Mrs. Behn.


By Mrs. A. BEHN.

LONDON, Printed for R. Tonson and I. Tonson, at Gray's-Inn-Gate next Gray's-Inn Lane, and at the Judges-Head at Chancery Lane end near Fleetstreet. 1684.



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 [Page] 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 Ioys, 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 slight, a two swift speed o'er the charming slowry 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 [Page] Your great Name, but none I believe ever came into the World with Your Lordship's advanta­ges; amongst which, my Lord, 'tis 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; 'tis 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 Vnfortunates, and bringing Your power­full aid to their detestable cause, but a noble Honesty in Your Nature, a Genorosity 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 [Page] 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 tis a bles­sing (since we are oblig'd to render it to the worst of Tyrant Kings) that we have one [Page] who so well justifies that intire Love and Sub­mission we ought to pay him. You, my Lord, are one whom Thousands of good Men look up to with wondrous Veneration and Ioy, when 'tis 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. 'Tis 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 [Page] begot and hard Fate has oblig'd me to bring forth into the censuring World, to which if any thing can reconcile it, 'twill 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.


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,
'Tis here asserted and adorn'd by you.
This Book come forth, their credit must decay,
Ill Spirits vanish at th'approach of day:
[Page]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.
[Page]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.
I. Cooper.

To ASTRAEA, on her Poems.

'TIS 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 slow,
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.
I. C.

To the excellent Madam Behn, on her Poems.

'TWas vain for Man the Laurels to persue,
(E'en from the God of Wit bright Daphne slew)
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 'tis 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,
[Page]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.

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 slowing 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.
[Page]So to th'Assyrian Camp the Angel slew,
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;
[Page]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;
[Page]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.

Vpon 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▪
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.
[Page]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.
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.
[Page]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 slow.
Hail bright Vrania! 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.
[Page]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.
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 he [...]t 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;
[Page]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, 'tis the 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.
Wretched O 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 O Enone, 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;
[Page]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 Iulia's charmes.
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,
[Page]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.
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;
'Tis she pronounc'd the fatal doom,
And has restor'd it to the rightfull Heirs,
Since Knowledge first in Paradise was theirs.
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,
[Page]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;
Iove 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:
[Page]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,
'Tis like the poison'd Indian Arrows found,
For thus you're sure to kill where once you wound.
I. 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.
[Page]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.
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.
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.
'Tis done, 'tis 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 seat 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:
[Page]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.
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
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.
[Page]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,
'Tis 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.
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
Ith' ruines of Eternal night,
Had no kind Pen like her's,
In powerfull numbers powerfull verse,
[Page]Too potent for the gripes of Avaritious fate,
To these our ages lost declar'd their pristine State.
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 'twere 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.


The Golden Age. A Paraphrase on a Translation out of French.

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.
[Page 2]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.
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,
[Page 3]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.
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
[Page 4]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.
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,
[Page 5]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.
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,
[Page 6]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 'twas the Amorous world injoy'd its Reign;
And Tyrant Honour strove t' usurp in Vain.
The flowry Meads the Rivers and the Groves,
Were fill'd with little Cay-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 a­loft,
[Page 7]And through the Boughs the yielded Ayre would wast:
Whose parting Leaves discovered all below,
And every God his own soft power admir'd,
And smil'd and sann'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,
VVhile she with tears all soft, and down-cast-eyes,
Permits the Charming Conqueror to win the prize.
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,
VVho by a fond mistake Created that a Sin;
VVhich 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?
Oh cursed Honour! thou who first didst damn,
A VVoman to the Sin of shame;
[Page 9]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:
VVith 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 VVorld,
Thou Miser Honour hord'st the sacred store,
And starv'st thy self to keep thy Votaries poor.
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 sleep,
[Page 11]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
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
[Page 12]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,
VVhen the fresh Roses on your Cheeks shall die,
Like Flowers that wither in the Shade,
Eternally they will forgotten lye,
And no kind Spring their sweetness will supply.
VVhen Snow shall on those lovely Tresses lye
And your fair Eyes no more shall give us pain,
But shoot their pointless Darts in vain.
VVhat 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,
VVrit 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 Grooves
VVhere unambitiously he lay,
And knew no greater Joyces, nor Power then Loves;
VVhich all the day
The careless and delighted Celladon Improves;
[Page 14]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 'twas, and far less worth.
Yet he obeyes and leaves the peaceful Plains,
The weeping Nymphs, and sighing Swains,
Obeys the mighty voice of Iove.
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 alone was made
To teach the restless Statesman how to Trade
[Page 15]In dark Cabals for Mischief and Design,
But n'ere was meant a Curse to Souls like thine.
Business the Check to Mirth and VVit,
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.
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,
[Page 16]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.
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,
VVhere Lovers sigh, and Birds do sing,
Be glad and gay, for Celladon is yours;
He comes, he comes to grace your Plains.
[Page 17]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 Wan'dring Rills,
That through the Meadows in Meanders run,
Tell all your Flowry Brinks, the generous Swain is come.
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.
Mix thus your Toiles of Life with Joyes,
And for the publick good, prolong your days:
Instruct the VVorld, 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;
VVhom we must Celebrate where you are sung.
For you (by Sacred Friendship ty'd,)
Nor Love nor Fate can nere divide;
VVhen 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.
'Tis Celladon the witty and the gay,
That blest the Night, and cheer'd the world all Day:
[Page 19]'Tis 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.
[Page 20]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,
[Page 21]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,
VVhilst 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.
[Page 22]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,
[Page 23]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.
[Page 24]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 the 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.

