just . He 's judg'd most fit thy troubles to compose , And to make good thy Princes mighty trust . Our Churches firm support , and friend he 'l prove , The Laws Instructor , Learnings Patron too , The good will cherish , and the Loyal love , All this , and more than this he 'l be , and do . Arise then , Gracious Clarendon , and sway That People who have long'd for your Arrive Who love your Person , and with joy obey Even while the God-like Ormond is alive . The Sun and you do now together get , And give new life , new influence to men , May you , ( unlike to him , ) or never set , Or like him ever rise to us agen .

A Poem against fruition written on the reading in Mountains Essay : By Alexis . AH wretched Man ! whom neither fate can please Nor Heavens indulgent to his wish can bless , Desire torments him , or fruition cloys , Fruition which shou'd make his bliss , destroys ; Far from our Eyes th' inchanting objects set Advantage by the friendly distance get . Fruition shews the cheat , and views 'em near , Then all their borrow'd splendours plain appear , And we what with much care we gain and skill An empty nothing find , or real ill . Thus disappointed , our mistaken thought , Not finding satisfaction which it sought Renews its search , and with much toyl and pain Most wisely strives to be deceiv'd again . Hurried by our fantastick wild desire We loath the present , absent things admire , Those we adore , and fair Idea's frame , And those enjoy'd we think wou'd quench the flame In vain , the Ambitious feaver still returns And with redoubled fire more fiercely burns . Our boundless vast desires can know no rest , But travel forward still and labour to be blest . Philosophers and Poets strove in vain The restless anxious Progress to restrain , And to their loss soon found their Good supream An Airy notion and a pleasing Dream . For happiness is no where to be found , But flys the searcher , like enchanted ground . Are we then masters or the slaves of things ? Poor wretched vassalls , or terrestial Kings ? Left to our reason , and by that betray'd , We lose a present bliss to catch a shade . Unsatisfy'd with Beauteous natures store The universal Monarch Man is only poor .

To Alexis in Answer to his Poem against Fruition . ODE . by Mrs. B. AH hapless sex ! who bear no charms , But what like lightning flash and are no more , False fires sent down for baneful harms , Fires which the fleeting Lover feebly warms And given like past Beboches o're , Like Songs that please , ( thô bad , ) when new , But learn'd by heart neglected grew . In vain did Heav'n adorn the shape and face With Beautyes which by Angels forms it drew : In vain the mind with brighter Glories Grace , While all our joys are stinted to the space Of one betraying enterview , With one surrender to the eager will We 're short-liv'd nothing , or a real ill . Since Man with that inconstancy was born , To love the absent , and the present scorn . Why do we deck , why do we dress For such a short-liv'd happiness ? Why do we put Attraction on , Since either way t is we must be undon ? They fly if Honour take our part , Our Virtue drives 'em o're the field . We lose 'em by too much desert , And Oh! they fly us if we yeild . Ye Gods ! is there no charm in all the fair To fix this wild , this faithless , wanderer . Man ! our great business and our aim , For whom we spread our fruitless snares , No sooner kindles the designing flame , But to the next bright object bears The Trophies of his conquest and our shame : Inconstancy's the good supream The rest is airy Notion , empty Dream ! Then , heedless Nymph , be rul'd by me If e're your Swain the bliss desire ; Think like Alexis he may be Whose wisht Possession damps his fire ; The roving youth in every shade Has left some sighing and abandon'd Maid , For t is a fatal lesson he has learn'd , After fruition ne're to be concern'd .

