Poems upon several occasions with, A voyage to the island of love / by Mrs. A. Behn. Behn, Aphra, 1640-1689. 1684 Approx. 298 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 154 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A27315 Wing B1757 ESTC R15250 11719861 ocm 11719861 48339 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A27315) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 48339) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 525:2) Poems upon several occasions with, A voyage to the island of love / by Mrs. A. Behn. Behn, Aphra, 1640-1689. [32], 144, 128, [2] p. Printed for R. Tonson and J. Tonson ..., London : 1684. Reproduction of original in Harvard University Libraries. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700. 2002-10 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2002-11 SPi Global Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-12 Mona Logarbo Sampled and proofread 2002-12 Mona Logarbo Text and markup reviewed and edited 2003-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion Mrs. Behn . POEMS UPON SEVERAL OCCASIONS : WITH A VOYAGE TO THE Island of Love. 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. TO The Right Honourable , JAMES , EARL of SALISBVRY , VISCOUNT CRAMBORN , AND BARON of ISLINGTON . MY LORD , WHO should one celibrate with Verse and Song , but the Great , the Noble and the Brave ? where dedicate an Isle of Love , but to the Gay , the Soft and Young ? and who amongst Men can lay a better claim to these than Your Lordship ? who like the Sun new risen with the early Day , looks round the World and sees nothing it cannot claim an interest in ( for what cannot Wit , Beauty , Wealth and Honour claim ? ) The violent storms of Sedition and Rebellion are hush'd and calm'd ; black Treason is retir'd to its old abode , the dark Abyss of Hell ; the mysterious Riddles of Politick Knaves and Fools , which so long amused and troubled the World's repose , are luckily unfolded ; and Your Lordship is saluted at Your first coming forth , Your first setting out for the glorious and happy Race of Life , by a Nation all glad , gay and smiling ; and you have nothing before you but a ravishing prospect of eternal 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 Your great Name , but none I believe ever came into the World with Your Lordship's advantages ; amongst which , my Lord , 't is not the least that You have the glory to be truly Loyal , and to be adorn'd with those excellent Principles , which render Nobility so absolutely worth the Veneration which is paid 'em ; 't is those , my Lord , and not the Title that make it truly great : Grandeur in any other serves but to point 'em out more particularly to the World , and shew their Faults with the greater magnitude , and render 'em more liable to contempt and that Reward which justly persues Ingratitude ; nor is it , my Lord , the many unhappy Examples this Age has produc'd that has deter'd you from herding with the busie 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 Arguments of the old Serpent , were us'd against the best of Kings and his illustrious Successour , still You were unmov'd ; Your young stout Heart with a Gallantry and Force unusual resisted and defied the gilded Bait , laugh'd at the industrious Politicks of the busie Wise , and stubbornly Loyal , contemn'd the Counsels of the Grave . Go on , my Lord , advance in Noble resolution , grow up in strength of Loyalty , settle it about Your Soul , root it there like the first Principles of Religion , which nothing ever throughly defaces , and which in spight of even Reason the Soul retains , whatever little Debaucheries the Tongue may commit ; You that are great , are born the Bulwarks of sacred Majesty , its defence against all the storms of Fate , the Safety of the People in the Supporters of the Throne ; and sure none that ever obey'd the Laws of God and the Dictates of Honour ever paid those Duties to a Sovereign that more truly merited the Defence and Adorations of his People than this of ours ; and t is a blessing ( since we are oblig'd to render it to the worst of Tyrant Kings ) that we have one who so well justifies that intire Love and 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 't is said Your Lordship amongst Your other Vertues is Loyal too , a true Tory ! ( a word of Honour now , the Royal Cause has sanctified it , ) and though Your Lordship needs no encouragement to a good that rewards it self , yet I am confident You are not onely rank'd in the esteem of the best of Monarchs , but we shall behold you as one of our Preservers , and all England as one of its great Patrons , when Ages that shall come shall find Your noble Name inroll'd amongst the Friends to Monarchy in an Age of so villainous Corruption : Yes , my Lord , they will find it there and bless You. 'T is this , my Lord , with every other Grace and Noble Vertue that adorns You , and gives the World such promises of Wonders in You , that makes me ambitious to be the first in the Croud of Your Admirers , that shall have the honour to celibrate Your great Name . Be pleased then , my Lord , to accept this Little Piece , which lazy Minutes begot and hard Fate has oblig'd me to bring forth into the censuring World , to which if any thing can reconcile it , 't will be the glory it has to bear Your Noble Name in the front , and to be Patronized by so great and good a Man : Permit but my Zeal for Your Lordship to attone for the rest of my Faults , and Your Lordship will extremely oblige , My Lord , Your Lordship 's most Humble , and most Obedient Servant , A. Behn . TO Mrs. BEHN , ON THE PUBLISHING HER POEMS . Madam , LOng has Wit 's injur'd Empire been opprest By Rhiming Fools , this Nations common Jest , And sunk beneath the weight of heavy stafes , In Tory Ballads and Whig Epitaphs ; The Ogs and Doegs reign'd , nay Baxter's zeal , Has not been wanting too in writing Ill ; Yet still in spight of what the dull can doe , 'T is here asserted and adorn'd by you . This Book come forth , their credit must decay , Ill Spirits vanish at th'approach of day : And justly we before your envy'd feet , There where our Hearts are due our Pens submit ; Ne'er to resume the baffled things again , Unless in Songs of Triumph to thy Name ; Which are outdone by every Verse of thine , Where thy own Fame does with more lustre shine , Than all that we can give who in thy Praises join . Fair as the face of Heaven , when no thick Cloud Or darkning Storm the glorious prospect shroud ; In all its beauteous parts shines thy bright style , And beyond Humane Wit commedns thy skill ; With all the thought and vigour of our Sex The moving softness of your own you mix . The Queen of Beauty and the God of Wars Imbracing lie in thy due temper'd Verse , Venus her sweetness and the force of Mars . Thus thy luxuriant Muse her pleasure takes , As God of old in Eden's blissfull walks ; The Beauties of her new Creation view'd , Full of content She sees that it is good . Come then you inspir'd Swains and join your Verse , Though all in vain to add a Fame to hers ; But then your Song will best Apollo please , When it is fraight with this his Favorite's praise . Declare how when her learned Harp she strung , Our joyfull Island with the Musick rung ; Descending Graces left their Heavenly seat , To take their place in every Line she writ ; Where sweetest Charms as in her Person smile , Her Face's Beauty 's copy'd in her style . Say how as she did her just skill improve In the best Art and in soft Tales of Love. Some well sung Passion with success she crown'd , The melting Virgins languish'd at the sound . And envying Swains durst not the Pipe inspire , They'd nothing then to doe but to admire . Shepherds and Nymphs , to Pan direct your Prayer . If peradventure he your Vows will hear , To make you sing , and make you look like her . But , Nymphs and Swains , your hopes are all in vain ▪ For such bright Eyes , and such a tunefull Pen. How many of her Sex spend half their days , To catch some Fool by managing a Face ? But she secure of charming has confin'd Her wiser care t' adorn and dress the Mind . Beauty may fade , but everlasting Verse Exempts the better portion from the Hearse . The matchless Wit and Fancy of the Fair , Which moves our envy and our sons despair . Long they shall live a monument of her Fame , And to Eternity extend her Name ; While After-times deservedly approve The choicest object of this Ages Love. For when they reade , ghessing how far she charm'd , With that bright Body with such Wit inform'd ; They will give heed and credit to our Verse , When we the Wonders of her Face rehearse . I. Cooper . Buckden , Nov. 25. 1683. To ASTRAEA , on her Poems . 'T IS not enough to reade and to admire , Thy sacred Verse does nobler thoughts inspire , Striking on every breast Poetick fire : The God of Wit attends with chearfull Rays , Warming the dullest Statue into praise . Hail then , delight of Heaven and pride of Earth , Blest by each Muse at thy auspicious birth ; Soft Love and Majesty have fram'd thy Mind , To shew the Beauties of both Sexes join'd : Thy Lines may challenge , like young David's face , A Female Sweetness and a Manly Grace ; Thy tender notions in loose numbers 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 . 'T Was 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 't is the Delphian God of old Wou'd have his Oracles by Women told . But oh ! who e'er so sweetly could repeat Soft lays of Love , and youths delightfull heat ? If Love's Misfortunes be your mournfull Theme , No dying Swan on fair Cayster's stream , Expires so sweet , though with his numerous Moan , The fading Banks and suffering Mountains groan . If you the gentle Passions wou'd inspire , With what resistless Charms you breathe desire ? No Heart so savage , so relentless none , As can the sweet Captivity disown : Ah , needs must she th' unwary Soul surprise , Whose Pen sheds Flames as dangerous as her Eyes . I. ADAMS . To the Authour , on her Voyage to the Island of Love. TO speak of thee no Muse will I invoke , Thou onely canst inspire what shou'd be spoke ; For all their wealth the Nine have given to thee , Thy rich and 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 . 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 ; The flints about their Hearts dance to thy lays , Till the quick motion sets 'em on a Blaze . Orpheus and you the stones do both inspire , But onely you out of those flints strike fire , Not with a sudden Spark , a short liv'd Blaze , Like Womens Passions in our Gilting days ; But what you fire burns with a constant flame , Like what you write , and always is the same . Rise all ye weeping Youth , rise and appear , Whom gloomy Fate has damn'd to black Despair ; Start from the ground and throw your Mourning by , Loves great Sultana says you shall not die : The dismal dark half year is over past , The Sea is op'd , the Sun shines out at last , And Trading's free , the storms are husht as death , Or happy Lovers ravisht out of breath ; And listen to Astraea's Harmony , Such power has elevated Poetry . T. C. To the Lovely Witty Astraea , on her Excellent Poems . OH , wonder of thy Sex ! Where can we see , Beauty and Knowledge join'd except in thee ? Such pains took Nature with your Heav'nly Face , Form'd it for Love , and moulded every Grace ; I doubted first and fear'd that you had been Unfinish'd left like other She 's within : I see the folly of that fear , and find Your Face is not more beauteous than your Mind : Whoe'er beheld you with a Heart unmov'd , That sent not sighs , and said within he lov'd ? I gaz'd and found , a then , unknown delight , Life in your looks , and Death to leave the sight . What joys , new Worlds of joys has he possest , That gain'd the sought-for welcome of your Breast ? Your Wit wou'd recommend the homeliest Face , Your Beauty make the dullest Humour please ; But where they both thus gloriously are join'd , All Men submit , you reign in every Mind . What Passions does your Poetry impart ? It shews th'unfathom'd thing a Woman's Heart , Tells what Love is , his Nature and his Art ▪ Displays the several Scenes of Hopes and Fears , Love's Smiles , his Sighs , his Laughings and his Tears ▪ Each Lover here may reade his different Fate , His Mistress kindness or her scornfull hate . Come all whom the blind God has led astray , Here the bewildred Youth is shew'd his way : Guided by this he may yet love and find Ease in his Heart , and reason in his Mind . Thus sweetly once the charming W — lr strove In Heavenly sounds to gain his hopeless Love : All the World listned but his scornfull Fair , Pride stopt her ears to whom he bent his prayer . Much happier you that can't desire in vain , But what you wish as soon as wish'd obtain . 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 ▪ II. Rest on in peace , ye blessed Spirits , rest , With Imperial bliss for ever blest : Upon your sacred Urn she scorns to tread , Or rob the Learned Monuments of the dead : Nor need her Muse a foreign aid implore In her own tunefull breast there 's wonderous store . Had she but flourisht in these times of old , When Mortals were amongst the Gods inrolld , She had not now as Woman been Ador'd , But with Diviner sacrifice Implor'd ; Temples and Altars had preserv'd her name And she her self been thought Immortal as her fame . III. Curst be the balefull Tongue that dares abuse The rightfull off-spring of her Godlike Muse : And doubly Curst be he that thinks her Pen Can be instructed by the best of men . The times to come , ( as surely she will live , As many Ages as are past , As long as Learning , Sense , or wit survive , As long as the first principles of Bodies last . ) The future Ages may perhaps believe One soft and tender Arm cou'd ne'er atchieve The wonderous deeds that she has done So hard a prize her Conqu'ring Muse has won . But we that live in the great Prophetesses days Can we enough proclaim her praise , We that experience every hour The blest effects of her Miraculous power ? To the sweet Mcsick of her charming tongue , In numerous Crowds the ravisht hearers throng ▪ And even a Herd of Beasts as wild as they That did the Thracian Lyre obey , Forget their Madness and attend her song . The tunefull Shepherds on the dangerous rocks Forsake their Kinds and leave their bleating Flocks , And throw their tender Reeds away , As soon as e'er her softer Pipe begins to play . No barren subject no unfertile soil Can prove ungratefull to her Muses Toil , Warm'd with the Heavenly influence of her Brain , Upon the dry and sandy plain , On craggy Mountains cover'd o'er with Snow , The blooming Rose and fragrant Jes'min grow : When in her powerfull Poetick hand , She waves the mystick wand , Streight from the hardest Rocks the sweetest numbers slow . IV. 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 . And though her vast conceptions are so strong , The powerfull eloquence of her charming tongue Does , clear as the resistless beams of day , To our enlightned Souls the noble thoughts convey ; Well chosen , well appointed , every word Does its full force and natural grace afford ; And though in her rich treasury , Confus'd like Elements great Numbers lie , When they their mixture and proportion take , What beauteous forms of every kind they make ! Such was the Language God himself infus'd , And such the style our great Forefather us'd , From one large stock the various sounds he fram'd , And every Species of the vast Creation nam'd . While most of our dull Sex have trod In beaten paths of one continued Road , Her skilfull and well manag'd Muse Does all the art and strength of different paces use : For though sometimes with slackned force , She wisely stops her fleetest course , That slow but strong Majestick pace Shews her the swiftest steed of all the chosen Race . V. Well has she sung the learned Daphnis praise , And crown'd his Temples with immortal Bays ; And all that reade him must indeed confess , Th' effects of such a cause could not be less . For ne'er was ( at the first bold 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 ; For shou'd th' insatiate lust of time , Root out the memory of his sacred Rhime . The polish'd armour in that single Page Wou'd all the tyranny and rage Of Fire and Sword defie , For Daphnis can't but with Astraea die . And who can dark oblivion fear , That is co-eval with her mighty Works and Her ? Ah learned Chymist , 't is 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. VI. 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 ; 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 . VII . Long may she scourge this mad rebellious Age , And stem the torrent of Fanatick rage , That once had almost overwhelm'd the Stage . O'er all the Land the dire contagion spread , And e'en Apollo's Sons apostate fled : But while that spurious race imploy'd their parts In studying strategems and subtile arts , To alienate their Prince's Subjects hearts , Her Loyal Muse still tun'd her loudest strings , To sing the praises of the best of Kings . And , O ye sacred and immortal Gods , From the blest Mansions of your bright aboads , To the first Chaos let us all be hurld , E'er such vile wretches should reform the World , That in all villany so far excell , If they in sulphurous flames must onely dwell , The Cursed Caitiffs hardly merit Hell. Were not those vile Achitophels so lov'd , ( The blind , the senseless and deluded Crowd ) Did they but half his Royal Vertues know , But half the blessings which to him they owe , His long forbearance to provoking times , And God-like mercy to the worst of crimes : Those murmuring Shimei's , even they alone , Cou'd they bestow a greater than his own , Wou'd from a Cottage raise him to a Throne . VIII . See , ye dull Scriblers of this frantick Age , That load the Press , and so o'erwhelm the Stage , That e'en the noblest art that e'er was known , As great as an Egyptian Plague is grown : Behold , ye scrawling Locusts , what ye've done , What a dire judgment is brought down , By your curst Dogrel Rhimes upon the Town ; On Fools and Rebels hangs an equal Fate , And both may now repent too late , For the great Charter of your Wit as well as Trade is gone . Once more the fam'd Astraea's come ; 'T is she pronounc'd the fatal doom , And has restor'd it to the rightfull Heirs , Since Knowledge first in Paradise was theirs . IX . Never was Soul and Body better joyn'd , A Mansion worthy of so blest a Mind ; See but the Shadow of her beauteous face , The pretious minitures of every Grace , There one may still such Charms behold , That as Idolaters of old , The works of their own hands ador'd , And Gods which they themselves had made implor'd ; 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 : To write our Thoughts alike from dulness free , On this hand , as on that from flattery ; He who wou'd handsomly the Medium hit , Must have no little of Astraea's Wit. Let others in the noble Task engage , Call you the Phoenix , wonder of the Age , The Glory of your Sex , the Shame of ours , Crown you with Garlands of Rhetorick Flowers ; For me , alas , I nothing can design , To render your soft Numbers more divine , Than by comparison with these of mine : As beauteous paintings are set off by shades , And some fair Ladies by their dowdy Maids ; Yet after all , forgive me if I name One Fault where , Madam , you are much to blame , To wound with Beauty's fighting on the square , But to o'ercome with Wit too is not fair , 'T is like the poison'd Indian Arrows found , For thus you 're sure to kill where once you wound . 