WHat doleful crys are these that fright my sence,
Sad as the Groans of dying Innocence?
[Page 25]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.
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,
[Page 27]For he had all that cou'd adorn a Face,
All that cou'd either Sex subdue.
Each Excellence he had that Youth has in its Pride,
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.
Ah why shou'd so much knowledge die!
Or with his last kind breath,
[Page 28]Why cou'd he not to some one friend bequeath
The Mighty Legacie!
But 'twas 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:
[Page 30]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:
[Page 32]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 'tis 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.

Vrania'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.
[Page 35]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 VVit.
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.
'Tis Philocles, that Proud Ingrate,
That pays her Passion back with Hate;
[Page 36]VVhilst 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;
VVhilst 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,
VVith many Beauties in a Throng.

Mr. Je. B.

VVith whom the young Amyntas came,
The Author of my Sighs and Flame:
For I'll confess that Truth to you,
VVhich every Look of mine can show.
Ah how unlike the rest he appears!
VVith Majesty above his years!
[Page 37]His Eyes so much of Sweetness dress,
Such Wit, such Vigour too express;
That 'twou'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,
[Page 38]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▪
[Page 39]And if Inconstancy can seem
Agreeable, 'tis 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;
[Page 40]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
[Page 41]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,
[Page 43]If any cou'd your heart subdue,
Though Lycidas you nere had 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 VVit;
[Page 44]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.
[Page 45]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,
'Twas 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;
[Page 46]From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,
Which round about, in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas 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.
VVhile shee was still regardless of his paine.
[Page 47]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.

SONG. The Invitation.

DAmon I cannot blame your will,
'Twas Chance and not Design did kill;
[Page 48]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 'tis 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.


WHen Iemmy first began to Love,
He was the Gayest Swaine
That ever yet a Flock had drove,
Or danc't upon the Plaine.
[Page 49]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 Iemmy wou'd Invite me:
Where he the Gayest Songs wou'd sing,
On purpose to delight me.
And Iemmy every Grace displayd,
Which were enough I trow,
To Conquer any Princely Maid,
So did he me I vow.
But now for Iemmy must I mourn,
VVho to the VVarrs 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.
[Page 51]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.
[Page 52]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,
VVith heights of Fancy, heights of Eloquence;
[Page 53]And Reason over all Unfetter'd plays,
VVanton 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:
VVhere 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,
VVere worshipt as Divine Aboads;
If Courts are held as Sacred Things,
For being the Awful Seats of Kings.
VVhat Veneration should be paid,
To thee that hast such wondrous Poets made!
[Page 54]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 VVrit, and Lov'd, & Lookt like any God;
For whom the Muses mourn, the Love-sick Maids
Are Languishing in Melancholly Shades.
[Page 55]The Cupids flug 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 VVandring Traveller from afar.
Daphnis whom every Grace, and Muse inspires,
[Page 56]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,
VVhat 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.
[Page 57]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 'thers 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;
[Page 58]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,
'Twas all o're Rochester that pleas'd and did sur­prize.
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.
[Page 59]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,
VVith 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,
'Twas 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.
[Page 60]But if one Note of the remembred Air
He chance again to hear,
He starts, and in a transport cries,—'Tis 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.
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.
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.
When before the Impregnable Fort I lay down,
I resolv'd or to die, or to Purchase Renown,
[Page 62]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.