To Alexis , On his saying , I lov'd a Man that talk'd much . by Mrs. B. ALexis , since you 'l have it so I grant I am impertinent . And till this moment did not know Thrô all my life what 't was I ment ; Your kind opinion was th' unflattering glass , In which my mind found how deform'd it was . In your clear sense which knows no art , I saw the error of my Soul ; And all the feebless of my heart , With one reflection you controul , Kind as a God , and gently you chastise , By what you hate , you teach me to be wise . Impertinence , my sexes shame , ( Which has so long my life persu'd , ) You with such modesty reclaim As all the Woman has subdu'd . To so divine a power what must I owe , That renders me so like the perfect — you ? That conversable thing I hate Already with a just disdain , Who Prid 's himself upon his prate And is of word , ( that Nonsense , ) vain ; When in your few appears such excellence , They have reproacht , and charm'd me into sense . For ever may I listning sit , Thô but each hour a word be born : I wou'd attend the coming wit , And bless what can so well inform : Let the dull World henceforth to words be damn'd , I 'm into nobler sense than talking sham'd .

A PASTORAL Pindarick . On the Marriage of the Right Honourable the Earle of Dorset and Midlesex , to the Lady Mary Compton . A DIALOGUE . Between Damon and Aminta . By Mrs. Behn . Aminta . WHither , young Damon , whither in such hast , Swift as the Winds you sweep the Grove , The Amorous God of Day scarce hy'd so fast After his flying Love ? Damon . Aminta , view my Face , and thence survey My very Soul and all its mighty joy ! A joy too great to be conceal'd , And without speaking is reveal'd ; For this eternal Holyday . A Day to place i' th' Shepherds Kalendar , To stand the glory of the circling year . Let it's blest date on every Bark be set , And every Echo its dear name repeat . Let 'em tell all the neighbouring Woods and Plains , That Lysidus , the Beauty of the Swains , Our darling youth , our wonder and our Pride , Is blest with fair Clemena for a Bride . Oh happy Pair ! Let all the Groves rejoyce , And gladness fill each heart and every voyce ! Aminta . Clemena ! that bright maid for whom our Shepherds pine , For whom so many weeping Eyes decline ! For whom the Echos all complain , For whom with sigh and falling tears The Lover in his soft despairs Disturbs the Peaceful Rivers gliding stream ? The bright Clemena who has been so long The destinie of hearts and yet so young , She that has robb'd so many of content Yet is herself so Sweet , so Innocent . She , that as many hearts invades , As charming Lysidus has conquer'd maids , Oh tell me , Damon , is the lovely fair Become the dear reward of all the Shepherds care . Has Lysidus that prize of Glory won For whom so many sighing Swains must be undon ? Damon . Yes , it was destin'd from Eternity , They only shou'd each other's be , Hail , lovely pair , whom every God design'd In your first great Creation shou'd be joyn'd . Aminta . Oh , Damon , this is vain Philosophie , 'T is chance and not Divinity , That guides Loves Partial Darts ; And we in vain the Boy implore To make them Love whom we Adore . And all the other powers take little care of hearts , The very Soule 's by intr'est sway'd , And nobler passion now by fortune is betray'd ; By sad experience this I know , And sigh , Alas ! in vain because t is true . Damon . Too often and too fatally we find Portion and Joynture charm the mind , Large Flocks and Herds , and spacious Plains Becoms the merit of the Swains . But here , thô both did equally abound , 'T was youth , 't was wit , was Beauty gave the equal wound ; Their Soules were one before they mortal being found , Jove when he layd his awful Thunder by And all his softest Attributes put on , When Heav'n was Gay , and the vast Glittering Sky With Deities all wondering and attentive shone , The God his Luckyest heat to try Form'd their great Soules of one Immortal Ray , He thought , and form'd , as first he did the World , But with this difference , That from Chaos came , These from a beam , which , from his God-head hurl'd Kindl'd into an everlasting flame . He smiling saw the mighty work was good , While all the lesser Gods around him gazing stood . He saw the shining Model bright and Great But oh ! they were not yet compleat , For not one God but did the flames inspire , With sparks of their Divinest fire . Diana took the lovely Female Soul , And did its fiercer Atoms cool ; Softn'd the flame and plac'd a Chrystal Ice About the sacred