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 . The Ruddy Warriour laid his Truncheon by , Sheath'd his bright sword , and glorious Arms forgot , The sounds of Triumph , braggs of Victory , Rais'd in his Breast no emulative thought ; For pond'ring on the common Lot , Where is , said He the Diff'rence in the Grave , Betwixt the Coward and the Brave ? Since She , alas , whose inspir'd Muse should tell To unborn Ages how the Hero fell , From the Impoverisht Ignorant World is fled , T'inhance the mighty mighty Number of the dead . II. The trembling Lover broke his tuneless Lute , And said be thou for ever mute : Mute as the silent shades of night , Whither Orinda's gone , Thy musicks best instructress and thy musicks song ; She that could make Thy inarticulated strings to speak , In language soft as young desires , In language chaste as Vestal fires ; But she hath ta'n her Everlasting flight : Ah! cruel Death , How short's the date of Learned breath ! No sooner do's the blooming Rose , Drest fresh and gay , In the embroy'dries of her Native May , Her odorous sweets expose , But with thy fatal knife , The fragrant flow'r is crop't from off the stalk of life . III. Come , ye Stoicks , come away , You that boast an Apathy , And view our Golgotha ; See how the mourning Virgins all around , With Tributary Tears bedew the sacred ground ; And tell me tell me where 's the Eye That can be dry , Unless in hopes ( nor are such hopes in vain ) Their universal cry , Should mount the vaulted sky , And of the Gods obtain , A young succeeding Phoenix might arise From Orinda's spicy obsequies . In Heaven the voice was heard , Heaven does the Virgins pray'rs regard ; And none that dwells on high , If once the beauteous Ask , the beauteous can deny . IV. 'T is done , 't is done , th' imperial grant is past , We have our wish at last , And now no more with sorrow be it said , Orinda's dead ; Since in her 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 : Loves Quiver's tyde In an Azure Mantle by her side , And with more gentle Arts Than he who owns the Aureal darts , At once she wounds , and heals our hearts . V. Hark how the gladded Nymphs rejoyce , And with a gracefull voice , Commend Apollo's Choice . The gladded Nymphs their Guardian Angel greet , And chearfully her name repeat , And chearfully admire and praise , The Loyal musick of her layes ; Whilst they securely sit , Beneath the banners of her wit , And scorn th'ill-manner'd Ignorance of those , Whose Stock 's so poor they cannot raise To their dull Muse one subsidy of praise , Unless they 're dubb'd the Sexes foes , These squibbs of sense themselves expose . Or if with stolen light They shine one night , The next their earth-born Lineage shows , They perish in their slime , And but to name them , wou'd defile Astraea's Rhime VI. But you that would be truely wise , And vertues fair Idea prize ; You that would improve In harmeless Arts of not indecent Love : Arts that Romes fam'd Master never taught , Or in the Shops of fortune's bought . Would you know what Wit doth mean , Pleasant wit yet not obscene , The several garbs that Humours wear , The dull , the brisk , the jealous , the severe ? Wou'd you the pattern see Of spotless and untainted Loyalty , Deck't in every gracefull word That language can afford ; Tropes and Figures , Raptures and Conceits that ly , Disperst in all the pleasant Fields of poesie ? Reade you then Astraea's lines , 'T is in those new discover'd Mines , Those golden Quarries that this Ore is found With which in Worlds as yet unknown Astraea shall be crown'd . VII . And you th' Advent'rous sons of fame , You that would sleep in honours bed With glorious Trophies garnished ; You that with living labours strive Your dying Ashes to survive ; Pay your Tributes to Astraea's name Her Works can spare you immortality , For sure her Works shall never dye . Pyramids must fall and Mausolean Monuments decay , Marble Tombs shall crumble into dust , Noisie Wonders of a short liv'd day , That must in time yield up their Trust ; And had e'er this been perisht quite i th' ruines of Eternal night , Had no kind Pen like her's , In powerfull numbers powerfull verse , Too potent for the gripes of Avaritious fate , To these our ages lost declar'd their pristine State. VIII . But time it self , bright Nymph , shall never Conquer thee , For when the Globe of vast Eternity ; Turns up the wrong-side of the World , And all things are to their first Chaos hurl'd , Thy lasting praise in thy own lines inroll'd , With Roman and with the British Names shall Equal honour hold . And surely none ' midst the Poetick Quire , But justly will admire The Trophies of thy wit , Sublime and gay as e'er were yet In Charming Numbers writ . Or Virgil's Shade or Ovid's Ghost , Of Ages past the pride and boast ; Or Cowley ( first of ours ) refuse That thou shouldst be Companion of their Muse. And if 't were lawfull to suppose ( As where 's the Crime or Incongruity ) Those awfull Souls concern'd can be At any sublunary thing , Alas , I fear they 'll grieve to see , That whilst I sing , And strive to praise , I but disparage thee . By F. N. W. To Madam Behn , on her Poems . WHEN th' Almighty Powers th' Universe had fram'd , And Man as King , the lesser World was nam'd , The Glorious Consult soon his joys did bless , And sent him Woman his chief happiness . She by an after-birth Heaven did refine , And gave her Beauty with a Soul divine ; She with delight was Natures chiefest pride , Dearer to Man than all the World beside ; Her soft embraces charm'd his Manly Soul , And softer Words his Roughness did controul : So thou , great Sappho , with thy charming Verse , Dost here the Soul of Poetry rehearse ; From your sweet Lips such pleasant Raptures fell , As if the Graces strove which shou'd excell . Th' admiring World when first your Lute you strung , Became all ravisht with th' immortal Song ; So soft and gracefull Love in you is seen , As if the Muses had design'd you Queen . For thee , thou great Britannia of our Land , How does thy Praise our tunefull Feet command ? With what great influence do thy Verses move ? How hast thou shewn the various sense of Love ? Admir'd by us , and blest by all above . To you all tribute's due , and I can raise No glory but by speaking in your praise . Go on and bless us dayly with your Pen , And we shall oft return thee thanks again . H. Watson . POEMS UPON Several OCCASIONS . The Golden Age. A Paraphrase on a Translation out of French. I. BLest Age ! when ev'ry Purling Stream Ran undisturb'd and clear , When no scorn'd Shepherds on your Banks were seen , Tortur'd by Love , by Jealousie , or Fear ; When an Eternal Spring drest ev'ry Bough , And Blossoms fell , by new ones dispossest ; These their kind Shade affording all below , And those a Bed where all below might rest . The Groves appear'd all drest with Wreaths of Flowers , And from their Leaves dropt Aromatick Showers , Whose fragrant Heads in Mystick Twines above , Exchang'd their Sweets , and mix'd with thousand Kisses , As if the willing Branches strove To beautifie and shade the Grove Where the young wanton Gods of Love Offer their Noblest Sacrifice of Blisses . II. Calm was the Air , no Winds blew fierce and loud , The Skie was dark'ned with no sullen Cloud ; But all the Heav'ns laugh'd with continued Light , And scatter'd round their Rays serenely bright . No other Murmurs fill'd the Ear But what the Streams and Rivers purl'd , When Silver Waves o'er Shining Pebbles curl'd ; Or when young Zephirs fan'd the Gentle Breez , Gath'ring fresh Sweets from Balmy Flow'rs and Trees , Then bore 'em on their Wings to perfume all the Air : While to their soft and tender Play , The Gray-Plum'd Natives of the Shades Unwearied sing till Love invades , Then Bill , then sing agen , while Love and Musick makes the Day . III. The stubborn Plough had then , Made no rude Rapes upon the Virgin Earth ; Who yeilded of her own accord her plentious Birth , Without the Aids of men ; As if within her Teeming Womb , All Nature , and all Sexes lay , Whence new Creations every day Into the happy World did come : The Roses fill'd with Morning Dew , Bent down their loaded heads , T' Adorn the careless Shepherds Grassy Beds While still young opening Buds each moment grew And as those withered , drest his shaded Couch a new ; Beneath who 's boughs the Snakes securely dwelt , Not doing harm , nor harm from others felt ; With whom the Nymphs did Innocently play , No spightful Venom in the wantons lay ; But to the touch were Soft , and to the sight were Gay . IV. Then no rough sound of Wars Alarms , Had taught the World the needless use of Arms : Monarchs were uncreated then , Those Arbitrary Rulers over men ; Kings that made Laws , first broke 'em , and the Gods By teaching us Religion first , first set the World at Odds : Till then Ambition was not known , That Poyson to Content , Bane to Repose ; Each Swain was Lord o'er his own will alone , His Innocence Religion was , and Laws . Nor needed any troublesome defence Against his Neighbours Insolence . Flocks , Herds , and every necessary good Which bounteous Nature had design'd for Food , Whose kind increase o'er spread the Meads and Plaines , Was then a common Sacrifice to all th' agreeing Swaines . V. Right and Property were words since made , When Power taught Mankind to invade : When Pride and Avarice became a Trade ; Carri'd on by discord , noise and wars , For which they barter'd wounds and scarrs ; And to Inhaunce the Merchandize , miscall'd it ' Fame , And Rapes , Invasions , Tyrannies , Was gaining of a Glorious Name : Stiling their salvage slaughters , Victories ; Honour , the Error and the Cheat Of the Ill-natur'd Bus'ey Great , Nonsence , invented by the Proud , Fond Idol of the slavish Crowd , Thou wert not known in those blest days Thy Poyson was not mixt with our unbounded Joyes ; Then it was glory to pursue delight , And that was lawful all , that Pleasure did invite , Then 't was the Amorous world injoy'd its Reign ; And Tyrant Honour strove t' usurp in Vain . VI. The flowry Meads the Rivers and the Groves , Were fill'd with little 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 , 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 . VII . The Lovers thus , thus uncontroul'd did meet , Thus all their Joyes and Vows of Love repeat : Joyes which were everlasting , ever new And every Vow inviolably true : Not kept in fear of Gods , no fond Religious cause , Nor in Obedience to the duller Laws . Those Fopperies of the Gown were then not known , Those vain those Politick Curbs to keep man in , 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 ? VIII . Oh cursed Honour ! thou who first didst damn , A VVoman to the Sin of shame ; Honour ! that rob'st us of our Gust , Honour ! that hindred mankind first , At Loves Eternal Spring to squench his amorous thirst . Honour ! who first taught lovely Eyes the art , To wound , and not to cure the heart : 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 . IX . Honour ! that put'st our words that should be free Into a set Formality . Thou base Debaucher of the generous heart , That teachest all our Looks and Actions Art ; What Love design'd a sacred Gift , What Nature made to be possest , Mistaken Honour , made a Theft , For Glorious Love should be confest : For when confin'd , all the poor Lover gains , Is broken Sighs , pale Looks , Complaints , & Pains . Thou Foe to Pleasure , Nature's worst Disease , Thou Tyrant over mighty Kings , What mak'st thou here in Shepheards Cottages ; Why troublest thou , the quiet Shades & Springs Be gone , and make thy Fam'd resort To Princes Pallaces ; Go Deal and Chaffer in the Trading Court , That busie Market for Phantastick Things ; Be gone and interrupt the short Retreat , Of the Illustrious and the Great ; Go break the Polititians sleep , Disturb the Gay Ambitious Fool , That longs for Scepters , Crowns , and Rule , Which not his Title , nor his Wit can keep ; But let the humble honest Swain go on , In the blest Paths of the first rate of man ; That nearest were to Gods Alli'd , And form'd for love alone , disdain'd all other Pride X. Be gone ! and let the Golden age again , Assume its Glorious Reign ; Let the young wishing Maid confess , What all your Arts would keep conceal'd : The Mystery will be reveal'd , And she in vain denies , whilst we can guess , She only shows the Jilt to teach man how , To turn the false Artillery on the Cunning Foe . Thou empty Vision hence , be gone , And let the peaceful Swain love on ; The swift pac'd hours of life soon steal away : Stint not yee Gods his short liv'd Joy. The Spring decays , but when the Winter 's gone , The Trees and Flowers a new comes on The Sun may set , but when the night is fled , And gloomy darkness does retire , He rises from his Watry Bed : All Glorious , Gay , all drest in Amorous Fire . But Sylvia when your Beauties fade , 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 ; So the first man in Paradice was laid , So blest beneath his own dear fragrant shade , Till false Ambition made him range , So the Almighty call'd him forth , And though for Empire he did Eden change ; Less Charming 't was , and far less worth . II. Yet he obeyes and leaves the peaceful Plains , The weeping Nymphs , and sighing Swains , Obeys the mighty voice of 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 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 . III. But thou whose nobler Soul was fram'd , For Glorious and Luxurious Ease , By Wit adorn'd , by Love inflam'd ; For every Grace , and Beauty Fam'd , Form'd for delight , design'd to please , Give Give a look to every Joy , That youth and lavish Fortune can invent , Nor let Ambition , that false God , destroy Both Heaven and Natures first intent . But oh in vain is all I say , And you alas must go , The Mighty Caesar to obey , And none so fit as you . From all the Envying Croud he calls you forth , He knows your Loyalty , and knows your worth ; He 's try'd it oft , and put it to the Test , It grew in Zeal even whilst it was opprest , The great , the Godlike Celladon , Unlike the base Examples of the times , Cou'd never be Corrupted , never won , To stain his honest blood with Rebel Crimes . Fearless unmov'd he stood amidst the tainted Crowd , And justify'd and own'd his Loyalty aloud . IV. Hybernia hail ! Hail happy Isle , Be glad , and let all Nature smile . Ye Meads and Plains send forth your Gayest Flowers ; Ye Groves and every Purling Spring , VVhere Lovers sigh , and Birds do sing , Be glad and gay , for Celladon is yours ; He comes , he comes to grace your Plains . To Charm the Nymphs , and bless the Swains , Ecchoes repeat his Glorious Name To all the Neighbouring Woods and Hills ; Ye Feather'd Quire chant forth his Fame , Ye Fountains , Brooks , and Wan'dring Rills , That through the Meadows in Meanders run , Tell all your Flowry Brinks , the generous Swain is come . VI. Divert him all ye pretty Solitudes , And give his Life some softning Interludes : That when his weari'd mind would be , From Noise and Rigid Bus'ness free ; He may upon your Mossey Beds lye down , Where all is Gloomy , all is Shade , With some dear Shee , whom Nature made , To be possest by him alone ; Where the soft tale of Love She breathes , Mixt with the rushing of the wind-blown leaves , The different Notes of Cheerful Birds , And distant Bleating of the Herds : Is Musick far more ravishing and sweet , Then all the Artful Sounds that please the noisey Great . VII . Mix thus your Toiles of Life with Joyes , And for the publick good , prolong your days : Instruct the 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 . VIII . 'T is Celladon the witty and the gay , That blest the Night , and cheer'd the world all Day : 'T is Celladon , to whom our Vows belong , And Celladon the Subject of our Song . For whom the Nymphs would dress , the Swains rejoice , The praise of these , of those the choice ; And if our Joyes were rais'd to this Excess , Our Pleasures by thy presence made so great : Some pittying God help thee to guess , ( What Fancy cannot well Express . ) Our Languishments by thy Retreat , Pitty our Swaines , pitty our Virgins more , And let that pitty haste thee to our shore ; And whilst on happy distant Coasts you are , Afford us all your sighs , and Cesar all your care . On a Juniper-Tree , cut down to make Busks . WHilst happy I Triumphant stood , The Pride and Glory of the Wood ; My Aromatick Boughs and Fruit , Did with all other Trees dispute . Had right by Nature to excel , In pleasing both the tast and smell : But to the touch I must confess , Bore an Ungrateful Sullenness . My Wealth , like bashful Virgins , I Yielded with some Reluctancy ; For which my vallue should be more , Not giving easily my store . My verdant Branches all the year Did an Eternal Beauty wear ; Did ever young and gay appear . Nor needed any tribute pay , For bounties from the God of Day : Nor do I hold Supremacy , ( In all the Wood ) o'er every Tree . But even those too of my own Race , That grow not in this happy place . But that in which I glory most , And do my self with Reason boast , Beneath my shade the other day , Young Philocles and Cloris lay , Upon my Root she lean'd her head , And where I grew , he made their Bed : Whilst I the Canopy more largely spread . Their trembling Limbs did gently press , The kind supporting yielding Grass : Ne'er half so blest as now , to bear A Swain so Young , a Nimph so fair : My Grateful Shade I kindly lent , And every aiding Bough I bent . So low , as sometimes had the blisse , To rob the Shepherd of a kiss , Whilst he in Pleasures far above The Sence of that degree of Love : Permitted every stealth I made , Unjealous of his Rival Shade . I saw 'em kindle to desire , 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 . Impatient he waits no consent But what she gave by Languishment , The blessed Minute he pursu'd ; While Love and Shame her Soul Subdu'd . And now transported in his Arms , Yeilds to the Conqueror all her Charmes , His panting Breast , to hers now join'd , They feast on Raptures unconfin'd ; Vast and Luxuriant , such as prove The Immortality of Love. For who but a Divinitie , Could mingle Souls to that Degree ? Now like the Phenix , both Expire , While from the Ashes of their fire , Sprung up a new , and soft desire . Like Charmers , thrice they did invoke , The God! and thrice new vigor took . Nor had the Mysterie ended there , But Cloris reassum'd her fear , And chid the Swain , for having prest , What she alas cou'd not resist : Whilst he in whom Loves sacred flame , Before and after was the same , Fondly implor'd she wou'd forget A fault , which he wou'd yet repeat . From Active Joyes with some they hast , To a Reflexion on the past ; A thousand times my Covert bless , That did secure their Happiness : Their Gratitude to every Tree They pay , but most to happy me ; The Shepherdess my Bark carest , Whilst he my Root , Love's Pillow , kist ; And did with sighs , their Fate deplore , Since I must shelter them no more ; And if before my Joyes were such , In having heard , and seen too much , My Grief must be as great and high , When all abandon'd I shall be , Doom'd to a silent Destinie . No more the Charming strife to hear , The Shepherds Vows , the Virgins fear : No more a joyful looker on , Whilst Loves soft Battel 's lost and won . With grief I bow'd my murmering Head , And all my Christal Dew I shed . Which did in Cloris Pity move , ( Cloris whose Soul is made of Love ; ) She cut me down , and did translate , My being to a happier state . No Martyr for Religion di'd With half 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 . I. WHat doleful crys are these that fright my sence , Sad as the Groans of dying Innocence ? The killing Accents now more near Aproach , And the Infectious Sound , Spreads and Inlarges all around ; And does all Hearts with Grief and Wonder touch . The famous Grinhil dead ! even he , That cou'd to us give Immortalitie ; Is to the Eternal silent Groves withdrawn , Those sullen Groves of Everlasting Dawn ; Youthful as Flowers , scarce blown , whose opening Leaves , A wond'rous and a fragrant Prospect gives , Of what it's Elder Beauties wou'd display , When they should flourish up to ripning May. Witty as Poets , warm'd with Love and Wine , Yet still spar'd Heaven and his Friend , For both to him were Sacred and Divine : Nor could he this no more then that offend . Fixt as a Martyr where he friendship paid , And Generous as a God , Distributing his Bounties all abroad ; And soft and gentle as a Love-sick Maid . II. Great Master of the Noblest Mysterie , That ever happy Knowledge did inspire ; Sacred as that of Poetry , And which the wond'ring World does equally admire . Great Natures work we do contemn , When on his Glorious Births we meditate : The Face and Eies , more Darts receiv'd from him , Then all the Charms she can create . The Difference is , his Beauties do beget In the inamour'd Soul a Vertuous Heat : While Natures Grosser Pieces move , In the course road of Common Love : So bold , yet soft , his touches were ; So round each part 's so sweet and fair . That as his Pencil mov'd men thought it prest , The Lively imitating rising Breast , Which yield like Clouds , where little Angels rest : The Limbs all easy as his Temper was ; Strong as his Mind , and manly too ; Large as his Soul his fancy was , and new : And from himself he copyed every Grace , For he had all that cou'd adorn a Face , All that cou'd either Sex subdue . III. 