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;
'Tis the Glory you seek when you rifle the Spoil.
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.
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;
[Page 64]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,
VVhen 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 sound.
So the Harmonius Spheres surprize,
VVhilst the All-Ravish'd Shepherd gazes round,
And wonders whence the Charms should rise,
That can at once both please and wound.
VVhilst trembling I unript the Seal
Of what you'd sent,
My Heart with an Impatient Zeal,
VVithout 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;
[Page 65] 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;
[Page 66]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 'tis wondrous fine, and long much more
To see the Hero then they did before.
So when the Marvels by Report I knew,
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.
'Twas 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.
[Page 67]VVhilst 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 'tis 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 sound
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.

CEres, Great Goddess of the bounteous Year,
Who load'st the Teaming 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.
Amyntas he, brave, generous and young;
Whom yet no Vice his Youth has e'er betray'd:
And Chaste Vrania is the Lovely Maid;
His Daughter who has serv'd thy Altars long,
As thy High Priest: A Dowry he demands
At the young Amorous Shepherds hands:
[Page 69]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.

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 VVorld,
But what from Cloris Brighter Eyes was hurld.
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:
[Page 71]VVhilst he lay trembling at her Feet,
Resistance 'tis in vain to show;
She wants the pow'r to say—Ah! What d'ye do?
Her Bright Eyes sweet, and yet severe,
VVhere 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.
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,
[Page 72]VVhile she lay panting in his Arms.
All her Unguarded Beauties lie
The Spoils and Trophies of rhe Enemy.
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,
VVhere Gods of Love do sacirfice:
That Awful Throne, that Paradice
VVhere Rage is calm'd, and Anger pleas'd;
That Fountain where Delight still flows,
And gives the Universal VVorld Repose.
Her Balmy Lips incountring his,
Their Bodies, as their Souls, are joyn'd;
VVhere 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;
[Page 73]Or falling Stars, whose Fires decay:
And now no signs of Life she shows,
But what in short-breath'd Sighs returns & goes.
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.
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
[Page 74]On the Defenceless Lovely Maid.
But Oh what envying God conspires
To snatch his Power, yet leave him the Desire!
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 'twill from Motion take;
Excess of Love his Love betray'd:
In vain he Toils, in vain Commands;
The Insensible fell weeping in his Hand.
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,
[Page 75]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.
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:
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,
[Page 76]Which both Disdain and Shame exprest:
And from Lysander's Arms she fled,
Leaving him fainting on the Gloomy Bed.
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.
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;
[Page 77]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 I 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;
[Page 78]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.
'Tis so; the Riddle I at last have learn'd:
But found it when I was too far concern'd.

The Dream. A Song.

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.
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 yon Myrtles lay,
Down by Diana's Springs,
Amyntas stole my Bow away,
And Pinion'd both my Wings.
Alas! cry'd I, 'twas 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.
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.
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 * Tabernacler too?
[Page 81]Where sure thou dost not mean to Preach or Pray,
Unless it be the clean contrary way:
This holy (a) 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) 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 'tis 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 Pufillage[?].
Thy Looks the whole Cabal have cheated too;
But thou wilt say, most of the Wits do so.
Is this thy writing (c) Plays? who thought thy Wit
An Interlude of Whoring would admit?
[Page 82]To Poetry no more thou'lt be inclin'd,
Unless in Verse to damn all VVoman-kind:
And 'tis 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;
VVhilst ev'ry Swain is like a Bridegroom drest,
And ev'ry Nymph as going to a Feast:
The Meadows now their slowry Garments wear,
And ev'ry Grove does in its Pride appear:
VVhilst 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 'twere Injustice to disarm thy Tongue.
Curse then, dear Swain, that all the Youth may hear,
And from thy dire Mishap be taught to fear.
Curse till thou hast undone the Race, and all
That did contribute to thy Spring and Fall.

The Reflection: A Song.

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.
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?
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.
Thy Eyes in Silence told their Tale
Of Love in such a way,
That 'twas 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.
Alas how long in vain you strove
My coldness to divert!
[Page 85]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.
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.
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.


To Pesibles Tune.
'Twas 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,
'Twas then the Hapless Swain,
Amyntas, to Complain
Of Silvia's cold Disd [...]in,
Retir'd to Silent Shades;
Where by a Rivers Side,
His Tears did swell the Tide,
As he upon the Brink was lay'd,
Ye Gods, he often cry'd,
Why did your Powers design
[Page 87]In Silvia so much Pride,
Such Falshood to beside▪
With Beauty so Divine?
VVhy 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.
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;
[Page 88]My bleeding Bosom too,
Which wounds were given by you;
Then vanish in the Shades of Night.

SONG. On her Loving Two Equally.

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.
When my Alexis present is,
Then I for Damon sigh and mourn;
But when Alexis I do miss,
Damon gains nothing but my Scorn.
[Page 89]But if it chance they both are by,
For both alike I languish, sigh, and die.
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.