Paradise , Bath'd it all or'e in Virgin Tears , Mixt with the fragrant Dew the Rose receives , Into the bosom of her untoucht leaves , And dry'd it with the breath of Vestal Prayers , Juno did great Majestick thought inspire And Pallas toucht it with Heroick fire . While Mars , Apollo , Love and Venus sate , About the Hero's Soul in high debate , Each claims it all , but all in vain contend , In vain appeal to mighty Jove , Who equal Portions did to all extend . This to the God of wit , and that to Love , Another to the Queen of soft desire , And the fierce God of War compleats the rest , Guilds it all or'e with Martial fire ; While Love , and Wit , Beauty and War exprest Their finest Arts , and the bright Beings all in Glory drest . While each in their Divine imployments strove By every charm these new-form'd l'ghts t' improve , They left a space untoucht for mightyer Love . The finishing last strokes the Boy perform'd ; Who from his Quiver took a Golden Dart That cou'd a sympathizing wound impart , And toucht 'em both , and with one flame they burn'd . The next great work was to create two frames Of the Divinest form , Fit to contain these heavenly flames . The Gods decreed , and charming Lysidus was born , Born , and grew up the wonder of the Plains , Joy of the Nymphs and Glory of the Swains . And warm'd all hearts with his inchanting strains ; Soft were the Songs , which from his lips did flow , Soft as the Soul which the fine thought conceiv'd . Soft as the sighs the charming Virgin breath'd The first dear night of the chast nuptial vow . The noble youth even Daphnis do's excel Oh never Shepherd pip'd and sung so well . Aminta . Now , Damon , you are in your proper sphear , While of his wit you give a character . But who inspir'd you a Philosopher ? Damon . Old Colin , when we oft have led our Flocks Beneath the shelter of the shad's and Rocks , While other youths more vainly spent their time , I listen'd to the wonderous Bard ; And while he sung of things sublime With reverend pleasure heard . He soar'd to the Divine abodes And told the secrets of the Gods . And oft discours'd of Love and Sympathy ; For he as well as thou and I Had sigh't for some dear object of desire ; But oh ! till now I ne're cou'd prove That secret mystery of Love ; Ne're saw two hearts thus burn with equal fire . Aminta . But , oh ! what Nymph e're saw the noble youth That was not to eternal Love betray'd ? Damon . And , oh ! what swain e're saw the Lovely maid , That wou'd not plight her his eternal faith ! Not unblown Roses , or the new-born day Or pointed Sun-beams , when they gild the skys , Are half so sweet , are half so bright and gay , As young Clemena's charming Face and Eyes ! Aminta . Not full-blown flowrs , when all their luster 's on Whom every bosom longs to wear , Nor the spread Glories of the mid-days sun Can with the charming Lysidus compare . Damon . Not the soft gales of gentle breez That whisper to the yeilding Trees , Nor songs of Birds that thrô the Groves rejoyce , Are half so sweet , so soft , as young Clemena's voyce . Aminta . Not murmurs of the Rivulets and Springs , When thrô the glades they purling glide along And listen when the wondrous shepherd sings , Are half so sweet as is the Shepherds song . Damon . Not young Diana in her eager chase When by her careless flying Robe betray'd , Discovering every charm and every Grace , Has more surprising Beauty than the brighter maid . Aminta . The gay young Monarch of the cheerful May Adorn'd with all the Trophies he has won , Vain with the Homage of the joyful day Compar'd to Lysidus wou'd be undone . Damon . Aminta , cease ; and let me hast away , For while upon this Theam you dwell , You speak the noble youth so just , so well , I cou'd for ever listning stay . Aminta . And while Clemena's praise becoms thy choyce , My Ravisht soul is fixt upon thy voyce . Damon . But see the Nymphs and dancing swains Ascend the Hill from yonder Plains , With Wreathes and Garlands finely made , To crown the lovely Bride and Bridegrooms head , And I amongst the humbler throng My Sacrifice must bring A rural Hymeneal song , Alexis he shall pipe while I will sing . Had I been blest with Flocks or Herd A nobler Tribute I 'd prepar'd , With darling Lambs the Altars I wou'd throng : But I , alas ! can only offer song . Song too obscure , too humble verse For this days glory to reherse , But Lysidus , like Heav'n , is kind , And for the Sacrifice accepts the Humble mind . If he vouchsafe to listen to my Ode He makes me happyer than a fancy'd God .