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 . IV. Ah why shou'd so much knowledge die ! Or with his last kind breath , Why cou'd he not to some one friend bequeath The Mighty Legacie ! But 't was a knowledge given to him alone , That his eternis'd Name might be Admir'd to all Posteritie , By all to whom his grateful Name was known . Come all ye softer Beauties , come ; Bring Wreaths of Flowers to deck his tomb ; Mixt with the dismal Cypress and the Yew , For he still gave your Charmes their due : And from the injuries of Age and Time , Preserv'd the sweetness of your Prime : And best knew how t' adore that Sweetness too ; Bring all your Mournful Tributes here , And let your Eyes a silent sorrow wear , Till every Virgin for a while become ; Sad as his Fate , and like his Picture 's Dumb. A Ballad on Mr. J. H. to Amoret , asking why I was so sad . MY Amoret , since you must know , The Grief you say my Eyes do show : Survey my Heart , where you shall find , More Love then for your self confin'd . And though you chide , you 'l Pity too , A Passion which even Rivals you . Amyntas on a Holy-day As fine as any Lord of May , Amongst the Nimphs , and jolly Swaines , That feed their Flocks upon the Plaines : Met in a Grove beneath whose shade , A Match of Dancing they had made . His Cassock was of Green , as trim As Grass upon a River brim ; Untoucht or sullied with a spot , Unprest by either Lamb or Goat : And with the Air it loosely play'd , With every motion that he made . His Sleeves a-many Ribbons ties , Where one might read Love-Mysteries : As if that way he wou'd impart , To all , the Sentiments of his Heart , Whose Passions by those Colours known , He with a Charming Pride wou'd own . His Bonnet with the same was Ti'd , A Silver Scrip hung by his Side : His Buskins garnisht A-la-mode , Were grac'd by every step he Trod ; Like Pan a Majesty he took , And like Apollo when he spoke . His Hook a Wreath of Flowers did Braid , The Present of some Love-sick Maid . Who all the morning had bestow'd , And to her Fancy now compos'd : Which fresher seem'd when near that place , To whom the Giver Captive was . His Eyes their best Attracts put on , Designing some should be undone ; For he could at his pleasure move , The Nymphs he lik'd to fall in Love : Yet so he order'd every Glance , That still they seem'd but Wounds of Chance . He well cou'd feign an Innocence , And taught his Silence Eloquence ; Each Smile he us'd , had got the force , To Conquer more than soft Discourse : Which when it serv'd his Ends he 'd use , And subtilly thro' a heart infuse . His Wit was such it cou'd controul The Resolutions of a Soul ; That a Religious Vow had made , By Love it nere wou'd be betra'd : For when he spoke he well cou'd prove Their Errors who dispute with Love. With all these Charms he did Address Himself to every Shepherdess : Until the Bag-pipes which did play , Began the Bus'ness of the day ; And in the taking forth to Dance , The Lovely Swain became my Chance . To whom much Passion he did Vow , And much his Eyes and Sighs did show ; And both imploy'd with so much Art , I strove in vain to guard my Heart ; And ere the Night our Revels crost , I was intirely won and lost . Let me advise thee , Amoret , Fly from the Baits that he has set In every grace ; which will betray All Beauties that but look that way : But thou hast Charms that will secure A Captive in this Conquerour . Our Cabal . COme , my fair Cloris , come away , Hast thou forgot 't is Holyday ? And lovely Silvia too make haste , The Sun is up , the day does waste : Do'st thou not hear the Musick loud , Mix'd with the murmur of the Crowd ? How can thy active Feet be still , And hear the Bagpipes chearful Trill ? Mr. V. U. 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 . 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. 'T is Philocles , that Proud Ingrate , That pays her Passion back with Hate ; 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 ! His Eyes so much of Sweetness dress , Such Wit , such Vigour too express ; That 't wou'd a wonder be to say , I 've seen the Youth , and brought my Heart away . Ah Cloris ! Thou that never wert In danger yet to lose a Heart , Guard it severely now , for he Will startle all thy Constancy : For if by chance thou do'st escape Unwounded by his Lovely Shape , Tempt not thy Ruine , lest his Eyes Joyn with his Tongue to win the Prize : Such Softness in his Language dwells , And Tales of Love so well he tells , Should'st thou attend their Harmony , thou 'dst be Undone , as well as I ; For sure no Nymph was ever free , That could Amyntas hear and see . Mr. N. R. V. With him the lovely Philocless , His Beauty heightned by his Dress , If any thing can add a Grace To such a Shape , and such a Face , Whose Natural Ornaments impart Enough without the help of Art. His Shoulders cover'd with a Hair , The Sun-Beams are not half so fair ; Of which the Virgins Bracelets make , And wear for Philocless's sake : His Beauty such , that one would swear His Face did never take the Air. On 's Cheeks the blushing Roses show , The rest like whitest Daisies grow : His Lips , no Berries of the Field , Nor Cherries , such a Red do yield . His Eyes all Love , Soft'ning Smile ; And when he speaks , he sighs the while : His Bashful Grace , with Blushes too , Gains more then Confidence can do . With all these Charms he does invade The Heart , which when he has betray'd , He slights the Trophies he has won , And weeps for those he has Undone ; As if he never did intend His Charms for so severe an End. And all poor Amoret can Gain , Is pitty from the Lovely Swain ▪ And if Inconstancy can seem Agreeable , 't is so in him . And when he meets Reproach for it , He does excuse it with his Wit. Mr. E. B. and Mrs. F M. Next hand in hand the smilling Pair , Martillo , and the Lovely Fair : A Bright-Ey'd Phillis , who they say , Ne'er knew what Love was till to day : Long has the Gen'rous Youth in vain Implor'd some Pity for his Pain . Early abroad he would be seen , To wait her coming on the Green , To be the first that t' her should pay The Tribute of the New-born Day ; Presents her Bracelets with their Names , And Hooks carv'd out with Hearts and Flames . And when a stragling Lamb he saw , And she not by to give it Law , The pretty Fugitive he 'd deck With Wreaths of Flowers around its Neck ; And gave her ev'ry mark of Love , Before he could her Pity move . But now the Youth no more appears Clouded with Jealousies and Fears : Nor yet dares Phillis softer Brow Wear Unconcern , or Coldness now ; But makes him just and kind Returns ; And as He does , so now She burns . Mr. J. H. Next Lysidas , that haughty Swain , With many Beauties in a Train , All sighing for the Swain , whilst he Barely returns Civility . Yet once to each much Love he Vowd , And strange Fantastique Passion show'd . Poor Doris , and Lucinda too , And many more whom thou dost know , Who had not power his Charms to shun , Too late do find themselves Undone . His Eyes are Black , and do transcend All Fancy e'er can comprehend And yet no Softness in 'em move , They kill with Fierceness , not with Love : Yet he can dress 'em when he list , With Sweetness none can e'er resist . His Tongue no Amorous Parley makes , But with his Looks alone he speaks . And though he languish yet he 'l hide , That grateful knowledge with his Pride ; And thinks his Liberty is lost , Not in the Conquest , but the Boast . Nor will but Love enough impart , To gain and to secure a heart : Of which no sooner he is sure , And that its Wounds are past all Cure. But for New Victories he prepares , And leaves the Old to its Despairs : Success his Boldness does renew , And Boldness helps him Conquer too ▪ He having gain'd more hearts then all , Th' rest of the Pastoral Cabal . Mr. Ed. Bed. With him Philander , who nere paid A Sigh or Tear to any Maid : So innocent and young he is , He cannot guess what Passion is . But all the Love he ever knew , On Lycidas he does bestow : Who pays his Tenderness again , Too Amorous for a Swain to a Swain . A softer Youth was never seen , His Beauty Maid ; but Man , his Mein : And much more gay than all the rest ; And but Alexis finest Dress'd . His Eyes towards Lycidas still turn , As sympathising Flowers to the Sun : Whilst Lycidas whose Eyes dispense No less a grateful Influence , Improves his Beauty , which still fresher grows : Who would not under two such Suns as those ? Cloris you sigh , what Amorous grown ? Pan grant you keep your heart at home : For I have often heard you Vow , If any cou'd your heart subdue , Though Lycidas you nere 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 ; Come deck thee then in all that 's fine , Perhaps the Conquest may be thine ; They all attend , let 's hast to do , What Love and Musick calls us to . SONG . The Willing Mistriss . AMyntas led me to a Grove , Where all the Trees did shade us ; The Sun it self , though it had Strove , It could not have betray'd us : The place secur'd from humane Eyes , No other fear allows , But when the Winds that gently rise , Doe Kiss the yeilding Boughs . Down there we satt upon the Moss , And did begin to play A Thousand Amorous Tricks , to pass The heat of all the day . A many Kisses he did give : And I return'd the same Which made me willing to receive That which I dare not name . His Charming Eyes no Aid requir'd To tell their softning Tale ; On her that was already fir'd , 'T was Easy to prevaile . He did but Kiss and Clasp me round , Whilst those his thoughts Exprest : And lay'd me gently on the Ground ; Ah who can guess the rest ? SONG . Love Arm'd . LOve in Fantastique Triumph satt , Whilst Bleeding Hearts a round him flow'd , For whom Fresh paines he did Create , And strange Tyranick power he show'd ; From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire , Which round about , in sport he hurl'd ; But 't was from mine , he took desire , Enough to undo the Amorous World. From me he took his sighs and tears , From thee his Pride and Crueltie ; From me his Languishments and Feares , And every Killing Dart from thee ; Thus thou and I , the God have arm'd , And sett him up a Deity ; But my poor Heart alone is harm'd , Whilst thine the Victor is , and free . SONG . The Complaint . AMyntas that true hearted Swaine , Upon a Rivers Banck was lay'd , Where to the Pittying streames he did Complaine On Silvia that false Charming Maid . VVhile shee was still regardless of his paine . Ah! Charming Silvia , would he cry ; And what he said , the Echoes wou'd reply : Be kind or else I dy , Ech : — I dy Be kind or else I dy : Ech : — I dy . Those smiles and Kisses which you give , Remember Sylvia are my due ; And all the Joyes my Rivall does receive , He ravishes from me not you : Ah Silvia ! can I live and this believe ? Insensibles are toucht to see My Languishments , and seem to pitty me : Which I demand of thee : Ech — of thee Which I demand of thee Ech : — of thee . Set by Mr. Banister . SONG . The Invitation . DAmon I cannot blame your will , 'T was Chance and not Design did kill ; For whilst you did prepare your Charmes , On purpose Silvia to subdue : I met the Arrows as they flew , And sav'd her from their harms . Alas she cannot make returnes , Who for a Swaine already Burnes ; A Shepherd whom she does Caress : With all the softest marks of Love , And 't is in vaine thou seek'st to move , The cruel Shepherdess . Content thee with this Victory , Think me as faire and young as she : I 'le make thee Garlands all the day , And in the Groves we 'l sit and sing ; I 'le Crown thee with the pride o' th' Spring , When thou art Lord of May. SONG . WHen Iemmy first began to Love , He was the Gayest Swaine That ever yet a Flock had drove , Or danc't upon the Plaine . T' was then that I , weys me poor Heart , My Freedom threw away ; And finding sweets in every smart , I cou'd not say him nay . And ever when he talkt of Love , He wou'd his Eyes decline ; And every sigh , a Heart would move , Gued Faith and why not mine ? He 'd press my hand , and Kiss it oft , In silence spoke his Flame . And whilst he treated me thus soft , I wisht him more to Blame . Sometimes to feed my Flocks with him , My 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 . But I of Feebler Seeds design'd , Whilst the slow moving Atomes strove With careless heed to form my Mind : Compos'd it all of Softer Love. In gentle Numbers all my Songs are Drest , And when I would thy Glories sing , What in strong manly Verse I would express , Turns all to Womannish Tenderness within . Whilst that which Admiration does inspire , In other Souls , kindles in mine a Fire . Let them admire thee on — Whilst I this newer way Pay thee yet more than they : For more I owe , since thou hast taught me more , Then all the mighty Bards that went before . Others long since have Pal'd the vast delight ; In duller Greek and Latin satisfy'd the Appetite : But I unlearn'd in Schools , disdain that mine Should treated be at any Feast but thine . Till now , I curst my Birth , my Education , And more the scanted Customes of the Nation : Permitting not the Female Sex to tread , The Mighty Paths of Learned Heroes dead . The God-like Virgil , and great Homers Verse , Like Divine Mysteries are conceal'd from us . We are forbid all grateful Theams , No ravishing thoughts approach our Ear , The Fulsom Gingle of the times , Is all we are allow'd to understand or hear . But as of old , when men unthinking lay , Ere Gods were worshipt , or ere Laws were fram'd The wiser Bard that taught 'em first t' obey , Was next to what he taught , ador'd and fam'd ; Gentler they grew , their words and manners chang'd , And salvage now no more the Woods they rang'd . So thou by this Translation dost advance Our Knowledg from the State of Ignorance , And equals us to Man : Ah how can we , Enough Adore , or Sacrifice enough to thee ! The Mystick Terms of Rough Philosophy , Thou dost so plain and easily express ; Yet Deck'st them in so soft and gay a Dress : So intelligent to each Capacity , That they at once Instruct and Charm the Sense , VVith heights of Fancy , heights of Eloquence ; 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 ! 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 . 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 , 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 . And all the Nymphs strow Garlands at thy Feet . May all the Purling Streams that murmuring pass , The Shady Groves and Banks of Flowers , The kind reposing Beds of Grass , Contribute to their Softer Hours . Mayst thou thy Muse and Mistress there Caress , And may one heighten to ' ther 's Happiness ! And whilst thou so divinely dost Converse , We are content to know and to admire thee in thy Sacred Verse . To Mrs. W. On her Excellent Verses ( Writ in Praise of some I had made on the Earl of Rochester ) Written in a Fit of Sickness . ENough kind Heaven ! to purpose I have liv'd , And all my Sighs & Languishments surviv'd . My Stars in vain their sullen influence have shed , Round my till now Unlucky Head : I pardon all the Silent Hours I 've griev'd , My Weary Nights , and Melancholy Days ; When no Kind Power my Pain Reliev'd , I lose you all , you sad Remembrancers , I lose you all in New-born Joys , Joys that will dissipate my Falling Tears . The Mighty Soul of Rochester's reviv'd , Enough Kind Heaven to purpose I have liv'd . I saw the Lovely Phantom , no Disguise , Veil'd the blest Vision from my Eyes , 'T was all o're Rochester that pleas'd and did 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. 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 , 'T was not Alied but very very he . So the All-Ravisht Swain that hears The wondrous Musick of the Sphears , For ever does the grateful Sound retain , Whilst all his Oaten Pipes and Reeds . The Rural Musick of the Groves and Meads , Strive to divert him from the Heavenly Song in vain . He hates their harsh and Untun'd Lays , Which now no more his Soul and Fancy raise . But if one Note of the remembred Air He chance again to hear , He starts , and in a transport cries , — 'T is there ! He knows it all by that one little taste , And by that grateful Hint remembers all the rest . Great , Good , and Excellent , by what new way Shall I my humble Tribute pay , For this vast Glory you my Muse have done , For this great Condescention shown ! So Gods of old sometimes laid by Their Awful Trains of Majesty , And chang'd ev'n Heav'n a while for Groves and Plains , And to their Fellow-Gods preferr'd the lowly Swains . And Beds of Flow'rs would oft compare To those of Downey Clouds , or yielding Air ; At Purling Streams would drink in homely Shells , Put off the God , to Revel it in Woods and Shepherds Cells ; Would listen to their Rustick Songs , and show Such Divine Goodness in Commending too , Whilst the transported Swain the Honour pays With humble Adoration , humble Praise . The Sence of a Letter sent me , made into Verse ; To a New Tune . I. IN vain I have labour'd the Victor to prove Of a Heart that can ne'er give Admittance to Love : So hard to be won , That nothing so young , Could e'er have resisted a Passion so long . II But nothing I left unattempted or said , To soften the Heart of the Pityless Maid ; Yet still she was shy , And would blushing deny , Whilst her willinger Eyes gave her Language the Lye. III. When before the Impregnable Fort I lay down , I resolv'd or to die , or to Purchase Renown , But how vain was the Boast ! All the Glory I lost , And now vanquish'd and sham'd I 've quitted my Post. The Return . I. AMyntas whilst you Have an Art to subdue , And can conquer a Heart with a Look or a Smile , You Pityless grow , And no Faith will allow ; 'T is the Glory you seek when you rifle the Spoil . II. Your soft warring Eyes , When prepar'd for the Prize , Can laugh at the Aids of my feeble Disdain ; You can humble the Foe , And soon make her to know Tho' she arms her with Pride , her Efforts are but vain . III. But Shepherd beware , Though a Victor you are ; A Tyrant was never secure in his Throne ; Whilst proudly you aim New Conquests to gain , Some hard-hearted Nymph may return you your own . On a Copy of Verses made in a Dream , and sent to me in a Morning before I was Awake . AMyntas , if your Wit in Dreams Can furnish you with Theams , What must it do when your Soul looks abroad , Quick'nd with Agitations of the Sence , And dispossest of Sleeps dull heavy Load , When ev'ry Syllable has Eloquence ? And if by Chance such Wounds you make , And in your Sleep such welcome Mischiefs do ; What are your Pow'rs when you 're awake , Directed by Design and Reason too ? I slept , as duller Mortals use , Without the Musick of a Thought , 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 ; Bellario saw in ev'ry Look My smiling Joy and blushing Love. Soft ev'ry word , easie each Line , and true ; Brisk , witty , manly , strong and gay ; The Thoughts are tender all , and new , And Fancy ev'ry where does gently play . Amyntas if you thus go on , Like an unwearied Conqueror day and night , The World at last must be undone . You do not only kill at sight , But like a Parthian in your flight . Whether you Rally or Retreat , You still have Arrows for Defeat . To my Lady Morland at Tunbrige . AS when a Conqu'rour does in Triumph come , And proudly leads the vanquish'd Captives home , The Joyful People croud in ev'ry Street , And with loud shouts of Praise the Victor greet ; While some whom Chance or Fortune kept away , Desire at least the Story of the Day ; How brave the Prince , how gay the Chariot was , How beautiful he look'd , with what a Grace ; Whether upon his Head he Plumes did wear ; Or if a Wreath of Bays adorn'd his Hair : They hear 't is wondrous fine , and long much 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 . 