A Pox 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;
[Page 90]Joys which decay when Beauty's past;
And who, when Beauty's past, will love?
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?
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.

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.
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.
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.


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.
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.
[Page 93]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.
COme my Phillis let us improve
Both our Joyes of Equal Love:
VVhile 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.
The Sun it self with Love does conspire,
And sends abroad his ardent Fire,
And kindly seems to bid us retire,
[Page 94]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.
Phillis, in vain you shed those Tears;
VVhy do you blush? Oh speak your Fears!
There's none but your Amyntas hears:
VVhat 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.
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.
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:
'Twere better I's was nere Born,
Ere wisht to be a King.
Then from his Starry Eyne,
Muckle Showers of Christal Fell:
To bedew the Roses Fine,
That on his Cheeks did dwell.
[Page 96]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.
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.
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.
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,
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.
Ye Garlands wither now,
Fickle Glories vanish all:
[Page 98]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.
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.

WHat mean those Amorous Curles of Jet?
For what heart-Ravisht Maid
[Page 99]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.
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.
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▪
Cease, Cease, with Sighs to warm my Soul,
Or press me with thy Hand:
[Page 100]VVho 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.

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.
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,
[...]enies ye Joys, or makes ye Impotent.
'Tis 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.
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 'tis a Maxime in Loves learned School,
Who blows the Fire, the flame can only Rule,
Though Honour does your Wish deny,
Honour! the Foe to your Repose;
Yet 'tis more Noble far to dye,
Then break Loves known and Sacred Laws:
[Page 102]What Lover wou'd pursue a single Game,
That cou'd amongst the Fair deal out his flame?
Since then Lysander you desire,
Amynta only to adore;
Take in no Partners to your Fire.
For who well Love, that Loves one more?
And if such Rivals in your Heart I find,
Tis in My Power to die, but not be kind.

A Dialogue for an Entertainment at Court, between Damon and Syl­via.

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.
[Page 103]
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.
Yet if those Slaves you treat with Cruelty,
'Tis 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:
'Tis Pitty makes a Deity,
Ah Silvia! daine to pitty me,
And I will worship none but thee.
[Page 104]
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.
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.
Too Faithful Shepherd I will try my Heart,
And if I can will give you part.
Oh that was like your self exprest,
Give me but part, and I will steal the rest.
[Page 105]
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.
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.
Where every Grace I will bestow,
And every Look and Smile, shall show
How much above the rest I vallue you.
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 Sicknesse.

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.
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 they Cruelty;
Then hast to lose themselves i'th' Angry Sea.
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)
[Page 108]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.
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.
With Pride she saw her Rivals Sigh and Pine,
And vainly cry'd, The lovely Youth is mine!
[Page 109]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:
VVhilst 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 'twas worth.

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
From me she Ravishes those silent hours,
That are by Sacred Love my due;
VVhilst I in vain accuse the angry Powers,
That make me hopeless Love pursue.
Adrastes Ears with that dear Voice are blest,
That Charms my Soul at every Sound,
And with those Love-Inchanting Touches prest:
VVhich I ne'er felt without a Wound.
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.
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.
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.
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,

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.
[Page 114]This new Vtopia 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.
If you too great a Prospect doe allow
To those whom Ignorance does at distance Seat,
'Tis 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 'twou'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 Iohnson scarce a Play brought forth,
But Monster-like it frighted at its Birth:
[Page 115]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.
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:
[Page 116]For Malice then with Ignorance would join,
And so undo the World and You:
So ravish from us that delight,
Of seeing the VVonders which you Write:
And all your Glories unadmir'd must lye,
As Vestal Beauties are Intomb'd before they dye.
Consider and Consult your VVit,
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,
VVhich 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
[Page 117]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.
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 Scynthia 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.
[Page 118]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:
[Page 119]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 a­round:
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 VVax, 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.
[Page 120]But when the kindling Sparks such Fuel meet,
No wonder if the Flame inspir'd be great.

An Ode to Love.

DUll Love no more thy Senceless Arrows prize,
Damn thy Gay Quiver, break thy Bow;
'Tis only young Lysanders Eyes,
That all the Arts of Wounding know.
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.
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.
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.
The Sweetness from thy Eyes he took,
The Charming Dimples from thy Mouth,
That wonderous Softness when you spoke;
And all thy Everlasting Youth.
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.

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.
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.
She would have spoke, but shame deny'd,
And bid her first consult her Pride;
[Page 123]But soon she found that Aid was gone;
For Love alas had left her none:
Oh how she burns, but 'tis too late,
For in her Eyes she reads her Fate.