On Desire A Pindarick . By Mrs. B. WHat Art thou , oh ! thou new-found pain ? From what infection dost thou spring ? Tell me — oh ! tell me , thou inchanting thing , Thy nature , and thy name ; Inform me by what subtil Art , What powerful Influence , You got such vast Dominion in a part Of my unheeded , and unguarded , heart , That fame and Honour cannot drive yee thence . Oh! mischievous usurper of my Peace ; Oh! soft intruder on my solitude , Charming disturber of my ease , That hast my nobler fate persu'd , And all the Glorys of my life subdu'd . Thou haunt'st my inconvenient hours The business of the Day , nor silence of the night , That shou'd to cares and sleep invite , Can bid desyance to thy conquering powers . Where hast thou been this live-long Age That from my Birth till now , Thou never coud'st one thought engage , Or charm my soul with the uneasy rage That made it all its humble feebles know ? Where wert thou , oh , malicious spright , When shining Honour did invite . ? When interest call'd , then thou wert shy , Nor to my aid one kind propension brought , Nor wou'd'st inspire one tender thought , When Princes at my feet did lye . When thou coud'st mix ambition with my joy , Then peevish Phantôm thou wer 't nice and coy , Not Beauty cou'd invite thee then Nor all the Arts of lavish Men ! Not all the powerful Rhetorick of the Tongue Not sacred Wit cou'd charm thee on ; Not the soft play that lovers make , Nor sigh cou'd fan thee to a fire , Not pleading tears , nor vows cou'd thee awake , Or warm the unform'd somthing — to desire . Oft I 've conjur'd thee to appear By youth , by love , by all their powrs , Have searcht and sought thee every where , In silent Groves , in lonely bowrs : On Flowry beds where lovers wishing lye , In sheltering Woods where sighing maids To their assigning Shepherds hye , And hide their blushes in the gloom of shades Yet there , even there , thô youth assail'd , Where Beauty prostrate lay and fortune woo'd , My heart insensible to neither bow'd Thy lucky aid was wanting to prevail . In courts I sought thee then , thy proper sphear But thou in crowds we'rt stifl'd there , Int'rest did all the loving business do , Invites the youths and wins the Virgins too . Or if by chance some heart thy empire own ( Ah power ingrate ! ) the slave must be undone Tell me , thou nimble fire , that dost dilate Thy mighty force thrô every part , What God , or Human power did thee create In my , till now , unfacil heart ? Art thou some welcome plague sent from above In this dear form , this kind disguise ? Or the false offspring of mistaken love , Begot by some soft thought that faintly strove , With the bright peircing Beautys of Lysanders Eyes ? Yes , yes , tormenter , I have found thee now ; And found to whom thou dost thy being owe , 'T is thou the blushes dost impart , For thee this languishment I wear , 'T is thou that tremblest in my heart When the dear Shepherd do's appear , I faint , I dye with pleasing pain , My words intruding sighing break When e're I touch the charming swain When e're I gaze , when e're I speak . Thy conscious fire is mingl'd with my love , As in the sanctify'd abodes Misguided worshippers approve The mixing Idol with their Gods . In vain , alas ! in vain I strive With errors , which my soul do please and vex , For superstition will survive , Purer Religion to perplex . Oh! tell me you , Philosophers , in love , That can its burning feaverish fits controul , By what strange Arts you cure the soul , And the fierce Calenture remove ? Tell me , yee fair ones , that exchange desire , How t is you hid the kindling fire . Oh! wou'd you but confess the truth , It is not real virtue makes you nice : But when you do resist the pressing youth , 'T is want of dear desire , to thaw the Virgin Ice . And while your young adorers lye All languishing and hopeless at your feet , Raising new Trophies to your chastity , Oh tell me , how you do remain discreet ? How you suppress the rising sighs , And the soft yeilding soul that wishes in your Eyes ? While to th' admiring crow'd you nice are found ; Some dear , some secret , youth that gives the wound Informs you , all your virtu 's but a cheat And Honour but a false disguise , Your modesty a necessary bait To gain the dull repute of being wise . Deceive the foolish World — deceive it on , And veil your passions in your pride ; But now I 've found your feebles by my own , From me the needful fraud you cannot hide . Thô t is a mighty power must move The soul to this degree of love , And thô with virtue I the World perplex , Lysander finds the weekness of my sex , So Helen while from Theseus arms she fled , To charming Paris yeilds her heart and Bed .