'T was at the Altar , where more Hearts were giv'n To you that day , then were address'd to Heav'n . The Rev'rend Man whose Age and Mystery Had rendred Youth and Beauty Vanity , By fatal Chance casting his Eyes your way , Mistook the duller Bus'ness of the Day , Forgot the Gospel , and began to Pray . 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 't is Just he should Adore . Not to love you , a wonder sure would be , Greater then all his Perjuries to me . And whilst I Blame him , I Excuse him too ; Who would not venture Heav'n to purchase you ? But Charming Cloris , you too meanly prize The more deserving Glories of your Eyes , If you permit him on an Amorous score , To be your Slave , who was my Slave before . He oft has Fetters worn , and can with ease Admit 'em or dismiss 'em when he please . A Virgin-Heart you merit , that ne'er 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 . I. 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 . II. 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 : Say , gentle Goddess , what the Youth must give , E'er the Bright Maid he can from thee receive . Song in the same Play , by the Wavering Nymph . PAN grant that I may never prove So great a Slave to fall in love , And to an Unknown Deity Resign my happy Liberty : I love to see the Amorous Swains Unto my Scorn their Hearts resign : With Pride I see the Meads and Plains Throng'd all with Slaves , and they all mine : Whilst I the whining Fools despise , That pay their Homage to my Eyes . The Disappointment . I. ONe day the Amorous Lysander , By an impatient Passion sway'd , Surpriz'd fair Cloris , that lov'd Maid , Who could defend her self no longer . All things did with his Love conspire ; The gilded Planet of the Day , In his gay Chariot drawn by Fire , Was now descending to the Sea , And left no Light to guide the VVorld , But what from Cloris Brighter Eyes was hurld . II. In a lone Thicket made for Love , Silent as yielding Maids Consent , She with a Charming Languishment , Permits his Force , yet gently strove ; Her Hands his Bosom softly meet , But not to put him back design'd , Rather to draw 'em on inclin'd : VVhilst he lay trembling at her Feet , Resistance 't is in vain to show ; She wants the pow'r to say — Ah! What d' ye do ? III. Her Bright Eyes sweet , and yet severe , 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 . IV. But he as much unus'd to Fear , As he was capable of Love , The blessed minutes to improve , Kisses her Mouth , her Neck , her Hair ; Each Touch her new Desire Alarms , His burning trembling Hand he prest Upon her swelling Snowy Brest , VVhile she lay panting in his Arms. All her Unguarded Beauties lie The Spoils and Trophies of rhe Enemy . V. And now without Respect or Fear , He seeks the Object of his Vows , ( His Love no Modesty allows ) By swift degrees advancing — where His daring Hand that Altar seiz'd , 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 . VI. 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 ; Or falling Stars , whose Fires decay : And now no signs of Life she shows , But what in short-breath'd Sighs returns & goes . VII . He saw how at her Length she lay ; He saw her rising Bosom bare ; Her loose thin Rohes , through which appeat A Shape design'd for Love and Play ; Abandon'd by her Pride and Shame . She does her softest Joys dispence , Off'ring her Virgin-Innocence A Victim to Loves Sacred Flame ; While the o'er-Ravish'd Shepherd lies Unable to perform the Sacrifice . VIII . Ready to taste a thousand Joys , The too transported hapless Swain Found the vast Pleasure turn'd to Pain ; Pleasure which too much Love destroys : The willing Garments by he laid , And Heaven all open'd to his view , Mad to possess , himself he threw On the Defenceless Lovely Maid . But Oh what envying God conspires To snatch his Power , yet leave him the Desire ! IX . Nature's Support , ( without whose Aid She can no Humane Being give ) It self now wants the Art to live ; Faintness its slack'ned Nerves invade : In vain th' inraged Youth essay'd To call its fleeting Vigor back , No motion 't will from Motion take ; Excess of Love his Love betray'd : In vain he Toils , in vain Commands ; The Insensible fell weeping in his Hand . X. In this so Amorous Cruel Strife , Where Love and Fate were too severe , The poor Lysander in despair Renounc'd his Reason with his Life : Now all the brisk and active Fire That should the Nobler Part inflame , Serv'd to increase his Rage and Shame , And left no Spark for New Desire : Not all her Naked Charms cou'd move Or calm that Rage that had debauch'd his Love. XI . Cloris returning from the Trance Which Love and soft Desire had bred , Her timerous Hand she gently laid ( Or guided by Design or Chance ) Upon that Fabulous Priapas , That Potent God , as Poets feign ; But never did young Shepherdess , Gath'ring of Fern upon the Plain , More nimbly draw her Fingers back , Finding beneath the verdant Leaves a Snake : XII . Than Cloris her fair Hand withdrew , Finding that God of her Desires Disarm'd of all his Awful Fires , And Cold as Flow'rs bath'd in the Morning-Dew . Who can the Nymph's Confusion guess ? The Blood forsook the hinder Place , And strew'd with Blushes all her Face , Which both Disdain and Shame exprest : And from Lysander's Arms she fled , Leaving him fainting on the Gloomy Bed. XIII . Like Lightning through the Grove she hies , Or Daphne from the Delphick God , No Print upon the grassey Road She leaves , t' instruct Pursuing Eyes . The Wind that wanton'd in her Hair , And with her Ruffled Garments plaid , Discover'd in the Flying Maid All that the Gods e'er made , if Fair. So Venus , when her Love was slain , With Fear and Haste flew o'er the Fatal Plain . XIV . The Nymph's Resentments none but I Can well Imagine or Condole : But none can guess Lysander's Soul , But those who sway'd his Destiny . His silent Griefs swell up to Storms , And not one God his Fury spares ; He curs'd his Birth , his Fate , his Stars ; But more the Shepherdess's Charms , Whose soft bewitching Influence Had Damn'd him to the Hell of Impotence . On a Locket of Hair Wove in a True-Loves Knot , given me by Sir R. O. WHat means this Knot , in Mystick Order Ty'd , And which no Humane Knowledge can divide ? Not the Great Conqu'rours Sword can this undo Whose very Beauty would divert the Blow . Bright Relique 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 ; Thus shaded , and thus all adorn'd with Charms , Harmless , Unfletch'd , without Offensive Arms , He us'd of Old in shady Groves to Play , E'er Swains broke Vows , or Nymphs were vain and coy , Or Love himself had Wings to fly away . Or was it ( his Almighty Pow'r to prove ) Design'd a Quiver for the God of Love ? And all these shining Hairs which th'inspir'd Maid Has with such strange Mysterious Fancy laid , Are meant his Shafts ; the subt'lest surest Darts That ever Conqu'red or Secur'd his Hearts ; Darts that such tender Passions do convey , Not the young Wounder is more soft than they . 'T is so ; the Riddle I at last have learn'd : But found it when I was too far concern'd . The Dream . A Song . I. THe Grove was gloomy all around , Murm'ring the Streams did pass , Where fond Astrea laid her down Upon a Bed of Grass . I slept and saw a piteous sight , Cupid a weeping lay , Till both his little Stars of Light Had wept themselves away . II. Methought I ask'd him why he cry'd , My Pity led me on : All sighing the sad Boy reply'd , Alas I am undone ! As I beneath yon Myrtles lay , Down by Diana's Springs , Amyntas stole my Bow away , And Pinion'd both my Wings . III. Alas ! cry'd I , 't was then thy Darts Wherewith he wounded me : Thou Mighty Deity of Hearts , He stole his Pow'r from thee . Revenge thee , if a God thou be , Upon the Amorous Swain ; I 'll set thy Wings at Liberty , And thou shalt fly again . IV. And for this Service on my Part , All I implore of thee , Is , That thou 't wound Amyntas Heart , And make him die for me . His Silken Fetters I Unty'd , And the gay Wings display'd ; Which gently fann'd , he mounts and cry'd , Farewel fond easie Maid . V. At this I blush'd , and angry grew I should a God believe ; And waking found my Dream too true , Alas I was a Slave . A Letter to a Brother of the Pen in Tribulation . POor Damon ! Art thou caught ? Is 't ev'n so ? Art thou become a * Tabernacler too ? 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 't is thought thy Brain E'er long will wish for cooler Days again . For Honesty no more will I engage : I durst have sworn thou'dst had thy 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 ? To Poetry no more thou'lt be inclin'd , Unless in Verse to damn all VVoman-kind : And 't is but Just thou shouldst in Rancor grow Against that Sex that has Confin'd thee so . All things in Nature now are Brisk and Gay At the Approaches of the Blooming May : The new-fletch'd Birds do in our Arbors sing A Thousand Airs to welcome in the Spring ; 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 't were 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 . I. POOR Lost Serena , to Bemoan The Rigor of her Fate , High'd to a Rivers-side alone , Upon whose Brinks she sat . Her Eyes , as if they would have spar'd , The Language of her Tongue , In Silent Tears a while declar'd The Sense of all her wrong . II. But they alas too feeble were , Her Grief was swoln too high To be Exprest in Sighs and Tears ; She must or speak or dye . And thus at last she did complain , Is this the Faith , said she , Which thou allowest me , Cruel Swain , For that I gave to thee ? III. Heaven knows with how much Innocence I did my Soul Incline To thy Soft Charmes of Eloquence , And gave thee what was mine . I had not one Reserve in Store , But at thy Feet I lay'd Those Arms that Conquer'd heretofore , Tho' now thy Trophies made . IV. Thy Eyes in Silence told their Tale Of Love in such a way , That 't was as easie to Prevail , As after to Betray . And when you spoke my Listning Soul , Was on the Flattery Hung : And I was lost without Controul , Such Musick grac'd thy Tongue . V. Alas how long in vain you strove My coldness to divert ! How long besieg'd it round with Love , Before you won the Heart . What Arts you us'd , what Presents made , What Songs , what Letters writ : And left no Charm that cou'd invade , Or with your Eyes or Wit. VI. Till by such Obligations Prest , By such dear Perjuries won : I heedlesly Resign'd the rest , And quickly was undone . For as my Kindling Flames increase , Yours glimeringly decay : The Rifled Joys no more can Please , That once oblig'd your Stay. VII . Witness ye Springs , ye Meads and Groves , Who oft were conscious made To all our Hours and Vows of Love ; Witness how I 'm Betray'd . Trees drop your Leaves , be Gay no more , Ye Rivers waste and drye : Whilst on your Melancholy Shore , I lay me down and dye . SONG . To Pesibles Tune . I. 'T was when the Fields were gay , The Groves and every Tree : Just when the God of Day , Grown weary of his Sway , Descended to the Sea , And Gloomy Light around did all the World survey , 'T was then the Hapless Swain , Amyntas , to Complain Of Silvia's cold 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 , II. Ye Gods , he often cry'd , Why did your Powers design In Silvia so much Pride , Such Falshood to beside ▪ With Beauty so Divine ? 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 . III. But Charming Nymph beware , Whilst I your Victim die , Some One , my Perjur'd Fair , Revenging my Despair , Will prove as false to thee ; Which yet my wandring Ghost wou'd look more pale to see . For I shall break my Tomb , And nightly as I rome , Shall to my Silvia come , And show the Piteous Sight ; My bleeding Bosom too , Which wounds were given by you ; Then vanish in the Shades of Night . SONG . On her Loving Two Equally . Set by Captain Pack . I. HOw strongly does my Passion flow , Divided equally 'twixt two ? Damon had ne'er subdu'd my Heart , Had not Alexis took his part ; Nor cou'd Alexis pow'rful prove , Without my Damons Aid , to gain my Love. II. When my Alexis present is , Then I for Damon sigh and mourn ; But when Alexis I do miss , Damon gains nothing but my Scorn . But if it chance they both are by , For both alike I languish , sigh , and die . III. Cure then , thou mighty winged God , This restless Feaver in my Blood ; One Golden-Pointed Dart take back : But which , O Cupid , wilt thou take ? If Damons , all my Hopes are crost ; Or that of my Alexis , I am lost . The Counsel . A Song . Set by Captain Pack . I. 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 ; Joys which decay when Beauty's past ; And who , when Beauty's past , will love ? II. When Age those Glories shall deface , Revenging all your cold Disdain ; And Sylvia shall neglected pass , By every once-admiring Swain ; And we no more shall Homage pay : When you in vain too late shall burn , If Love increase , and Youth decay , Ah Sylvia ! who will make Return ? III. Then haste , my Sylvia , to the Grove , Where all the Sweets of May conspire To teach us ev'ry Art of Love , And raise our Joys of Pleasure higher : Where while embracing we shall lie Loosly in Shades on Beds of Flow'rs , The duller World while we defie , Years will be Minutes , Ages Hours . SONG . The Surprize . Set by Mr. Farmer . I. PHillis , whose Heart was Unconfin'd , And free as Flow'rs on Meads and Plains , None boasted of her being Kind , ' Mong'st all the languishing and amorous Swains . No Sighs or Tears the Nymph cou'd move , To pity or return their Love. II. Till on a time the hapless Maid Retir'd to shun the Heat o' th' Day Into a Grove , beneath whose shade Strephon the careless Shepherd sleeping lay : But O such Charms the Youth adorn , Love is reveng'd for all her Scorn . III. Her Cheeks with Blushes cover'd were , And tender Sighs her Bosom warm , A Softness in her Eyes appear ; Unusual Pain she feels from ev'ry Charm : To Woods and Ecchoes now she cries , For Modesty to speak denies . SONG . I. AH ! what can mean that eager Joy Transports my Heart when you appear ? Ah Strephon ! you my Thoughts imploy In all that 's Charming , all that 's Dear . When you your pleasing Story tell , A Softness does invade each Part , And I with Blushes own I feel Something too tender at my Heart . II. At your approach my Blushes rise , And I at once both wish and fear ; My wounded Soul mounts to my Eyes , As it would prattle Stories there . Take , take that Heart that needs must go ; But , Shepherd , see it kindly us'd : For who such Presents will bestow , If this , alas ! should be abus'd ? The Invitation : A Song . To a New Scotch Tune . I. COme my Phillis let us improve Both our Joyes of Equal Love : 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 . II. The Sun it self with Love does conspire , And sends abroad his ardent Fire , And kindly seems to bid us retire , And shade us from his Glory ; Then come , my Phillis , do not fear ; All that your Swain desires there , Is by those Eyes a new to swear How much he does adore ye . III. Phillis , in vain you shed those Tears ; 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 . IV. When thou hast done , by Pan I swear , Thou wilt unto my Eyes appear A thousand times more Charming and Fair , Then thou wert to my first Desire : That Smile was kind , and now thou' rt wise , To throw away this Coy Disguise , And by the vigor of thy Eyes , Declare thy Youth and Fire . Silvio's Complaint : A SONG , To a Fine Scotch Tune . I. IN the Blooming Time o' th' year , In the Royal Month of May : Au the Heaves were glad and clear , Au the Earth was Fresh and Gay . A Noble Youth but all Forlorn , Lig'd Sighing by a Spring : 'T were better I's was nere Born , Ere wisht to be a King. II. Then from his Starry Eyne , Muckle Showers of Christal Fell : To bedew the Roses Fine , That on his Cheeks did dwell . And ever 'twixt his Sighs he 'd cry , How Bonny a Lad I 'd been , Had I , weys me , nere Aim'd high , Or wisht to be a King. III. With Dying Clowdy Looks , Au the Fields and Groves he kens : Au the Gleeding Murmuring Brooks , ( Noo his Unambitious Friends ) Tol which he eance with Mickle Cheer His Bleating Flocks woud bring : And crys , woud God I 'd dy'd here , Ere wisht to be a King. IV. How oft in Yonder Mead , Cover'd ore with Painted Flowers : Au the Dancing Youth I 've led , Where we past our Blether Hours . In Yonder Shade , in Yonder Grove , How Blest the Nymphs have been : Ere I for Pow'r Debaucht Love , Or wisht to be a King. V. Not add the Arcadian Swains , In their Pride and Glory Clad : Not au the Spacious Plains , Ere coud Boast a Bleether Lad. When ere I Pip'd , or Danc'd , or Ran , Or leapt , or whirl'd the Sling : The Flowry Wreaths I still won , And wisht to be a King , VI. But Curst be yon Tall Oak , And Old Thirsis be accurst : There I first my peace forsook , There I learnt Ambition first . Such Glorious Songs of Hero's Crown'd , The Restless Swain woud Sing : My Soul unknown desires found , And Languisht to be King. VII . Ye Garlands wither now , Fickle Glories vanish all : Ye Wreaths that deckt my Brow , To the ground neglected fall . No more my sweet Repose molest , Nor to my Fancies bring The Golden Dreams of being Blest With Titles of a King. VIII . Ye Noble Youths beware , Shun Ambitious powerful Tales : Distructive , False , and Fair , Like the Oceans Flattering Gales . See how my Youth and Glories lye , Like Blasted Flowers i' th' Spring : My Fame Renown and all dye , For wishing to be King. In Imitation of Horace . I. WHat mean those Amorous Curles of Jet ? For what heart-Ravisht Maid Dost thou thy Hair in order set , Thy Wanton Tresses Braid ? And thy vast Store of Beauties open lay , That the deluded Fancy leads astray . II. For pitty hide thy Starry eyes , Whose Languishments destroy : And look not on the Slave that dyes With an Excess of Joy. Defend thy Coral Lips , thy Amber Breath ; To taste these Sweets lets in a Certain Death . III. Forbear , fond Charming Youth , forbear , Thy words of Melting Love : Thy Eyes thy Language well may spare , One Dart enough can move . And she that hears thy voice and sees thy Eyes With too much Pleasure , too much Softness dies ▪ IV. Cease , Cease , with Sighs to warm my Soul , Or press me with thy Hand : 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 . I. IN vain , dear Youth , you say you love , And yet my Marks of Passion blame ; Since Jealousie alone can prove , The surest Witness of my Flame : And she who without that , a Love can vow , Believe me , Shepherd , does not merit you . II. Then give me leave to doubt , that Fire I kindle , may another warm : A Face that cannot move Desire , May serve at least to end the Charm : Love else were Witchcraft , that on malice bent , ●enies ye Joys , or makes ye Impotent . III. 