To a New Scotch Tune.
YOung Iemmy 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 Iemmy had a Heart.
In Iemmy's Powerful Eyes,
Young Gods of Love are playing,
[Page 124]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.
To Iemmy 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.
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:
[Page 125]By flattering Knaves and Fools betray'd,
Poor Iemmy is undone.

The Cabal at Nickey Nackeys.

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.
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.
[Page 126]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.
[Page 127]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.

LYDIA, Lovely Maid, more fair
Than Milk or whitest Lilies are,
Than Polisht Indian Iv'ry shows,
Or the fair unblushing Rose.
Open, Maid, thy Locks, that hold
Wealth more bright than shining Gold,
Over thy white shoulders laid,
Spread thy Locks, my Charming Maid.
Lydia, ope' thy starry Eyes,
Shew the Beds where Cupid lies,
Open, Maid, thy Rosie-Cheeks,
Red as Sun declining streaks.
Shew thy Coral Lips, my Love,
Kiss me softer than the Dove,
Till my Ravisht Soul does lie
Panting in an Ecstasie.
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.
Shut thy Bosome, white as Snow,
Whence Arabian perfumes slow;
Hide it from my Raptur'd Touch,
I have gaz'd—and kist too much.
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.


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.
[Page 130]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.
[Page 131]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 'twas 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.
[Page 132]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!
[Page 133]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 Iove!
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!
[Page 134]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 slow.
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 Iove
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 Iuno 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.
[Page 135]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,
[Page 136]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.
[Page 137]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 'twas 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.
[Page 138]Whilst I, half dead on the forsaken Strand,
Beheld thee sighing on the Deck to stand,
Wasting 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,
[Page 139]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.
[Page 140]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.
[Page 141]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 Crowns 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?
[Page 142]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 sled and lost,
And I no more of Fame, or Thee can boast!
'Twas thou wert Honour, Glory, all to me:
Till Swains had learn'd the Vice of Perjury,
No yielding Maids were charg'd with Infamy.
[Page 143]'Tis 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 'twas fitter Diadems to bear:
And when with eager Kisses prest my hand,
Have said, How well a Scepter 'twou'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.
'Tis no Ambitious Flame that makes me sue
To be again belov'd, and blest by you;
[Page 144]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 'tis 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.


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:
[Page 2]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;
[Page 3]Friendship! which even Loves mighty power con­trouls,
When that but touches; this Exchange 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.


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 consiant rising Sighs forbear,
To mix your selves with flying Air,
But utter Words, among that may express,
The vast degrees of Ioy 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?
[Page 5]Forget thou saw'st the lovely yielding Maid,
Dead in thy trembling Arms
Iust [...]n 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.
[Page 6]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, 'twas 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;
[Page 7]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.
[Page 8]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 ruff'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.
[Page 12]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 Apisn 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.
[Page 13]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;
[Page 14]The tender Maid to the Rough Warrier yields;
Vnfrighted 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 Ioy 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;
[Page 15]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;
[Page 16]While she does all, the smiling Gods carress,
And they new Attributes receive from each Address.


SVch 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 'tis 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.
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 sixt 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.
[Page 18]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 wondrous Pride,
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 ruf [...]led 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.
[Page 19]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 but God's of Love coud give▪
[Page 20]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 Ioy,
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,
[Page 21]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,
A sleep the lovely Maid extended lay;
[Page 22]Of different Flowers, the Cupids made her Bed,
And Ros [...]y Pillows, did support her Head;
With what transported Joy my Soul wa [...] 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 t [...]st 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,
[Page 23]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 'twas 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.


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 I conquer all the Beauties of the Place;
To gain him 'tis not Words will do,
His Rhetorick is the Blush and Bow.
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:
[Page 25]They like the Fire in Limbecks gently move,
What words (too hot and fierce) destroy;
These hy degrees infuse a lasting Love;
Whilst those do soon burn out the short blaz'd Ioy.
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 timrous 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.
[Page 26]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!
[Page 27]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,


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;
[Page 28]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.


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 Ioy?
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.
[Page 30]VVhen 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!
Books give me no content at all;
Vnless 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;
VVhich was design'd but to divert,
Then to cool Shades I ragingly retire,
To ease my hopeless panting Heart,
Yet thereto every thing begets desire.
Each flowry Bed, and every loanly Grove,
Inspires new VVishes, new impatient Love.
[Page 31]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.