SONG . By a person of Quality . AH cruel Beauty , cou'd you prove More tender or less fair . You neither wou'd provoke my Love Nor cause me to despair . But your dissembling charming Eyes My easy hope beguiles , And thô a Rock beneath'em lys The tempting surface smiles . To what your sex on ours impose My humble Love comply'd , And when my secret I disclos'd Thought modesty deny'd ; Yes sure , said I , her yeilding heart Pertakes of my desire , But nicer Honour feigns this part To hide the rising fire . Against your mind my sute I told , And slighted vows renew'd , Yet you insensibly were cold And I but vainly woo'd . Then for return a scorn prepare Or lay that frown aside , Affected coyness I can bear But hate insulting Pride .

SONG . By a person of Quality . UNder the Beams of Celia's Eyes , See the fair Shepherd panting lys , For whom all other Beauty dys ? Him thô she burn with equal fire She suffers at her feet t' expire Preferring glory to desire . Dye then , oh dye , unhappy swain , And leave her to lament in vain The cruel sports of her disdain ; You fall a Publique sacrifice Since she will weep away those Eyes By whose each look a lover dyes .

SONG . 1. by the same hand . WHen sable night had conquer'd day , And Beauteous Cynthia rose , As I in tears reflecting lay On Cloe's faithless vows . The God of Love appear'd to me To heal my wounded heart , The Influencing Deity With pleasure arm'd each Dart. Fond man , said he , here end thy wo , Till she my power and Justice know , The foolish Sex shall all do so . 2. And for thy ease , believe no bliss Is perfect without pain , The fairest Summer hurtful is Without some showrs of Rain . The Joys of Heaven who wou'd prise If men too cheaply bought , The dearest part of mortal Joys Most charming is when sought . And thô with dross true Love they pay , Those that know finest metals say , No Gold will coyn without allay . 3. But that the generous Lover may Not always sigh in vain , The cruel Nymph that kills to day To morrow shall be slain . The little God no sooner spoke , But from my sight he flew , And I that groan'd with Cloe's yoak , Found Loves revenge was true . Her proud hard heart too late did turn ; With fiercer flames than mine did burn ; While I as much began to scorn .

A Pastoral Song on the late King . WHy , Phillis , in this mournful dress , Ah! why so full of Tears , These sighs , my dearest Shepherdess , Suit not thy tender years . Thy sheep lye panting on the plain Not one of them will feed ; Thy Lambs in peircing crys complain Whence , whence , does this proceed ? Ah , Strephon , we are all undone , With trembling voyce , she said , The best of Men to Heaven is gone , The great Amintor's dead . What will become of thou and I , Of these dear Flocks that moan , They will be Stole , and we shall dye , Now wise Amintor's gone ? Best blessings rest upon his Soul , The Loyal Swain reply'd , Yet let this thought thy greif controul , Pan does for us provide ; And thô the brave Amintor's gone , Alexis does remain , Since he is left we 're not undone , Nor ought we to complain . In him our loss is made amends , He 'll us in safty keep From whigish Swains he 'll us defend , From the French Fox our Sheep ; Then cheer thy Flocks and weep no more , But stop that pious tide , With Voice and Pipe lets Pan adore , For sending such a guide .