'T is true , when Cities are on fire , Men never wait for Christal Springs ; But to the Neighb'ring-Pools retire ; Which nearest , best Assistance brings ; And serves as well to quench the raging Flame , As if from God-delighting Streams it came . IV. A Fancy strong may do the Feat Yet this to Love a Riddle is , And shows that Passion but a Cheat ; Which Men but with their Tongues Confess . For 't is a Maxime in Loves learned School , Who blows the Fire , the flame can only Rule , V. Though Honour does your Wish deny , Honour ! the Foe to your Repose ; Yet 't is more Noble far to dye , Then break Loves known and Sacred Laws : What Lover wou'd pursue a single Game , That cou'd amongst the Fair deal out his flame ? VI. Since then Lysander you desire , Amynta only to adore ; Take in no Partners to your Fire . For who well Love , that Loves one more ? And if such Rivals in your Heart I find , T is in My Power to die , but not be kind . A Dialogue for an Entertainment at Court , between Damon and Sylvia . Damon . AH Sylvia ! if I still pursue , Whilst you in vain your Scorn improve ; What wonders might your Eies not do : If they would dress themselves in Love. Silvia . Shepherd you urge my Love in vain , For I can ne'er Reward your pain ; A Slave each Smile of mine can win , And all my softning Darts , When e'er I please , can bring me in A Thousand Yeilding Hearts . Damon . Yet if those Slaves you treat with Cruelty , 'T is an Inglorious Victory ; And those unhappy Swaines you so subdue , May Learn at last to scorn , as well as you ; Your Beauty though the Gods design'd Shou'd be Ador'd by all below ; Yet if you want a Godlike Pittying Mind , Our Adoration soon will colder grow : 'T is Pitty makes a Deity , Ah Silvia ! daine to pitty me , And I will worship none but thee . Sylvia . Perhaps I may your Councel take , And Pitty , tho' not Love , for Damons sake ; Love is a Flame my Heart ne'er knew , Nor knows how to begin to burn for you . Damon . Ah Sylvia who 's the happy Swain , For whom that Glory you ordain ! Has Strephon , Pithius , Hilus , more Of Youth , of Love , or Flocks a greater store ? My flame pursues you too , with that Address , Which they want Passion to Profess : Ah then make some Returns my Charming Shepherdess . Silvia . Too Faithful Shepherd I will try my Heart , And if I can will give you part . Damon . Oh that was like your self exprest , Give me but part , and I will steal the rest . Silvia . Take care Young Swain you treat it well , If you wou'd have it in your Bosom dwell ; Now let us to the Shades Retreat , Where all the Nymphs and Shepherds meet . Damon . And give me there your leave my Pride to show , For having but the hopes of Conquering you ; Where all the Swaines shall Passion learn of me : And all the Nymphs to bless like thee . Silvia . Where every Grace I will bestow , And every Look and Smile , shall show How much above the rest I vallue you . Damon . And I those Blessings will improve ; By constant Faith , and tender Love. [ A Chorus of Satyrs and Nymphs made by another hand . ] On Mr. J. H. In a Fit of Sicknesse . I. IF when the God of Day retires , The Pride of all the Spring decays and dies : Wanting those Life-begetting Fires From whence they draw their Excellencies ; Each little Flower hangs down its Gawdy Head , Losing the Luster which it did Retain ; No longer will its fragrant face be spread , But Languishes into a Bud again : So with the Sighing Crowd it fares Since you Amyntas , have your Eies withdrawn ' Ours Lose themselves in Silent Tears , Our days are Melancholy Dawn ; The Groves are Unfrequented now , The Shady Walks are all Forlorn ; Who still were throng to gaze on you : With Nymphs , whom your Retirement has undone . II. Our Bag-pipes now away are flung , Our Flocks a Wandering go ; Garlands neglected , on the Boughs are hung , That us'd to adorn each Chearful Brow , Forsaken looks the enameld May : And all its wealth Uncourted dies ; Each little Bird forgets its wonted Lay , That Sung Good Morrow to the welcome Day . Or rather to thy Lovely Eies . The Cooling Streams do backward glide : Since on their Banks they saw not thee , Losing the Order of their Tide , And Murmuring chide they Cruelty ; Then hast to lose themselves i' th' Angry Sea. III. Thus every thing in its Degree , Thy said Retreat Deplore ; Hast then Amyntas , and Restore ; The whole Worlds Loss in thee . For like an Eastern Monarch , when you go , ( If such a Fate the World must know ) A Beautious and a Numerous Host Of Love-sick Maids , will wait upon thy Ghost ; And Death that Secret will Reveal , Which Pride and Shame did here Conceal ; Live then thou Lovelyest of the Plaines , Thou Beauty of the Envying Swaines ; Whose Charms even Death it self wou'd court , And of his Solemn Business make a Sport. IV. In Pitty to each Sighing Maid , Revive , come forth , be Gay and Glad ; Let the Young God of Love implore , In Pity lend him Darts , For when thy Charming Eies shall shoot no more ; He 'll lose his Title of the God of Hearts . In Pity to Astrea live , Astrea , whom from all the Sighing Throng , You did your oft-won Garlands give : For which she paid you back in Grateful Song : Astrea , who did still the Glory boast , To be ador'd by thee , and to adore thee most . V. With Pride she saw her Rivals Sigh and Pine , And vainly cry'd , The lovely Youth is mine ! By all thy Charms I do Conjure thee , live ; By all the Joys thou canst receive , and give : By each Recess and Shade where thou and I , Loves Secrets did Unfold ; And did the dull Unloving World defy : 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 't was worth . I. TAke back that Heart , you with such Caution give , Take the fond valu'd Trifle back ; I hate Love-Merchants that a Trade wou'd drive ; And meanly cunning Bargains make . II. I care not how the busy Market goes , And scorn to Chaffer for a price : Love does one Staple Rate on all impose , Nor leaves it to the Traders Choice . III. A Heart requires a Heart Unfeign'd and True , Though Subt'ly you advance the Price , And ask a Rate that Simple Love ne'er knew : And the free Trade Monopolize . IV. An Humble Slave the Buyer must become , She must not bate a Look or Glance , You will have all , or you 'll have none ; See how Loves Market you inhaunce . V. Is 't not enough , I gave you Heart for Heart , But I must add my Lips and Eies ; I must no friendly Smile or Kiss impart ; But you must Dun me with Advice . VI. And every Hour still more unjust you grow , Those Freedoms you my life deny , You to Adraste are oblig'd to show , And give her all my Rifled Joy. VII . Without Controul she gazes on that Face , And all the happy Envyed Night , In the pleas'd Circle of your fond imbrace : She takes away the Lovers Right . VIII . From me she Ravishes those silent hours , That are by Sacred Love my due ; VVhilst I in vain accuse the angry Powers , That make me hopeless Love pursue . IX . Adrastes Ears with that dear Voice are blest , That Charms my Soul at every Sound , And with those Love-Inchanting Touches prest : VVhich I ne'er felt without a Wound . X. She has thee all : whilst I with silent Greif , The Fragments of thy Softness feel , Yet dare not blame the happy licenc'd Thief : That does my Dear-bought Pleasures steal . XI . Whilst like a Glimering Taper still I burn , And waste my self in my own flame , Adraste takes the welcome rich Return : And leaves me all the hopeless Pain . XII . Be just , my lovely Swain , and do not take Freedoms you 'll not to me allow ; Or give Amynta so much Freedom back : That she may Rove as well as you . XIII . Let us then love upon the honest Square , Since Interest neither have design'd , For the sly Gamester , who ne'er plays me fair , Must Trick for Trick expect to find . To the Honourable Edward Howard , on his Comedy called The New Utopia , I. BEyond the Merit of the Age , You have adorn'd the Stage ; So from rude Farce , to Comick Order brought , Each Action , and each Thought ; To so Sublime a Method , as yet none ( But Mighty Ben alone ) Cou'd e'er arive , and he at distance too ; Were he alive he must resign to you : You have out-done what e'er he writ , In this last great Example of your Wit. Your Solymour does his Morose destroy , And your Black Page undoes his Barbers Boy ; All his Collegiate Ladies must retire , While we thy braver Heroins do admire . This new 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. II. If you too great a Prospect doe allow To those whom Ignorance does at distance Seat , 'T is not to say , the Object is less great , But they want sight to apprehend it so : The ancient Poets in their times , When thro' the Peopl'd Streets they sung their Rhimes , Found small applause ; they sung but still were poor ; Repeated Wit enough at every door . T' have made 'em demy Gods ! but 't wou'd not do , Till Ages more refin'd esteem'd 'em so . The Modern Poets have with like Success , Quitted the Stage , and Sallyed from the Press Great Iohnson scarce a Play brought forth , But Monster-like it frighted at its Birth : Yet he continued still to write , And still his Satyr did more sharply bite . He writ tho certain of his Doom , Knowing his Pow'r in Comedy : To please a wiser Age to come : And though he Weapons wore to Justify The reasons of his Pen ; he cou'd not bring , Dull Souls to Sense by Satyr , nor by Cudgelling . III. In vain the Errors of the Times , You strive by wholesom Precepts to Confute , Not all your Pow'r in Prose or Rhimes , Can finish the Dispute : 'Twixt those that damn , and those that do admire : The heat of your Poetick fire . Your Soul of Thought you may imploy A Nobler way , Then in revenge upon a Multitude , Whose Ignorance only makes 'em rude . Shou'd you that Justice do , You must for ever bid adieu , To Poetry divine , And ev'ry Muse o' th' Nine : For Malice then with Ignorance would join , And so undo the World and You : So ravish from us that delight , Of seeing the VVonders which you Write : And all your Glories unadmir'd must lye , As Vestal Beauties are Intomb'd before they dye . IV. Consider and Consult your 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 Thy mighty Spright of Poetry , Which but the Fools and Guilty fly ; Who dare not in thy Mirror see Their own Deformity : Where thou in two , the World dost Character , Since most of Men Sir Graves , or Peacocks are . V. And shall that Muse that did ere while , Chant forth the Glories of the British Isle , Shall shee who lowder was than Fame ; Now useless lie , and tame ? Shee who late made the Amazons so Great , And shee who Conquered 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 . And on thy Friends such Obligations lay , As nothing but the Deed ; the Doer can repay . To Lysander at the Musick-Meeting . IT was too much , ye Gods , to see and hear ; Receiving wounds both from the Eye and Ear : One Charme might have secur'd a Victory , Both , rais'd the Pleasure even to Extasie : So Ravisht Lovers in each others Armes , Faint with excess of Joy , excess of Charmes : Had I but gaz'd and fed my greedy Eyes , Perhaps you 'd pleas'd no farther than surprize . That Heav'nly Form might Admiration move , But , not without the Musick , charm'd with Love : At least so quick the Conquest had not been ; You storm'd without , and Harmony within : Nor cou'd I listen to the sound alone , But I alas must look — and was undone : I saw the Softness that compos'd your Face , While your Attention heightend every Grace : Your Mouth all full of Sweetness and Content , And your fine killing Eyes of Languishment : Your Bosom now and than a sigh wou'd move , ( For Musick has the same effects with Love. ) Your Body easey and all tempting lay , Inspiring wishes which the Eyes betray , In all that have the fate to glance that way : A carless and a lovely Negligence , Did a new Charm to every Limb dispence : So look young Angels , Listening to the sound , When the Tun'd Spheres Glad all the Heav'ns 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. But when the kindling Sparks such Fuel meet , No wonder if the Flame inspir'd be great . An Ode to Love. I DUll Love no more thy Senceless Arrows prize , Damn thy Gay Quiver , break thy Bow ; 'T is only young Lysanders Eyes , That all the Arts of Wounding know . II. A Pox of Foolish Politicks in Love , A wise delay in Warr the Foe may harme : By Lazy Siege while you to Conquest move ; His fiercer Beautys vanquish by a Storme . III. Some wounded God , to be reveng'd on thee , The Charming Youth form'd in a lucky houre , Drest him in all that fond Divinity , That has out-Rivall'd thee , a God , in Pow'r . IV. Or else while thou supinely laid Basking beneath som Mirtle shade , In careless sleepe , or tir'd with play , When all thy Shafts did scatterd ly ; Th'unguarded Spoyles he bore away , And Arm'd himself with the Artillery . V. The Sweetness from thy Eyes he took , The Charming Dimples from thy Mouth , That wonderous Softness when you spoke ; And all thy Everlasting Youth . VI. Thy bow , thy Quiver , and thy Darts : Even of thy Painted Wings has rifled thee , To bear him from his Conquer'd broken Hearts , To the next Fair and Yeilding She. Love Reveng'd , A Song . I. CElinda who did Love Disdain , For whom had languisht many a Swain ; Leading her Bleating Flock to drink , She spy'd upon the Rivers Brink A Youth , whose Eyes did well declare , How much he lov'd , but lov'd not her . II. At first she Laught , but gaz'd the while , And soon she lessen'd to a Smile ; Thence to Surprize and Wonder came , Her Breast to heave , her Heart to flame : Then cry'd she out , Now , now I prove , Thou art a God , Almighty Love. III. She would have spoke , but shame deny'd , And bid her first consult her Pride ; But soon she found that Aid was gone ; For Love alas had left her none : Oh how she burns , but 't is too late , For in her Eyes she reads her Fate . SONG . To a New Scotch Tune . I. YOung 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 . II. In Iemmy's Powerful Eyes , Young Gods of Love are playing , And on his Face there lies A Thousand Smiles betraying . But Oh he dances with a Grace , None like him e'er was seen ; No God that ever fancy'd was , Has so Divine a Miene . III. To 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 . IV. But Oh Unlucky Fate , A Curse upon Ambition : The Busie Fopps of State Have ruin'd his Condition . For Glittering Hopes he'as left the Shade , His Peaceful Hours are gone : By flattering Knaves and Fools betray'd , Poor Iemmy is undone . The Cabal at Nickey Nackeys . I. A Pox of the Statesman that 's witty , Who watches and Plots all the Sleepless Night : For Seditious Harangues , to the Whiggs of the City ; And Maliciously turns a Traytor in Spight . Let him Wear and Torment his lean Carrion : To bring his Sham-Plots about , Till at last King Bishop and Barron , For the Publick Good he have quite rooted out . II. But we that are no Polliticians , But Rogues that are Impudent , Barefac'd and Great , Boldly head the Rude Rable in times of Sedition ; And bear all down before us , in Church & in State. Your Impudence is the best State-Trick ; And he that by Law meanes to rule , Let his History with ours be related ; And tho' we are the Knaves , we know who 's the Fool. A Paraphrase on the Eleventh . Ode Out of the first Book of Horace . DEar Silvia let 's no farther strive , To know how long we have to Live ; Let Busy Gown-men search to know Their Fates above , while we Contemplate Beauties greater Power below , Whose only Smiles give Immortality ; But who seeks Fortune in a Star , Aims at a Distance much too far , She 's more inconstant than they are . What though this year must be our last , Faster than Time our Joys let 's hast ; Nor think of Ills to come , or past . Give me but Love and Wine , I 'll ne'er Complain my Destiny 's severe . Since Life bears so uncertain Date , With Pleasure we 'll attend our Fate , And Chearfully go meet it at the Gate . The Brave and Witty know no Fear or Sorrow , Let us enjoy to day , we 'll dye to Morrow . A Translation . I. LYDIA , Lovely Maid , more fair Than Milk or whitest Lilies are , Than Polisht Indian Iv'ry shows , Or the fair unblushing Rose . II. Open , Maid , thy Locks , that hold Wealth more bright than shining Gold , Over thy white shoulders laid , Spread thy Locks , my Charming Maid . III. Lydia , ope ' thy starry Eyes , Shew the Beds where Cupid lies , Open , Maid , thy Rosie-Cheeks , Red as Sun declining streaks . IV. Shew thy Coral Lips , my Love , Kiss me softer than the Dove , Till my Ravisht Soul does lie Panting in an Ecstasie . V. Oh hold — and do not pierce my Heart , Which beats , as life wou'd thence depart , Hide thy Breasts that swell and rise , Hide 'em from my wishing Eyes . VI. Shut thy Bosome , white as Snow , Whence Arabian perfumes slow ; Hide it from my Raptur'd Touch , I have gaz'd — and kist too much . VII . Cruel Maid — on Malice bent , Seest thou not my Languishment ? Lydia ! — Oh I faint ! — I die ! With thy Beauties Luxury . A PARAPHRASE On Ovid's Epistle of OENONE to PARIS . THE ARGUMENT . Hecuba , being with Child of Paris , dream'd she was delivered of a Firebrand : Priam , consulting the Prophets , was answer'd the Child shou'd be the Destruction of Troy , wherefore Priam commanded it should be deliver'd to wild Beasts as soon as born ; but Hecuba conveys it secretly to Mount Ida , there to be foster'd by the Shepherds , where he falls in love with the Nymph OEnone , but at last being known and own'd , he sails into Greece , and carries Helen to Troy , which OEnone understanding , writes him this Epistle . TO thee , dear Paris , Lord of my Desires , Once tender Partner of my softest Fires ; To thee I write , mine , while a Shepherd's Swain , But now a Prince , that Title you disdain . Oh fatal Pomp , that cou'd so soon divide What Love , and all our sacred Vows had ty'd ! What God , our Love industrious to prevent , Curst thee with power , and ruin'd my Content ? Greatness , which does at best but ill agree With Love , such Distance sets 'twixt Thee and Me. Whilst thou a Prince , and I a Shepherdess , My raging Passion can have no redress . Wou'd God , when first I saw thee , thou hadst been This Great , this Cruel , Celebrated thing . That without hope I might have gaz'd and bow'd , And mixt my Adorations with the Crowd ; Unwounded then I had escap'd those Eyes , Those lovely Authors of my Miseries . Not that less Charms their fatal pow'r had drest , But Fear and Awe my Love had then supprest : My unambitious Heart no Flame had known , But what Devotion pays to Gods alone . I might have wondr'd , and have wisht that He , Whom Heaven shou'd make me love , might look like Thee . More in a silly Nymph had been a sin , This had the height of my Presumption been . But thou a Flock didst feed on Ida's Plain , And hadst no Title , but The lovely Swain . A Title ! which more Virgin Hearts has won , Than that of being own'd King Priam's Son. Whilst me a harmless Neighbouring Cotager You saw , and did above the rest prefer . You saw ! and at first sight you lov'd me too , Nor cou'd I hide the wounds receiv'd from you . Me all the Village Herdsmen strove to gain , For me the Shepherds sigh'd and su'd in vain , Thou hadst my heart , and they my cold disdain . Not all their Offerings , Garlands , and first born Of their lov'd Ewes , cou'd bribe my Native scorn . My Love , like hidden Treasure long conceal'd , Cou'd onely where 't was destin'd , be reveal'd . And yet how long my Maiden blushes strove Not to betray my easie new-born Love. But at thy sight the kindling Fire wou'd rise , And I , unskill'd , declare it at my Eyes . But oh the Joy ! the mighty Ecstasie Possest thy Soul at this Discovery . Speechless , and panting at my feet you lay , And short breath'd Sighs told what you cou'd not say . A thousand times my hand with Kisses prest , And look'd such Darts , as none cou'd e'er resist . Silent we gaz'd , and as my Eyes met thine , New Joy fill'd theirs , new Love and shame fill'd mine ! You saw the Fears my kind disorder show'd And breaking Silence Faith anew you vow'd ! Heavens , how you swore by every Pow'r Divine You wou'd be ever true ! be ever mine ! Each God , a sacred witness you invoke , And wish'd their Curse when e'er these Vows you broke . Quick to my Heart each perjur'd Accent ran , Which I took in , believ'd , and was undone . " Vows are Love's poyson'd Arrows , and the heart So wounded , rarely finds a Cure from Art. At least this heart which Fate has destin'd yours , This heart unpractis'd in Love's mystick pow'rs , For I am soft and young as April Flowers . Now uncontroll'd we meet , uncheck'd improve Each happier Minute in new Joys of Love ! Soft were our hours ! and lavishly the Day We gave intirely up to Love , and Play. Oft to the cooling Groves our Flocks we led , And seated on some shaded , flowery Bed , Watch'd the united Wantons as they fed . And all the Day my list'ning Soul I hung Upon the charming Musick of thy Tongue , And never thought the blessed hours too long . No Swain , no God like thee cou'd ever move , Or had so soft an Art in whisp'ring Love , No wonder for thou art Ally'd to 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 ! 