THither all the Amorous Youth repair,
To see the Objects of their Vows;
No Iealousies approach 'em there;
They Banish Dulness and Despair;
And only Gayety and Mirth allow.
[Page 32]The Houses cover'd o're with flow'rs appear,
Like fragrant Arbours all the year,
VVhere all the dear, the live-long day,
In Musick, Songs, and Balls is past away:
All things are form'd for pleasure and delight,
VVhich finish not but with the Light;
But when the Sun returns again,
They hold with that bright God an equal Reign.
There no Reproaches dwell; that Vice
Is banisht with the Coy and Nice.
The Froward there learn Complysance;
There the Dull VVise, his Gravity forsakes,
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 VVit;
[Page 33]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.
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 giues him just the Sense to know his pain;
Whence he becomes less talkative and vain.
[Page 34]There 'tis 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.
[Page 35]With diligence I wait Aminta's look,
And her decrees from Frowns or Smiles I took,
To my new sixt 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 slame each hour increase.
'Twas 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.
[Page 36]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,


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.
[Page 37]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.
'Twas 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;
[Page 38]A t [...]sand little Fears afflict my Heart,
A [...]ormer order quite subvert;
T [...] which all day my hope imploy'd,
S [...]w too excellent to be enjoy'd.
I number[?] all my RIVALS over now,
Th [...]n 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.
'Twas thus a while I liv'd at little Care,
Without advance of Favour or of fear,
When fair Amin [...]a 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,
[Page 39]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,
[Page 40]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.


'TIS 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;
[Page 41]The other Parts well founded neat and strong,
Less Beautiful, less Business, and less Throng.
'Tis 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;
'Tis 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.
[Page 42]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.
'Tis there so many Monarch perisht have,
And seeking Fame alone have sound a Grave.
'Twas 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 flyst[?] with too much hast to certain Fate,
Follow my Counsel, and be Fortunate.
[Page 43]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.

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.
[Page 44]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 'tis 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.
These are her qualities; but yet
She has a Person full of Charms,
Her Smiles are able to beget
Forgiveness for her other harms;
[Page 45]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;
[Page 46]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.
[Page 47]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 yielde 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)
[Page 48]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 slattering 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.
[Page 49]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.

MVst 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!
[Page 51]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;
'Tis I will guide you where you still shall find,
Aminta in b [...]st 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.
[Page 52] 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 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 Ioys.
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,
'Tis 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 Ioy or Grief.
[Page 54]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.
Twas 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 tha [...] I spoke did but indifferent seem,
Or went no higher than a great esteem.
[Page 55]But 'twas 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 ty'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;
[Page 56]Paleness or Blushes does my Face surprize,
If mine by chance meet her encountering Eyes;
Twas thus she learn'd my VVeakness, 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 sierce, 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 'tis plac'd,
VVhich by the angry Sea is still imbrac'd:
VVhose frightful surface constant Tempest wears,
VVhich strikes the bold Adventurers with Fears.
The Elements their rudest VVinds send out,
VVhich blow continual coldness round about.
Vpon the Rock eternal VVinters dwells,
VVhich 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 lie [...]
And nothing grateful meets the melanc [...]ol [...] Eyes[?].
To this dire place Aminta goes, whilst [...],
Begg'd her with Prayers and Tears to pass it by;
[Page 58]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;
[Page 59]Which River from the obdurate Rock proceeds,
And cast's it self i'th' Melancholy Meads.

The River of Despair.

ITs 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 pi­tying 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;
[Page 60]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 snows 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,
'Twas 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.


NOw my fair Tyrant I despise your Pow'r;
'Tis 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;
[Page 62]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.


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 h [...] your neglect,
Too mighty to be born?
[Page 63]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:
'Tis 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:
[Page 64]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:
[Page 65]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;
[Page 66]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 'twas 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;
[Page 67]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.
[Page 68]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,
'Twas 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:
[Page 69]Now to Aminta all inhaste 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:
[Page 70]At last my trembling Hand in hers she took,
And with a charming Blush, these Words she spoke:
FAithful Lisander, I your Vows approve,
And can no longer hide,
My Sense of all your suffering Love,
With the thin Veil of Pride.
'Twas long in Vain that Pity did assail,
My cold and stubborn Heart;
Ere on th' insensible she cou'd prevail,
To render any Part.
To her for all the tenderness,
Which in my Eyes you find,
You must your gratitude express,
'Tis Pity only makes me kind.
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;
[Page 72]The sudden Blessing overcame me so,
It almost finisht, what Grief fail'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.


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:
[Page 73]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.


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,
Vn-interrupted by fond Iealousie:
'Tis 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.
'Tis there we see, what most we do adore,
And yet we languish to discover more.
[Page 75]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.