The Departure . [ by Damon : Nouem. 78. ] I Never knew what 't was to mourn , Ere the too hasty glass had run Which measur'd every thought of mine : Still as I offer'd at Loves shrine My heart a bleeding Sacrifice , The conquest of Aminta's Eyes . Those shining objects of my Love , How did the searching passion rove , O're all my soul its quickning fire Melted my heart with soft desire , While my Aminta blest this plain , I never felt another pain Than Love ; which always do's belong To the gentle Amorous throng ; But now — Oh! wonder not , great God of Love , If the strong passion cease to move Within my soul ; Aminta's gone , And left me here to sigh alone . How vain do's the vast Globe appear No sweetning pleasures can live here , While bright Aminta is not neer . No warbling notes which fill the Wood , Nor murmurs which the streams afford , Can raise in me that harmony Which ravisht with such extasie . When the fair she approacht , each charm Guarded my humble soul from harm , Nothing can now transport or cheer A tortur'd soul that 's fill'd with fear ; Since lov'd Aminta quits the place , Which she with Innocence did Grace . Then will I wander to some Grove Where I 'le lament my absent Love , And with cold Winter still complain Till the lost spring return again .

To Amintas , Upon reading the Lives of some of the Romans , by Mrs. B. HAd'st thou , Amintas , liv'd in that great age , When hardly Beauty was to nature known , What numbers to thy side might'st thou engage And conquer'd Kingdoms by thy looks alone ? That age when valor they did Beauty name , When Men did justly our brave sex prefer , Cause they durst dye , and scorn the publick shame Of adding Glory to the conqueror . Had mighty Scipio had thy charming face , Great Sophonisbe had refus'd to dye , Her passion o're the sense of her disgrace Had gain'd the more obliging victory . Nor less wou'd Massanissa too have done , But to such Eyes , as to his Sword wou'd bow , For neither sex can here thy fetters shun , Being all Scipio , and Amintas too . Had'st thou great Caesar been , the greater Queen , Wou'd trembling have her mortal Asps lay'd by ' In thee she had not only Caesar seen , But all she did adore in Antony . Had daring Sextus had thy lovely shape , The fairest Woman living had not dy'd . But blest the darkness that secur'd the Rape , Suffering her Pleasure to have debauch't her Pride . Nor had he stoln to Rome to have quencht his fire , If thee resistless in his Camp he 'd seen , Thy Eyes had kept his virtue all intire , And Rome a happy monarchy had been . Had Pompey lookt like thee , thô he had prov'd The vanquisht , yet from Egypts faithless King He had receiv'd the vows of being belov'd , In stead of Orders for his murdering . But here , Amintas , thy misfortune lys , Nor brave nor good are in our age esteem'd , Content thee then with meaner victorys , Unless that Glorious age cou'd be redeem'd . A. B.