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 . Crowns , and more glorious Wreaths thou didst despise , And promis'd Beauty more than Empire prize ! This when you told , Gods ! what a killing fear Did over all my shivering Limbs appear ? And I presag'd some ominous Change was near ! The Blushes left my Cheeks , from every part The Bloud ran swift to guard my fainting heart . You in my Eyes the glimmering Light perceiv'd Of parting Life , and on my pale Lips breath'd Such Vows , as all my Terrors undeceiv'd . But soon the envying Gods disturb'd our Joy , Declar'd thee Great ! and all my Bliss destroy ! And now the Fleet is Anchor'd in the Bay , That must to Troy the glorious Youth convey . Heavens ! how you look'd ! and what a Godlike Grace At their first Homage beautify'd your Face ! Yet this no Wonder , or Amazement brought , You still a Monarch were in Soul , and thought ! Nor cou'd I tell which most the News augments , Your Joys of Pow'r , or parting Discontents . You kist the Tears which down my Cheeks did glide , And mingled yours with the soft falling Tide , And 'twixt your Sighs a thousand times you said , Cease my OEnone ! Cease my charming Maid ! If Paris lives his Native Troy to see , My lovely Nymph , thou shalt a Princess be ! But my Prophetick Fears no Faith allow'd , My breaking Heart resisted all you vow'd . Ah must me part , I cry'd ! that killing word No farther Language cou'd to Grief afford . Trembling , I fell upon thy panting Breast , Which was with equal Love , and Grief opprest , Whilst sighs and looks , all dying spoke the rest . About thy Neck my feeble Arms I cast , Not Vines , nor Ivy circle Elms so fast . To stay , what dear Excuses didst thou frame , And fansiedst Tempests when the Seas were calm ? How oft the Winds contrary feign'd to be , When they , alas , were onely so to me ! How oft new Vows of lasting Faith you swore , And 'twixt your Kisses all the old run o'er ? But now the wisely Grave , who Love despise , ( Themselves past hope ) do busily advise . Whisper Renown , and Glory in thy Ear , Language which Lovers fright , and Swains ne'er hear . For Troy they cry ! these Shepherds Weeds lay down , Change Crooks for Scepters ! Garlands for a Crown ! " But sure that Crown does far less easie sit , " Than Wreaths of Flow'rs , less innocent and sweet . " Nor can thy Beds of State so gratefull be , " As those of Moss , and new faln Leaves with me ! Now tow'rds the Beach we go , and all the way The Groves , the Fern , dark Woods , and springs survey ; That were so often conscious to the Rites Of sacred Love , in our dear stoln Delights . With Eyes all languishing , each place you view , And sighing cry , Adieu , dear Shades , Adieu ! Then 't was thy Soul e'en doubted which to doe , Refuse a Crown , or those dear Shades forego ! Glory and Love ! the great dispute pursu'd , But the false Idol soon the God subdu'd . And now on Board you go , and all the Sails Are loosned , to receive the flying Gales . Whilst I , half dead on the forsaken Strand , Beheld thee sighing on the Deck to stand , 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 , With greedy View the prospect I ran o'er , To see what wish'd for ships approach'd our shore . One day all hopeless on its point I stood , And saw a Vessel bounding o'er the Flood , And as it nearer drew , I cou'd discern Rich Purple Sails , Silk Cords , and Golden Stern ; Upon the Deck a Canopy was spread Of Antique work in Gold and Silver made , Which mix'd with Sun beams dazling Light display'd . But oh ! beneath this glorious Scene of State ( Curst be the sight ) a fatal Beauty sate . And fondly you were on her Bosome lay'd , Whilst with your perjur'd Lips her Fingers play'd ; Wantonly curl'd and dally'd with that hair , Of which , as sacred Charms , I Bracelets wear . Oh! hadst thou seen me then in that mad state , So ruin'd , so design'd for Death and Fate , Fix'd on a Rock , whose horrid Precipice In hollow Murmurs wars with Angry Seas ; Whilst the bleak Winds aloft my Garments bear , Ruffling my careless and dishevel'd hair , I look'd like the sad Statue of Despair . With out-strech'd voice I cry'd , and all around The Rocks and Hills my dire complaints resound . I rent my Garments , tore my flattering Face , Whose false deluding Charms my Ruine was . Mad as the Seas in Storms , I breathe Despair , Or Winds let loose in unresisting Air. Raging and Frantick through the Woods I fly , And Paris ! lovely , faithless Paris cry . But when the Echos sound thy Name again , I change to new variety of Pain . For that dear name such tenderness inspires , And turns all Passion to Loves softer Fires : With tears I fall to kind Complaints again , So Tempests are allay'd by Show'rs of Rain . Say , lovely Youth , why wou'dst thou thus betray My easie Faith , and lead my heart astray ? I might some humble Shepherd's Choice have been , Had I that Tongue ne'er heard , those Eyes ne'er seen . And in some homely Cott , in low Repose , Liv'd undisturb'd with broken Vows and Oaths : All day by shaded Springs my Flocks have kept , And in some honest Arms at night have slept . Then unupbraided with my wrongs thou 'dst been Safe in the Joys of the fair Grecian Queen : What Stars do rule the Great ? no sooner you Became a Prince , but you were Perjur'd too . Are 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 ? 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 ! 'T was thou wert Honour , Glory , all to me : Till Swains had learn'd the Vice of Perjury , No yielding Maids were charg'd with Infamy . 'T is false and broken Vows make Love a Sin , Hads thou been true , We innocent had been . But thou less faith than Autumn leaves do'st show , Which ev'ry Blast bears from their native Bough . Less Weight , less Constancy , in thee is born , Than in the slender mildew'd Ears of Corn. Oft when you Garlands wove to deck my hair , Where mystick Pinks , and Dazies mingled were , You swore 't was fitter Diadems to bear : And when with eager Kisses prest my hand , Have said , How well a Scepter 't wou'd command ! And when I danc'd upon the Flow'ry Green , With charming , wishing Eyes survey my Mien , And cry ! the God 's design'd thee for a Queen ! Why then for Helen dost thou me forsake ? Can a poor empty Name such difference make ? Besides if Love can be a Sin , thine 's one , To Menelaus Helen does belong . Be Just , restore her back , She 's none of thine , And , charming Paris , thou art onely mine . 'T is no Ambitious Flame that makes me sue To be again belov'd , and blest by you ; No vain desire of being ally'd t' a King , Love is the onely Dowry I can bring , And tender Love is all I ask again . Whilst on her dang'rous Smiles fierce War must wait With Fire and Vengeance at your Palace gate , Rouze your soft Slumbers with their rough Alarms , And rudely snatch you from her faithless Arms : Turn then , fair Fugitive , e'er 't is too late , E'er thy mistaken Love procures thy Fate ; E'er a wrong'd Husband does thy Death design , And pierce that dear , that faithless Heart of thine . A VOYAGE TO THE Isle of LOVE . An Account from Lisander to Lysidas his Friend . AT last dear Lysidas , I 'l set thee Free , From the disorders of Uncertainty ; Doubt's the worst Torment of a generous Mind , Who ever searching what it cannot find , Is roving still from wearied thought to thought , And to no settled Calmness can be brought : The Cowards Ill , who dares not meet his Fate , And ever doubting to be Fortunate , Falls to that Wretchedness his fears Create . I should have dy'd silent , as Flowers decay , Had not thy Friendship stopt me on my way , That friendship which our Infant hearts inspir'd , E're them Ambition or false Love had fir'd : Friendship ! which still enlarg'd with years and sense Till it arriv'd to perfect Excellence ; Friendship ! Mans noblest bus'ness ! without whom The out-cast Life finds nothing it can own , But Dully dyes unknowing and unknown , Our searching thought serves only to impart It 's new gain'd knowledge to anothers Heart ; The truly wise , and great , by friendship grow , That , best instruct 'em how they should be so , That , only sees the Error of the Mind , Which by its soft reproach becomes Refin'd ; Friendship ! which even Loves mighty power controuls , When that but touches ; this 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 . The TRUCE . With you unhappy Eyes that first let in To my fond Heart the raging Fire , With you a Truce I will begin , Let all your Clouds , let all your Show'rs retire , And for a while become serene , And you my 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 ? 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 . The ruffling Winds were hush'd in wanton sleep , And all the Waves were silenc'd in the deep : No threatning Cloud , no angry Curl was found , But bright , serene , and smooth , 't was all around : But yet believe false Iris if she weep , Or Amorous Layis will her promise keep , Before the Sea , that Flatters with a Calm , Will cease to ruin with a rising Storm , For now the Winds are rows'd , the Hemisphere Grows black , and frights the hardy Mariner , The Billows all into Dis-order hurl'd , As if they meant to bury all the World ; And least the Gods on us should pity take , They seem'd against them too , a War to make . Now each affrighted to his Cabin Flyes , And with Repentance Load the angry Skyes ; Distracted Prayers they all to Heaven Address , While Heaven best knows , they think of nothing less ; To quit their Interest in the World 's their fear , Not whether , — but to go , — is all their Care , And while to Heav'n , their differing crimes they mount , Their vast dis-orders doubles the account ; All pray , and promise fair , protest and weep , And make those Vows , they want the pow'r to keep , But sure with some , the angry Gods were pleas'd ; For by degrees their Rage and Thunder ceas'd : In the rude War no more the Winds engage , And the destructive Waves were tir'd with their own Rage ; Like a young Ravisher , that has won the day , O're-toil'd and Panting , Calm and Breathless lay , While so much Vigour in the Incounter's lost , They want the pow'r a second Rape to Boast . The Sun in Glory daignes again t' appear ; But we who had no Sense , but that of fear , Cou'd scarce believe , and lessen our dispair . Yet each from his imagin'd Grave gets out , And with still doubting Eyes looks round about . Confirm'd they all from Prayer to Praises hast , And soon forgot the sense of dangers past ; And now from the recruited Top-mast spy'd , An Island that discover'd Natures Pride : To which was added , all that Art could do To make it Tempting and Inviting too ; All wondering Gaz'd upon the happy place , But none knew either where , or what it was : Some thought , th' Inaccessible Land 't had been , And others that Inchantment they had seen , At last came forth a Man , who long before Had made a Voyage to that fatal shoar , Who with his Eyes declin'd , as if dismaid , At sight of what he dreaded : Thus he said , THis is the Coast of Africa , Where all things sweetly move ; This is the Calm Atlantick Sea , And that the Isle of Love ; To which all Mortals Tribute pay , Old , Young , the Rich and Poor ; Kings do their awful Laws obey , And Shepherds do Adore . There 's none its forces can resist , Or its Decrees Evince , It Conquers where , and whom it list , The Cottager and Prince . In entering here , the King resigns , The Robe and Crown he wore ; The Slave new Fetters gladly joyns To those he dragg'd before . All thither come , early or late , Directed by desire , Not Glory can divert their fate , Nor quench the Amorous fire . The Enterances on every side , Th● Attracts and Beauties Guard , The Graces with a wanton Pride , By turn secure the Ward . The God of Love has lent 'em Darts , With which they gently Greet , The heedless undefended Hearts That pass the fatal Gate . None e're escapt the welcom'd blow , Which ner'e is sent in vain ; They Kiss the Shaft , and Bless the Foe , That gives the pleasing Pain . Thus whilst we did this grateful story learn , We came so near the Shoar , as to discern The Place and Objects , which did still appear More Ravishing , approaching 'em more near . There the vast Sea , with a smooth calmness flows ▪ As are the Smiles on happy Lovers Brows : As peaceably as Rivulets it glides , Imbracing still the shaded Islands sides ; And with soft Murmurs on the Margent flows , As if to Nature it design'd Repose ; Whose Musick still is answer'd by the Breeze , That gently plays with the soft ruff'd Trees . Fragrant and Flowry all the Banks appear Whos 's mixt dis-orders more delightful were , Then if they had been plac'd with Artful care , The Cowslip , Lilly , Rose and Jesamine , The Daffodil , the Pink and Eglintine , Whose gawdy store continues all the year , Makes but the meanest of the Wonders here . Here the young Charmers walk the Banks a-long , Here all the Graces and the Beauties throng . But what did most my Admiration draw , Was that the Old and Ugly there I saw , Who with their 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 . The Man that on this Isle before had been , Finding me so admire at what I 'd seen ; Thus said to me . — LOVE's Power . LOVE when he Shoots abroad his Darts , Regards not where they light : The Aged to the Youthful Hearts , At random they unite . The soft un-bearded Youth , who never found The Charms in any Blooming Face , From one of Fifty takes the Wound ; And eagerly persues the cunning Chase : While she an Arted Youth puts on ; Softens her Voice , and languishes her Eyes ; Affects the Dress , the Mean , the Tone . Assumes the noysy Wit , and ceases to be Wise ; The tender Maid to the Rough Warrier yields ; 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 ; Sometimes to be reveng'd on those , Whose Beauty makes 'em proudly nice , He does a Flame on them impose , To some unworthy choice . Thus rarely equal Hearts in Love you 'l find , Which makes 'em still present the God as Blind . Whilst thus he spake , my wondering Eyes were staid With a profound attention on a Maid ! Upon whose Smiles the Graces did a-wait , And all the Beauties round about her sate ; Officious Cupid's do her Eyes obey , Sharpning their Darts from every Conquering Ray : Some from her Smiles they point with soft desires , Whilst others from her Motion take their Fires : Some the Imbroider'd Vail and Train do bear , And some around her fan the gentle Air , Whilst others flying , scatter fragrant Show'rs , And strow the paths she tread with painted flow'rs The rest are all imploy'd to dress her Bow'rs ; While she does all , the smiling Gods carress , And they new Attributes receive from each Address . The CHARACTER . 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 't is eternal Musick when she speaks , From which young listening Gods the Accents take And when they wou'd a perfect Conquest make , Teach their young favourite Lover so to speak . 2. Her Neck , on which all careless fell her Hair , Her half discover'd rising Bosome bare , Were beyond Nature form'd ; all Heavenly fair . Tempting her dress , loose with the Wind it flew , Discovering Charms that wou'd alone subdue , Her soft white slender Hands whose touches wou'd Beget desire even in an awful God ; Long Winter'd Age to tenderness wou'd move , And in his Frozen Blood , bloom a new spring of Love. All these at once my Ravisht Senses charm'd , And with unusual Fires my Bosome warm'd . Thus my 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 . 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 . 