OH with what Pleasure did I pass away,
The too swift course of the delightful day!
What Ioys I found in being a Slave,
To every Conquering Smile she gave,
[Page 76]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 nee'r 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,
VVhen 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 VVorld;
But though my Pleasure were thus vast and high,
Yet Loves insatiate Luxury,
Still wish [...]d, reveal'd the unknown Mystery.
But still Love importun'd, nor cou'd I rest,
So often, and impatiently he prest,
[Page 77]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 'twas her Confidence.
But 'twas 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.
[Page 78]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
Who values not thy Tears, thy Force or Prayer,
Retain thy Faith and Love Aminta still,
Since she abandons thee against her Will.
[Page 79]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.
[Page 80]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 sit for Love and Sorrow made;
The Murmuring Boughs themselves together twist,
And 'twou'd allow to Grief her self some rest,
Inviron'd 'tis with lofty Mountains round,
From whence the Eccho's, Sighs, and Crys rebound;
[Page 81]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.


HER mourning languid Eyes are rarely shown,
Vnless 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.
[Page 82]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;
[Page 83]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▪
[Page 84]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 above,
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 'tis true; but 'tis 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.


FOnd Love thy pretty Flatteries cease,
That feeble Hope you give;
Vnless 'twoud make my happiness,
In vain dear Boy; in vain you strive,
It cannot keep my tortur'd Heart alive.
Tho' thou shou'dst give me all the Ioys,
Luxurious Monarch's do possess,
Without Aminta 'tis but empty noise,
Dull and insipid happiness;
And you in vain invite me to a Feast,
Where my Aminta cannot be a Guest.
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.
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,
[Page 87]VVith all thy wanton flatteries cannot charm,
Nor yet the frozen-hearted Virgin warm.
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 'twas 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.
[Page 88]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 'tis call'd, a Village where
The Inhabitants in Fury still appear;
Malicious 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 busness there.
[Page 89]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.
'Twas 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 'twas,
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;
[Page 90]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 Iealousie.


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 VVinds 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.
[Page 91]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.
A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart;
A thousand Visions fill the Eyes,
Aud 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 'two'd reveal.
[Page 92]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,
'Tis Mortal, 'tis 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.
[Page 93]So that I did not only Jealous grow,
Of all I saw; but all I fancy'd too.


OFT in my Iealous 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 my 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?
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.
Oh happy Brooks, oh happy Rivulets,
And Springs that in a thousand Windings move;
Vpon 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 wantonly reflecting pass,
Glide o're the lovely Image of her Face;
[Page 95]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.


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 VVit;
Put on the cruel Tyrant as you will,
But know, my tender Heart adores you still.
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.
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,
VVhich 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 of 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;
'Tis 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;
[Page 99]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 'twas Chaos, e're the World was made.
And nothing was compos'd without his Aid.
Agreeing A [...]toms by his pow'r were hurl'd,
And Love and Harmony compos'd the World.
'Tis rich, 'tis solemn all! Divine yet Gay!
From the Jemm'd Roof the dazling Lights display,
And all below inform' without the Aids of day.
[Page 100]All Nations hither bring rich offerings,
And 'tis 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 form [...]d,
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 a loft 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,
In Diamond Characters this Motto stood,
Behold the Pow'r that Conquers every GOD.
[Page 101]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 slame.
But Love's soft Votaries no such injuries fear,
No pamper'd Levits are in Pension here;
[Page 102]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 to 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;
'Twas 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;
[Page 103]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.
[Page 104]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'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 'tis the Vision only will remove,
With Incantations of soft Vows of Love.
But as a God he's Worshipt here,
By all the lovely, young, and fair,
[Page 106]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.
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;
[Page 107]Vnskill'd in Love; in Virtue, or in Truth,
Preach'd thy false Notions first, and so debaucht our Youth.
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 seel, 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,
[Page 108]With all the Pow'r of Non-sence he commands,
Which she for mighty Reason understands.
Aminta sly, he crys! sly 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 sly, sond 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:
[...]d she flys, even from the Temple door,
And left me fainting on the sacred floor[?]:
[Page 109]LOVE saw my Griefs, and to my rescue came,
Where on his Bosom, thus I did complain.