On the first discovery of falseness in Amintas . By Mrs. B. MAke hast ! make hast ! my miserable soul , To some unknown and solitary Grove , Where nothing may thy Languishment controle Where thou maist never hear the name of Love . Where unconfin'd , and free , as whispering Air , Thou maist caress and welcome thy despair : Where no dissembl'd complisance may veil The griefes with which , my soul , thou art opprest . But dying , breath thyself out in a tale That may declare the cause of thy unrest : The toyles of Death 't will render far more light And soon convey thee to the shades of night . Search then , my soul , some unfrequented place , Some place that nature meant her own repose : When she her-self with-drew from human race , Displeas'd with wanton Lovers vows and oaths . Where Sol cou'd never dart a busy Ray , And where the softer winds ne're met to play . By the sad purling of some Rivulet O're which the bending Yew and Willow grow , That scarce the glimmerings of the day permit , To view the melancholy Banks below , Where dwells no noyse but what the murmurs make , When the unwilling stream the shade forsakes . There on a Bed of Moss and new-faln leaves , Which the Triumphant Trees once proudly bore , Thô now thrown off by every wind that breaths , Despis'd by what they did adorn before , And who , like useless me , regardless lye While springing beautys do the boughs supply . There lay thee down , my soul , and breath thy last , And calmly to the unknown regions fly ; But e're thou do'st thy stock of life exhaust , Let the ungrateful know , why t is you dye . Perhaps the gentle winds may chance to bear Thy dying accents to Amintas ear . Breath out thy Passion ; tell him of his power And how thy flame was once by him approv'd . How soon as wisht he was thy conqueror , No sooner spoke of Love , but was belov'd . His wonderous Eyes , what weak resistance sound , While every charming word begat a wound ? Here thou wilt grow impatient to be gone , And thrô my willing Eyes will silent pass , Into the stream that gently glides along , But stay thy hasty flight , ( my Soul , ) alas , A thought more cruel will thy flight secure , Thought , that can no admittance give to cure . Think , how the prostrate Infidel now lys , An humble suppliant at anothers feet , Think , while he begs for pity from her Eyes . He sacrifices thee with-out regreet . Think , how the faithless treated thee last night , And then , my tortur'd soul , assume thy flight .

SONG . REason at last has got the day , To Silvia's yoke no more I bow , The harder 't was to break away , The sweeter is my freedome now , Yet I resolve the scornful Nymph to see , And tell her , I 'm as unconcern'd as she . But why shou'd I a visit make , To her whose charms I did admire , Unless my soul her part d'ost take , Unknowing of i'ts amorous fire ? Alas ! my flames are greater than before , For he loves most , who thinks he loves no more .

On a Blew spot made in a Ladys neck by Gunpowder , by a person of Quality . WHat blew is that that do's so charming shew , A Hill of Saphire in a Field of Snow . Where Love in ambush lys to shoot his Darts , And make a prey of the beholders hearts . Of that fine spot what cause can be assign'd , Was it by nature or by art design'd ? Nature so busie was to make your face , In beautyfying it with every grace , Shee cou'd not mind any inferior part , So that this needs must be the work of Art : Powder , which first was for destruction meant , Was here converted into ornament ; But yet retains its wonted nature still , And from your neck , as from a Port do's kill .

On Dydo . UNhappy Dydo , all her life As well a Mistress , as a Wife , No sooner dys her Husband , but she flys ; No sooner flys her Lover , but she dys .

SONG . AS the inamour'd Thirsis lay With his Silvia reconcil'd , Whose Eyes did brighter beams display , While the lovely charmer smil'd . With Joy transported cry'd , my dear , Let us , let us , often jar , Peace always sweetest do's appear After sharpe fatigues of War . No , said the Nymph , mistaken swain , 'T is best our quarrels to give o're . Kingdoms may jar , and close again , But broken Love cements no more .

The Choyce . SIlvia , of all your Amorous train The Black , the Brown , or Fair , The wealthy Lord , or humble Swain For whom will you declare ? If wealth or Beauty do prevail , My claim I then resign ; If truth and love , I cannot faile , And Silvia must be mine .