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,
VVhen first I was undone.
Oh whether are your Sighs and Kisses fled?
VVhere are those clasping Arms,
That left me oft with Pleasures dead,
VVith their Excess of Charms?
[Page 110]VVhere is the Killing Language of thy Tongue,
That did the Ravisht Soul surprize?
VVhere 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.
[Page 111] Return, said he, return oh fickle Maid,
Who solid Ioys 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 Ioys;
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,
[Page 112]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:
[Page 113]Take charming Victor—what you must— subdue-
'Tis 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;
[Page 114]Receive the mighty Recompence at last,
Of all the Anxious hours you've past,
Enter the Bower where endless Pleasures flow,
Young Ioys, 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 'twas 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 Ioys, to hast,
And thither 'twas, we both arriv'd at last.
[Page 115]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 'tis;
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;
[Page 116]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.

TIS 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 Iesamine,
And twines with new-born Eglantine,
Each minute new Discoveries bring;
Of something sweet, of something ravishing.
Fountains, wandering Brooks soft rills,
That o're the wanton Pebbles play;
And all the Woods with tender murmuring fills,
Inspiring my Love inciting Ioy;
(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.
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,
[Page 118]And give a lavish loose to joy.
His emptyed Quiver, and his Bow,
In slowry 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.
A thousand gloomy VValks 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 Ioys:
Nature has taught each little Bird,
A soft Example to afford;
[Page 119]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 Ioy, 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.
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,
'Tis only Love, fond Love finds entrance here;
[Page 120]The Notes of Birds, the Murmuring Boughs,
VVhen gentle VVinds glide through the Glades,
Soft Sighs of Love, and oft breath'd Vows,
The tender VVhisperings 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,
VVhich 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.
VVhich best with Love, which best with Ioys consist,
All which young Eccho's through the Bower does sing,
VVhere every thing is heard, that's sweet and ravishing.
Recesses Dark, and Grotto's all conspire,
To favour Love and soft desire;
Shades, Springs and Fountains flowry Beds,
To Ioys 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, 'tis here the Lover reaps,
Transporting softnesses beyond his hopes;
'Tis 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,
[Page 122]Is breath'd with broken Sighs among,
Into the Ravish'd Shepherds Soul,
VVhilst all is taken, all is given,
That can compleat a Lovers Heav'n:
And Io Peans through the VVoods 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:
'Twas Heaven! 'twas 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.
[Page 123]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 'twas 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.
[Page 124]'Twas 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!
—'Twas 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.
[Page 125]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:
'Twas all the first; 'twas all beginning Fire!
'Twas all new Love! new Pleasure! new Desire!
—Here stop my Soul—
Stop thy carreer of Vanity and Pride,
And only say,—'Twas 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:
[Page 110]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.
[Page 111]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;
[Page 128]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 Lands kip does confess,
Something that calls to mind past happiness.
This Lysidas, this is my wretched state,
'Tis here I languish, and attend my Fate.
But e're I go, 'twou'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.


THE Golden Age, a Paraphrase on a Translation out of French
page 1.
A Farewell to Celladon on his going into Ireland
On a Iuniper-Tree cut down to make Busks
On the Death of Mr. Grinhill the famous Painter
A Ballad on Mr. J. H. to Amoret, asking why I was so sad
Our Caball
The willing Mistress, a Song
Love Arm'd, a Song
The Complaint, a Song
The Invitation, a Song
A Song
To Mr Creech (under the name of Daphnis) on his Excellent Translation of Lucretius.
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
The sense of a Letter sent me, made into Verse, to a New Tune
The Return
On a Copy of Verses made in a Dream and sent to me in a Morning before I was awake
To my Lady Morland at Tunbridge
Song to Ceres, in the wavering Nymph or mad Amyntas
A Song in the same Play by the wavering Nymph
The Disappointment
[Page]On a Locket of Hair wove in a True-lovers Knot given me by Sir R. O.
The Dream, a Song
A Letter to a Brother of the Pen in Tribulation
The Reflexion, a Song
A Song to Pesibles Tune
A Song on her loving two Equally set by Capt. Pack
The Counsel, a Song set by the same hand
The Surprise, a Song set by Mr. Farmer
A Song
The Invitation, a Song to a New Scotch Tune
Sylvia's Complaint, a Song to a fine Scotch Tune
In Imitation of Horace
To Lysander who made some Virses on a Discourse of Loves Fire
A Dialogue for an entertainment at Court between Damon and Sylvia
On Mr. J. H. In a fit of sickness
To Lysander on some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart than 'twas worth
To the Honourable Lord Howard, on his Comedy called the New Utopia
To Lysander at the Musick meeting
An Ode to Love
Love Reveng'd, a Song
A Song to a New Scotch Tune
The Caball at Nickey Nackeys
A Paraphrase on the eleventh Ode out of the first Book of Horace
A Translation
A Paraphrase on Oenone to Paris
A Voyage to the Isle of Love

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