A Letter to Astrea . THe Muse , which fair Astrea first inspir'd , Has droopt and lost its flame since she retir'd ; And to the feather'd Poets which belong To Groves resigns her fainting Song . Nor is this Lethargy her fate alone For general dulness has possest the Town , The Town that now can boast no crowded street , Where none but sharp-set younger Brothers meet For well they know their mirth and Wit , ( alas ! Their only coyn , ) will not i' th country pass . Yet in a cloud of smoke o're Coffee dry , What pleasure t is to hear the Sharpers cry . Pox o' this business , that still sticks and dwells Upon my hands and keeps me from the Wells , But I resolve a bold escape to make , And to throng'd Tunbridg a short Jorney take ; My humblest service to Eliza give , And when your Gloriana shall receive Your next , let my respects have then a place . Let fair Astrea last be pleas'd to grace These lines with her acceptance , and excuse The broken Language of a dying Muse. Since she 's already drawing to a close , To write in verse I can no more propose , What next I send expect in honest prose .

To Mrs B. from a Lady who had a desire to see her , and who complains on the ingratitude of her fugitive Lover . KInd are my Stars indeed but that so late And I stranger to a gentle fate , If such a one I meet and chance to know , I have not proper words to call it so , Wondering at happiness , surpris'd as far As a rough General always train'd to War , Snatch'd from the midst of cruel fierce alarms , Into a thousand unexpected charms ; A joy like this , how shall I entertain , With a heart wounded , and a soul in pain ; In my laborious enterprises crost , My life near Finis , and the Day quite lost . Cleone had a Swain , and lov'd the youth , Not for his Beauty but his seeming truth , Not for a goodly herd or high descent , ( Ah that no God my ruin would prevent , ) What thô the Swain had neither Sheep nor land , I scorn'd the goods of fortunes partial hand ; So generous was my passion for the slave , Because I equally suppos'd him brave . Oh! give me leave to sigh one sad adieu , Then wholly dedicate myself to you . I have no business here but to complain Of all the treasons of an ingrate Swain , Since my inhumane perjur'd Shepherd 's gone , Night four seven times has put her mantle on , And three seven times Aurora has appear'd , Since last I from the cruel Strephon heard ; Whither he lives , is dead , or on what shore , ( Patience , ye Gods ! alas I know no more , Then why my Stars do my destruction press , Send me your pity , bounteous Shepherdess ; That I the face of grief no more may know , If I deserve it that cou'd Love so low ; Consult not that , but charity and give One tender pittying sigh that I may live : ( That I may thus make my complaint to you , ) Kind are my Stars indeed at last 't is true ; Let not my rude and untam'd griefs destroy , The early glimmerings of an infant joy : And add not your neglect , for if you doe , Cleone finds her desolation too ! Know this it yet remains in your fair breast , To render me the happy or unblest . You may act miracles if you 'l be kind , Make me true joys in real sorrows find ; And bless the hour I hither did pursue A faithless Swain and found access to you : Accept the heart I here to you present , By the ingratitude of Strephon rent ; Till then gay , noble , full of brave disdain , And unless yours prevent shall be again ; As once it was , if in your generous brest , It may be Pensioner at my request No more to Treasons subject as before To be betray'd by a fair tale no more , As large as once , as uncontroul'd and free , But yet at your command shall always be .

To the fair Clarinda , who made Love to me , imagin'd more than Woman . By Mrs. B. FAir lovely Maid , or if that Title be Too weak , too Feminine for Nobler thee , Permit a Name that more Approaches Truth : And let me call thee , Lovely Charming Youth . This last will justifie my soft complaint , While that may serve to lessen my constraint ; And without Blushes I the Youth persue , When so much beauteous Woman is in view . Against thy Charms we struggle but in vain With thy deluding Form thou giv'st us pain , While the bright Nymph betrays us to the Swain . In pity to our Sex sure thou wer 't sent , That we might Love , and yet be Innocent : For sure no Crime with thee we can commit ; Or if we shou'd — thy Form excuses it . For who , that gathers fairest Flowers believes A Snake lies hid beneath the Fragrant Leaves . Thou beauteous Wonder of a different kind , Soft Cloris with the dear Alexis join'd ; When e'r the Manly part of thee , wou'd plead Thou tempts us with the Image of the Maid , While we the noblest Passions do extend The Love to Hermes , Aphrodite the Friend .

FINIS .

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