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 ▪ 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 , 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 ; 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 , A Man from out the Groves recess appears , Who all my boasted Vigor turn'd to fears , He slackt my Courage by a kind surprize , And aw'd me with th' Majesty of his Eyes ; I bow'd , and blusht , and trembling did retire , And wonder'd at the Pow'r that checkt my fire ; So excellent a Mean , so good a Grace , So grave a Look , such a commanding Face ; In modest Speech , as might well subdue , Youth 's native wildness ; yet 't was gracious too . A little Cupid waiting by my side , ( Who was presented to me for a guide , ) Beholding me decline , the Sleeping Maid , To gaze on this Intruder , — Thus he said . RESPECT . I. HIM whom you see so awful and severe , Is call'd Respect , the Eldest Son of Love ; Esteem his Mother is ; who every where Is the best Advocate to all the fair , And knows the most obliging Arts to move : Him you must still carress , and by his Grace , You I conquer all the Beauties of the Place ; To gain him 't is not Words will do , His Rhetorick is the Blush and Bow. II. He even requires that you shou'd silent be , And understand no Language but from Eyes , Or Sighs , the soft Complaints on Cruelty ; Which soonest move the Heart they wou'd surprize : They like the Fire in Limbecks gently move , What words ( too hot and fierce ) destroy ; These 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 . Then strove to fly ; but I all prostrate lay , And grasping fast her Robe , oblig'd her stay ; Cease lovely Charming Maid , Oh cease to fear , I faintly cry'd , — There is no Satyr , near ; I am of humane Race , whom Beauty Aws , And born an humble Slave to all her Laws ; Besides we 're not alone within the Grove , Behold Respect , and the young God of LOVE : How can you fear the Man who with these two , In any Shade or hour approaches you ? Thus by degrees her Courage took its place ; And usual Blushes drest again her Face , Then with a Charming Air , her Hand she gave , She bade me rise , and said she did believe . And now my Conversation does permit ; But oh the entertainment of her Wit , Beyond her Beauty did my Soul surprize , Her Tongue had Charms more pow'rful than her Eyes ! Ah Lysidas , hadst thou a list'ner been To what she said ; tho' her thou ne're had'st seen , Without that Sense , thou hadst a Captive been . Guess at my Fate , — but after having spoke , Many indifferent things : Her leave she took . The Night approach't , and now with Thoughts opprest , I minded neither where , nor when to Rest , When my Conducter LOVE ! whom I pursu'd , Led to a Palace call'd Inquietude , INQUIETUDE . A Neighbouring Villa which derives its name , From the rude sullen Mistress of the same ; A Woman of a strange deform'd Aspect ; Peevishly pensive , fond of her neglect ; She never in one posture does remain , Now leans , lyes down , then on her Feet again ; Sometimes with Snails she keeps a Lazy pace , And sometimes runs like Furies in a Chase ; She seldom shuts her Watchful Eyes to sleep , Which pale and languid does her Visage keep ; Her loose neglected Hair disorder'd grows ; Which undesign'd her Fingers discompose ; Still out of Humour , and deprav'd in Sense , And Contradictive as Impertinence ; Distrustful as false States-men , and as nice In Plots , Intrigues , Intelligence and Spies . To her we did our Duty pay , but she Made no returns to our Civility . Thence to my Bed ; where rest in vain I sought , For pratling LOVE still entertain'd my thought , And to my Mind , a thousand Fancies brought : Aminta's Charms and Pow'rful Attractions , From whence I grew to make these soft Reflections . The REFLECTION . I. WHat differing Passions from what once I felt , My yielding Heart do melt , And all my Blood as in a Feaver burns , Yet shivering Cold by turns . What new variety of hopes and fears ? What suddain fits of Smiles and Tears ? Hope ! Why dost thou sometimes my Soul imploy With Prospects of approaching 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 . 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 ! II. 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. 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 * CARES we pass , Where Love instructed me Aminta was ; Far from Inquietude this Village stands , And for its Beauty all the rest commands ; In all the Isle of Love , not one appears , So ravishingly Gay as Little Cares . Little CARES , or Little Arts to please . I. THither all the Amorous Youth repair , To see the Objects of their Vows ; No Iealousies approach 'em there ; They Banish Dulness and Despair ; And only Gayety and Mirth allow . The Houses cover'd o're with flow'rs appear , Like fragrant Arbours all the year , 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 . II. 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 ; There the Philosopher speaks Sense , Such as his Mistress Eyes inspire ; Forgets his learned Eloquence , Nor now compares his Flame to his own Chimick fire . III. The Miser there opens his Golden heaps , And at Love's Altar , offers the rich Prize ; His needless fears of want does now despise , And as a lavish Heir , he Treats and Reaps The Blessings that attend his grateful Sacrifice . Even the Fluttering Coxcomb there Does less ridiculous appear : For in the Crowd some one unlucky Face , With some particular Grimmas , Has the ill fate his Heart to gain , Which giues him just the Sense to know his pain ; Whence he becomes less talkative and vain . There 't is the Muses dwell ! that sacred Nine , Who teach the inlarged Soul to prove , No Arts or Sciences Divine , But those inspir'd by Them and Love ! Gay Conversation , Feast , and Masquerades , Agreeable Cabals , and Serinades ; Eternal Musick , Gladness , Smiles and Sport , Make all the bus'ness of this Little Court. At my approach new Fires my Bosom warm ; New vigor I receive from every Charm : I found invention with my Love increase ; And both instruct me with new Arts to please ; New Gallantrys I sought to entertain , And had the Joy to find 'em not in vain ; All the Extravagance of Youth I show , And pay'd to Age the Dotage I shall owe ; All a beginning Passion can conceive , What beauty Merits , or fond Love can give . With diligence I wait Aminta's look , And her decrees from Frowns or Smiles I took , To my new 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 . 'T was here my Soul more true content receiv'd , Then all the Duller hours of Life I 'd liv'd . — But with the envying Night I still repair To Inquietude ; none lodge at little Care. The hasty Minutes summon me away , While parting pains surmount past hours of Joy , And Nights large Reckoning over-pays the day . The GOD of Sleep his wonted Aid denys ; Lends no repose , or to my Heart or Eyes : Only one hour of Rest , the breaking Morning brought , In which this happy Dream Assail'd my Thought , The DREAM . ALL Trembling in my Arms Aminta lay , Defending of the Bliss , I strove to take ▪ Raising my Rapture by her kind delay , Her force so charming was and weak . The soft resistance did betray the Grant , While I prest on the Heaven of my desires ; Her rising Breasts with nimbler Motions Pant ; Her dying Eyes assume new Fires . Now to the height of languishment she grows , And still her looks new Charms put on ; — Now the last Mystery of Love she knows , We Sigh , and Kiss : I wak'd , and all was done . 'T was but a Dream , yet by my Heart I knew , Which still was Panting , part of it was true : Oh how I strove the rest to have believ'd ; Asham'd and Angry to be undeceiv'd ! But now LOVE calls me forth ; and scarce allows A Moment to the Gods to pay my Vows : He all Devotion has in dis-esteem , But that which we too fondly render him : LOVE drest me for the day ; and both repair , With an impatient hast to Little Care ; Where many days m' advantage I pursu'd , But Night returns me to Inquietude ; There suffer'd all that absent Lovers griev'd , And only knew by what I felt I liv'd ; A 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 . 'T was 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 , I Veil'd with Complisance ; which Lovers Eyes Might find transported through the feign'd disguise ; But hers were unconcern'd ; or wou'd not see , The Trophies of their new gain'd Victory : Aminta now to Good Reception goes ; A place which more of Entertainment shows Then State or Greatness ; where th' Inhabitants , Are Civil to the height of Complisance ; They Treat all Persons with a chearful Grace , And show 'em all the pleasures of the Place ; By whose Example bright Aminta too , Confirm'd her self , and more obliging grew . Her Smiles and Air more Gracious now appear ; And her Victorious Eyes more sweetness wear : The wonderous Majesty that drest her Brow , Becomes less Awful , but more Charming now : Her Pride abating does my Courage warm , And promises success from every Charm. She now permits my Eyes , with timorous Fears , To tell her of the Wounds she 'as made by hers , Against her Will my Sighs she does approve , And seems well pleas'd to think they come from Love. Nothing oppos'd it self to my delight , But absence from Aminta every Night . But LOVE , who recompences when he please , And has for every Cruelty an ease ; Who like to bounteous Heaven , assigns a share Of future Bliss to those that suffer here : Led me to HOPE ! A City fair and large , Built with much Beauty , and Adorn'd with Charge . HOPE . 'T IS wonderous Populous from the excess , Of Persons from all parts that thither press : One side of this magnifick City stands , On a foundation of unfaithful Sands ; Which oftentimes the glorious Load destroys , Which long designing was with Pomp and Noise ; The other Parts well founded neat and strong , Less Beautiful , less Business , and less Throng . 'T is built upon a Rivers Bank , who 's clear And Murmuring Glide , delights the Eye and Ear. The River of PRETENSION . THis River 's call'd Pretension ; and its source T' a bordering Mountain owes , from whence with force , It spreads into the Arms of that calm space , Where the proud City dayly sees her face ; 'T is treacherously smooth and falsly fair , Inviting , but undoing to come near ; 'Gainst which the Houses there find no defence , But suffer undermining Violence ; Who while they stand , no Palaces do seem , In all their Glorious Pomp to equal them . This River's Famous for the fatal Wrecks , Of Persons most Illustrious of both Sex , Who to her Bosom with soft Whispers drew , Then basely smil ▪ d to see their Ruin too . 'T is there so many Monarch perisht have , And seeking Fame alone have sound a Grave . 'T was thither I was tempted too , and LOVE Maliciously wou'd needs my Conduct prove ; Which Passion now to such a pass had brought , It gave admittance to the weakest thought , And with a full carreer to this false Bay I ran . But met Precaution in my way . With whom Respect was , who thus gravely said , Pretension is a River you must Dread : Fond Youth decline thy fatal Resolution , Here unavoidably thou meets Confusion ; Thou flyst with too much hast to certain Fate , Follow my Counsel , and be Fortunate . Asham'd , all Blushing I decline my Eyes , Yet Bow'd and Thank'd Respect for his advice . From the bewitching River straight I hy'd , And hurried to the Cities farthest side . Where lives the Mighty Princess Hope ? to whom The whole Isle as their ORACLE do come ; Tho'little Truth remains in what she says , Yet all adore her Voice , and her Wise Conduct praise . The Princess HOPE . I. SHe blows the Youthful Lovers flame , And promises a sure repose ; Whilst with a Treason void of shame , His fancy'd Happiness o're-throws . Her Language is all soft and fair , But her hid Sense is naught but Air , And can no solid reason bear ; As often as she speaks , Her faithless Word she breaks ; Great in Pretension , in Performance small , And when she Swears 't is Perjury all . Her Promises like those of Princes are , Made in Necessity and War , Cancell'd without remorse , at ease , In the voluptuous time of Peace . II. These are her qualities ; but yet She has a Person full of Charms , Her Smiles are able to beget Forgiveness for her other harms ; She 's most divinely shap'd , her Eyes are sweet , And every Glance to please she does employ , With such address , she does all persons treat , As none are weary of her flattery , She still consoles the most afflicted Hearts , And makes the Proud vain of his fancy'd Arts. Amongst the rest of those who dayly came , T' admire this Princess , and oblige their flame , ( Conducted thither by a false report , That Happiness resided in her Court ) Two young successless Lovers did resort : One , so above his Aim had made pretence , That even to Hope , for him , was Impudence ; Yet he 'gainst Reasons Arguments makes War , And vainly Swore , his Love did merit her . Boldly Attempted , daringly Addrest , And with unblushing Confidence his flame confest . The other was a Bashful Youth , who made His Passion his Devotion , not his Trade ; No fond opiniater , who a price , Sets on his Titles , Equipage , or Eyes , But one that had a thousand Charms in store , Yet did not understand his Conquering Pow'r : This Princess with a kind Address receives These Strangers ; and to both new Courage gives . She animates the haughty to go on ! Say — A Town long besieg'd must needs be won . Time and Respect remove all obstacles , And obstinate Love , arrives at Miracles . Were she the ▪ Heir to an illustrious Crown , Those Charms , that haughty meen , that fam'd renown , That wond'rous skill you do in Verse profess , That great disdain of common Mistresses ; Can when you please with aid of Billet Deux , The Royal Virgin to your Arms subdue , One skill ▪ d in all the Arts to please the fair , Shou'd be above the Sense of dull despair : Go on young noble Warrier then go on , Though all the fair are by that Love undone . Then turning to the other : Sir , said she , Were the bright Beauty you Adore like me , Your silent awful Passion more wou'd move , Than all the bold and forward Arts of Love. A Heart the softest composition forms , And sooner 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 ) 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 . 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 ! But wise Respect obligingly reply'd , Amintas Cruelty you need not dread , Your Passion by your Eyes will soon be known , Without this hast to Declaration ; 'T is I will guide you where you still shall find , Aminta in 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 . Silence to every questions ask'd , reply With apt Grimasses of the Face and Eyes ; Her Finger on her Mouth ; and as you 've seen , Her Picture , Handsom , with fantastick mean , Her every Motion her Commands express , But seldom any the hid Soul confess . The Virgin Modesty is wond'rous fair , A bashful Motion , and a blushing Air ; With un-assur'd regard her Eyes do move , Untaught by affectation or Self-love ; Her Robes not gaudy were , nor loosely ty'd , But even concealing more then need be hid . For Secresie , one rarely sees her Face , Whose lone Apartment is some Dark recess ; From whence unless some great affairs oblige , She finds it difficult to dis-ingage ; Her voice is low , but subtilly quick her Ears , And answers still by signs to what she hears ; Led by Respect we did an entrance get , Not saying any thing , who ere we met . The City of DISCRETION . THE Houses there , retir'd in Gardens are , And all is done with little noise , One seldom sees Assemblies there , Or publick shows for Grief or 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 , 'T is there the dumb and silent languishes , Are predic'd , which so well explain the Heart : Which without speaking can so much express , And secrets to the Soul the nearest way impart ; Language which prettily perswades belief ; Who 's silent Eloquence obliges Ioy or Grief . This City 's called Discretion , being the name Of her that is Lieutenant of the same , And Sister to Respect ; a Lady who Seldom obtains a Conquest at first view ; But in repeated Visits one shall find , Sufficient Charms of Beauty and of Mind : Her vigorous piercing Eyes can when they please , Make themselves lov'd , and understood with Ease . Not too severe , but yet reserv'd and wise , And her Address is full of subtilties ; Which upon all occasions serves her turn ; T' express her Kindness , and to hide her scorn ; Dissimulations Arts , she useful holds , And in good manners sets 'em down for rules . T was here Aminta liv'd , and here I paid My constant visits to the lovely Maid . With mighty force upon my Soul I strove , To hide the Sent'ments of my raging Love. All tha● I spoke did but indifferent seem , Or went no higher than a great esteem . But 't was not long my Passion I conceal'd , My flame in spight of me , it self reveal'd . The silent Confession . AND tho' I do not speak , alas , My Eyes , and Sighs too much do say ! And pale and languishing my Face , The torments of my Soul betray ; They the sad story do unfold , Love cannot his own secrets hold ; And though Fear 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 ; Paleness or Blushes does my Face surprize , If mine by chance meet her encountering Eyes ; T was 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 't is 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 ; All dying on the Ground my self I cast , And with my Arms her flying Feet imbrac'd ; But she from the kind force with Fury flung , And on an old deformed Woman hung . A Woman frightful , with a horrid Frown , And o're her angry Eyes , her Brows hung down : One single Look of hers , fails not t' impart , A terror and despair to every Heart : She fills the Universe with discontents , And Torments for poor Lovers still invents . This is the mighty Tyrant Cruelty , Who with the God of Love is still at enmity ; She keeps a glorious Train , and glorious Court , And thither Youth and Beauty still resort : But oh my Soul form'd for Loves softer Sport , Cou'd not endure the Rigor of her Court ! Which her first rude Address did so affright , That I all Trembling hasted from her Sight , Leaving the unconcern'd and cruel Maid , And on a Rivers Bank my self all fainting laid ; Which River from the obdurate Rock proceeds , And cast's it self i' th' Melancholy Meads . The River of Despair . IT s Torrent has no other source , But Tears from dying Lovers Eyes ; Which mixt with Sighs precipitates its course ; Softning the sensless Rocks in gliding by ; Whose doleful Murmurs have such Eloquence ; That even the neighbouring Trees and flow'rs have 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 ; 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 , 'T was in this place dispairing ere to free Aminta from the Arms of Cruelty , That I design'd to render up my Breath , And charge the cruel Charmer with my Death . The RESOLVE . NOw my fair Tyrant I despise your Pow'r ; 'T is Death , not you becomes my Conqueror ; This easy Trophy which your scorn , Led bleeding by your Chariot-side ; Your haughty Victory to adorn , Has broke the Fetters of your Pride , Death takes his quarrel now in hand , And laughs at all your Eyes can do ; His pow'r thy Beauty can withstand , Not all your Smiles can the grim victor bow . He 'll hold no Parley with your Wit , Nor understands your wanton play , Not all your Arts can force him to submit , Not all your Charms can teach him to obey , Your youth nor Beauty can inspire , His frozen Heart with Love's perswasive fire ; Alas , you cannot warm him to one soft desire ; Oh mighty Death that art above , The pow'r of Beauty or of Love ! Thus sullen with my Fate sometimes I grew , And then a fit of softness wou'd ensue , Then weep , and on my Knees implore my Fair , And speak as if Aminta present were . The QUESTION . SAY my fair Charmer , must I fall , A Victim to your Cruelty ? And must I suffer as a Criminal ? Is it to Love offence enough to dye ? Is this the recompence at last , Of all the restless hours I 've past ? How oft my Awe , and my Respect , Have fed your Pride and Scorn ? How h 〈…〉 your neglect , Too mighty to be born ? How have I strove to hide that flame You seem'd to dis-approve ? How careful to avoid the name Of Tenderness or Love ? Least at that Word some guilty Blush shou'd own , What your bright Eyes forbad me to make known . Thus fill'd the neighbouring Eccho's with my Cry , Did nothing but reproach , complain and dye : One day — All hopeless on the Rivers Brink I stood , Resolv'd to plunge into the Rapid Floud , That Floud that eases Lovers in despair , And puts an end to all their raging care : 'T is hither those betray'd by Beauty come , And from this kinder stream receive their doom ; Here Birds of Ominous presages Nest , Securing the forlorn Inhabitants from rest : Here Mid-night-Owls , night-Crows , and Ravens dwell , Filling the Air with Melancholy Yell : Here swims a thousand Swans , whose doleful moan Sing dying Lovers Requiems with their own : I gaz'd around , and many Lovers view'd , Gastly and pale , who my design pursu'd ; But most inspir'd by some new hope , or won To finish something they had left undone ; Some grand Important bus'ness of their Love , Did from the fatal precipice remove : For me , no Reason my designs disswade , Till Love all Breathless hasted to my Aid ; With force m' unfixing Feet he kindly graspt , And tenderly reproacht my desperate hast , Reproach'd my Courage , and condemn'd my Wit , That meanly cou'd t' a Womans scorn submit , That cou'd to feed her Pride , and make her vain , Destroy an Age of Life , for a short date of pain : He wou'd have left me here , but that I made , So many friendships as did soon perswade , The yielding Boy , who Smil'd , resolv'd and staid , He rais'd my Head , and did again renew , His Flatteries , and all the Arts he knew : To call my Courage to its wonted place . What cry'd he — ( sweetly Angry ) shall a Face Arm'd with the weak resistance of a Frown , Force us to lay our Claims and Titles down ? Shall Cruelty a peevish Woman prove , Too strong to be overcome by Youth and Love ? No! rally all thy Vigor , all thy Charms , And force her from the cruel Tyrants Arms ; Come , once more try th' incens'd Maid to appease , Death 's in our pow'r to grasp when ere we please ; He said — And I the heavenly voice attend , Whilst towards the Rock our hasty steps we bend , Before the Gates with all our forces lye , Resolv'd to Conquer , or resolv'd to dye ; In vain Love all his feeble Engines rears , His soft Artillery of Sighs and Tears , Were all in vain — against the Winds were sent , For she was proof 'gainst them and languishment : Repeated Vows and Prayers mov'd no Remorse , And 't was to Death alone I had Recourse : Love in my Anguish bore a mighty part , He pityed , but he cou'd not ease my Heart : A thousand several ways he had assay'd , To touch the Heart of this obdurate Maid ; Rebated all his Arrow 's still return , For she was fortify'd with Pride and Scorn . The useless Weapons now away he flung , Neglected lay his Ivory Bow unstrung , His gentle Azure Wings were all unprun'd , And the gay Plumes a fading Tinct assum'd ; Which down his snowy sides extended lay , And now no more in wanton Motions play . He blusht to think he had not left one dart , Of force enough to wound Aminta's Heart ; He blusht to think she shou'd her freedom boast , Whilst mine from the first Dart he sent was lost : Thus tir'd with our Complaints ; ( whilst no relief , Rescu'd the fleeting Soul , from killing Grief ) We saw a Maid approach , who 's lovely Face , Disdain'd the Beauties of the common race : Soft were her Eyes , where unfeign'd Sorrow dwelt , And on her Cheeks in pitying Show'rs they melt ; Soft was her Voice , and tenderly it strook , The eager listening Soul , when e're she spoke ; And what did yet my Courage more augment , She wore this sadness for my languishment . And sighing said , ah Gods ! have you Beheld this dying Youth , and never found , A pity for a Heart so true ? Which dyes adoring her that gave the Wound , His Youth , his Passion , and his Constancy , Merits ye God's a kinder Destiny . With pleasure I attended what she said , And wonder'd at the friendship of the Maid . Of LOVE I ask'd her name ? who answer'd me , 'T was Pity : Enemy to Cruelty : Who often came endeavouring to abate , The Languishments of the unfortunate ; And said , if she wou'd take my injur'd part , She soon wou'd soften fair Aminta's Heart ; For she knows all the subtillest Arts to move , And teach the timorous Virgin how to love . With Joy I heard , and my Address apply'd , To gain the Beauteous Pity to my Side : Nothing I left untold that might perswade , The listening Virgin to afford her aid . Told her my Passions , Sorrows , Pains and Fears , And whilst I spoke , confirm'd 'em with my Tears ; All which with down-cast Eyes she did attend , And blushing said , my Tale had made a Friend ; I bow'd and thankt her with a chearful look , Which being return'd by hers , her leave she took : Now to Aminta all 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 : At last my trembling Hand in hers she took , And with a charming Blush , these Words she spoke : I. FAithful Lisander , I your Vows approve , And can no longer hide , My Sense of all your suffering Love , With the thin Veil of Pride . II. 'T was long in Vain that Pity did assail , My cold and stubborn Heart ; Ere on th' insensible she cou'd prevail , To render any Part. III. To her for all the tenderness , Which in my Eyes you find , You must your gratitude express , 'T is Pity only makes me kind . IV. Live then Lisander , since I must confess , In spight of all my native modesty , I cannot wish that you shou'd Love me less , Live then and hope the Circling Sun may see , In his swift course a grateful change in me , And that in time your Passion may receive , All you dare take , and all a Maid may give . Oh Lysidas , I cannot here relate , The Sense of Joy she did in me create ; The sudden Blessing overcame me so , It almost finisht , what 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 . The TRANSPORT . REjoyce ! my new made happy Soul , Rejoyce ! Bless the dear minute , bless the Heav'nly voice , That has revok't thy fatal doom ; Rejoyce ! Aminta leads thee from the Tomb. Banish the anxious thoughts of dying hours , Forget the shades and melancholy Bow'rs , Thy Eyes so oft bedew'd with falling show'rs ; Banish all Thoughts that do remain , Of Sighing Days and Nights of Pain , When on neglected Beds of Moss thou 'st lain : Oh happy Youth ! Aminta bids thee live ; Thank not the sullen God's or defer Stars , Since from her Hand thou dost the Prize receive ; Hers be the Service , as the bounty hers ; For all that Life must dedicated be , To the fair God-like Maid that gave it Thee . Now Lysidas , behold my happy State ; Behold me Blest , behold me Fortunate , And from the height of languishing despair , Rais'd to the Glory of Aminta's care : And this one moment of my Heaven of Joy , Did the remembrance of past Griefs destroy : And Pity ceas'd not here ; but with new Eloquence , Obliges the shy Maid to visit Confidence . CONFIDENCE . A Lady lovely , with a charming Meen , Gay , frank , and open , and an Air serene ; In every Look she does her Soul impart , With ease one reads the Sent'ments of her Heart ; Her Humour generous , and her Language free , And all her Conversation graceful Liberty : Her Villa is Youth 's general Rendezvous , Where in delightful Gardens , winding Groves , The happy Lovers dwell with secresie , Vn-interrupted by fond Iealousie : 'T is there with Innocence , they do and say A thousand things , to pass the short-liv'd day : There free from censuring Spies , they entertain , And pleasures tast , un-intermixt with pain . 'T is there we see , what most we do adore , And yet we languish to discover more . Hard fate of Lovers , who are ne'er content , In an Estate so Blest and Innocent . But still press forward , urg'd by soft desires , To Joys that oft extinguishes their Fires ; In this degree I found a happiness , Which nought but wishing more cou'd render less ▪ I saw Aminta here without controul , And told her all the Secrets of my Soul ; Whilst she t' express her height of Amity , Communicated all her Thoughts to me . The REFLECTION . OH with what Pleasure did I pass away , The too swift course of the delightful day ! What Ioys I found in being a Slave , To every Conquering Smile she gave , Whose every sweetness wou'd inspire , The Cinick and the Fool with Love ; Alas , I needed no more Fire , Who did its height already prove : Ah my Aminta ! had I been content , With this degree of Ravishment , With the 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 , That I the lovely Virgin wou'd invite , To the so worshipp'd Temple of Delight . By all the Lovers Arts I strove to move , And watch the softest Minutes of her Love , Which against all my Vows and Prayers were proof . Alas she lov'd , but did not love enough : And I cou'd no returns but Anger get , Her Heart was not intirely conquer'd yet ; For liking , I mistook her Complysance , And that for Love ; when 't was her Confidence . But 't was not long my Sighs I did imploy , Before she rais'd me to the height of Joy. And all my Fears and Torments to remove , Yields I shall lead her to the Court of LOVE . Here Lysidas thou thinks me sure and blest , With Recompence for all my past unrest ; But fortun'd smil'd the easier to betray , She 's less inconstant than a Lover's Joy : For whilst our Chariot Wheels out-stript the Wind , Leaving all thought of Mortal Cares behind . Whilst we sate gazing full of new surprize , Exchanging Souls from eithers darting Eyes , We encounter'd One who seem'd of great Command , Who seiz'd the Reins with an all-pow'rful hand : Awful his looks , but rude in his Address , And his Authority roughly did express ; His violent Hands he on Aminta laid , And out of mine snatch'd the dear trembling Maid ; So suddenly as hinder'd my defence , And she cou'd only say in parting thence . Forgive Lisander what by force I do , Since nothing else can ravish me from you ; Make no resistance , I obey * Devoir . Who values not thy Tears , thy Force or Prayer , Retain thy Faith and Love Aminta still , Since she abandons thee against her Will. Immoveable I remain'd with this surprize , Nor durst reply so much as with my Eyes . I saw her go , but was of Sense bereav'd , And only knew from what I heard , I liv'd ; Yes , yes , I heard her last Commands , and thence By violent degrees retriev'd my Sense . Ye Gods in this your Mercy was severe , You might have spar'd the useless favour here . But the first Thoughts my Reason did conceive , Were to pursue the injurious Fugitive . Raving , that way I did my haste direct , But once more met the Reverend Respect , From whom I strove my self to dis-ingage , And faign'd a calmness to disguise my Rage . In vain was all the Cheat , he soon perceiv'd , Spight of my Smiles , how much , and why I griev'd ; Saw my despairs , and what I meant to do , And begg'd I wou'd the rash Design forego ; A thousand dangers he did represent , T' win me from the desperate attempt . I ever found his Counsel just and good , And now resolv'd it shou'd not be withstood ; Thus he ore-came my Rage , but did not free , My Soul from Griefs more painful Tyranny ; Grief tho' more soft , did not less cruel prove , Madness is easier far then hopeless Love. I parted thus , but knew not what to do ; Nor where I went ; nor did I care to know ; With folded Arms , with weeping Eyes declin'd , I search the unknown shade , I cou'd not find , And mixt my constant Sighs with flying Wind. By slow unsteady steps the Paths I trace , Which undesign'd conduct me to a place Fit for a Soul distrest ; obscur'd with shade , Lonely and sit for Love and Sorrow made ; The Murmuring Boughs themselves together twist , And 't wou'd allow to Grief her self some rest , Inviron'd 'tis with lofty Mountains round , From whence the Eccho's , Sighs , and Crys rebound ; Here in the midst and thickest of the Wood , Cover'd with bending Shades a Castle stood , Where Absence that dejected Maid remains , Who nothing but her Sorrow entertains . ABSENCE . HER mourning languid Eyes are rarely shown , 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 . No Train attends , she only is obey'd By Melancholy , that soft , silent Maid : A Maid that fits her Humour every way , With whom she passes all the tedious day : No other object can her Mind content , She Feeds and Flatters all her languishment ; The noisy Streams that from high Mountains fall ; And water all the Neighbouring flowry Vale : The Murmurs of the Rivulets that glide , Against the bending Seges on the side ; Of mournful Birds the sad and tuneful Noats , The Bleats of straggling Lambs , and new yean'd Goats : The distant Pipe of some lone Mountain Swain , Who to his injur'd Passion fits his strain ; Is all the Harmony , her Soul can entertain . On a strict league of Friendship we agree , For I was sad , and as forlorn as she ; To all her Humours , I conform my own , Together Sigh , together Weep , and Moan ; Like her to Woods and Fountains I retreat , And urge the pitying Eccho's to repeat My tale of Love , and at each Period sound Aminta's name , and bear it all around , Whilst listening Voices do the charm reply , And lost in mixing Air , together dye . There minutes like dull days creep slowly on , And every day I drag an Age along ; The coming hours cou'd no more pleasures hast , Than those so insupportably I 'd past . I rav'd , I wept , I wisht , but all in vain , The distant Maid , nor saw , nor eas'd my pain ; With my sad tale , each tender Bark I fill , This — soft complaints , and that — my Ravings tell ; This bears vain Curses on my cruel fate , And Blessings on the Charming Virgin , that The Willow by the lonely Spring that grows , And o're the Stream bends his forsaken Boughs . I call Lisander , they like him I find , Murmur and ruffl'd are with every Wind ▪ On the young springing Beech that 's straight and tall , I Carve her name , and that Aminta call ; But where I see an Oak that Climbs 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 't is true ; but 't is from Grief to Grief ; Which when above my silence they prevail , With Love I 'm froward , on my Fortune rail , And to the Winds breathe my neglected Tale. To LOVE . I. FOnd Love thy pretty Flatteries cease , That feeble Hope you give ; Vnless ' twoud make my happiness , In vain dear Boy ; in vain you strive , It cannot keep my tortur'd Heart alive . II. Tho' thou shou'dst give me all the Ioys , Luxurious Monarch's do possess , Without Aminta 't is but empty noise , Dull and insipid happiness ; And you in vain invite me to a Feast , Where my Aminta cannot be a Guest . III. Ye glorious Trifles , I renounce ye all , Since she no part of all your splendour makes Let the Dull unconcern'd obey your call , Let the gay Fop , who his Pert Courtship takes ; For Love , whilst he Profanes your Deity , Be Charm'd and Pleas'd with all your necessary vanity . IV. But give me leave , whose Soul 's inspir'd , With sacred , but despairing Love. To dye from all your noise retir'd , And Buried lie within this silent Grove . For whilst I Live , my Soul 's a prey , To insignificant desires , Whilst thou fond God of Love and Play , With all thy Darts , with all thy useless Fires , VVith all thy wanton flatteries cannot charm , Nor yet the frozen-hearted Virgin warm . V. Others by absence Cure their fire , Me it inrages more with pain ; Each thought of my Aminta blows it higher , And distance strengthens my desire ; I Faint with wishing , since I wish in vain ; Either be gone fond Love , or let me dye , Hopeless desire admits no other remedy . Here 't was the height of Cruelty I prov'd , By absence from the sacred Maid I lov'd : And here had dy'd , but that Love found a way , Some Letters from Aminta to convey , Which all the tender marks of pity gave , And hope enough to make me wish to Live. From Duty , now the lovely Maid is freed , And calls me from my lonely solitude : Whose cruel Memory in a Moments space , The thoughts of coming Pleasures quite deface ; With an impatient Lovers hast I flew , To the vast Blessing Love had set in view , But oh I found Aminta in a place , Where never any Lover happy was ! RIVALS . RIvals 't is call'd , a Village where The Inhabitants in Fury still appear ; 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 . Respect of Blood , nor sacred friendship tyes ; Can reconcile the Civil War , Rage , Horror , Death , and wild despair , Are still Rencounter'd , and still practis'd there . 'T was here the lovely cruel Maid I found , Incompass'd with a thousand Lovers round ; At my approach I saw their Blushes rise , And they regarded me with angry Eyes . Aminta too , or else my Fancy 't was , Receiv'd me with a shy and cold Address , I cou'd not speak — but Sigh'd , retir'd and Bow'd ; With pain I heard her Talk and Laugh aloud , And deal her Freedoms to the greedy Crowd . I Curst her Smiles , and envy'd every look , And Swore it was too kind , what e're she spoke ; Condemn'd her Air , rail'd on her soft Address , And vow'd her Eyes did her false Heart confess , And vainly wisht their Charming Beauties less . A Secret hatred in my Soul I bear , Against these objects of my new despair ; I waited all the day , and all in vain ; Not one lone minute snatcht , to ease my pain ; Her Lovers went and came in such a sort , It rather seem'd Loves-Office than his Court , Made for eternal Bus'ness , not his Sport. Love saw my pain , and found my rage grew high , And led me off , to lodge at Iealousie . JEALOUSIE . I. A Palace that is more un-easy far , Then those of cruelty and absence are , There constant show'rs of Hail and Rains do flow , Continual Murmuring 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 . I here transported and impatient grow And all things out of order do ; Hasty and peevish every thing I say , Suspicion and distrust's my Passions sway , And bend all Nature that un-easy way . II. A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart ; A thousand Visions fill the Eyes , 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 ' t wo'd reveal . Restless and wild , ranging each Field and Grove ; I meet the Author of my painful Love ; But still surrounded with a numerous Train Of Lovers , whom Love taught to Sigh and Fawn , At my approach , my Soul all Trembling flies , And tells its soft Resentment at my Eyes : My Face all pale , my steps unsteady fall , And faint Confusion spreads it self o're all . I listen to each low breath'd Word she says , And the returns the happy Answerer pays : When catching half the Sense , the rest Invent , And turn it still to what will most Torment ; If any thing by Whispers she impart , 'T is Mortal , 't is a Dagger at my Heart ; And every Smile , each Motion , Gesture , Sign , In favour of some Lover I explain : When I am absent , in some Rivals Arms , I Fancy she distributes all her Charms , And if alone I find her ; sighing cry , Some happier Lover she expects than I. So that I did not only Jealous grow , Of all I saw ; but all I fancy'd too . The COMPLAINT . I. OFT in my 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 ? II. Tell me ye silent Groves , whose Gloom invites , The lovely Charmer to your Solitudes ? Tell me for whom she languishes and sighs ? For whom she feels her soft Inquietudes ? Name me the Youth for whom she makes her Vows , For she has breath'd it oft amongst your listening Boughs ? Oh happy confidents of her Amours , How vainly do I wish my Fortune blest as Yours . III. Oh happy Brooks , oh happy Rivulets , And Springs that in a thousand Windings move ; 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 ; And sanctifies your stream , which as you run , You Boast in Murmurs to the Banks along . Dear streams ! to whom she gives her softest hours , How vainly do I wish my happiness like yours . Sometimes I rail'd again , and wou'd upbraid , Reproachfully , the charming fickle Maid : Sometimes I vow'd to do 't no more , But one , vain , short-liv'd hour , Wou'd Perjure all I 'd Sworn before , And Damn my fancy'd Pow'r . Sometimes the sullen fit wou'd last , A teadious live-long day : But when the wrecking hours were past , With what Impatience wou'd I hast , And let her Feet weep my neglect away . Quarrels are the Reserves Love keeps in store , To aid his Flames and make 'em burn the more . The PENITENT . I. WIth Rigor Arm your self , ( I cry'd ) It is but just and fit ; I merit all this Treatment from your Pride , All the reproaches of your VVit ; Put on the cruel Tyrant as you will , But know , my tender Heart adores you still . II. And yet that Heart has Murmur'd too , And been so insolent to let you know , It did complain , and rave , and rail'd at you ; Yet all the while by every God I swear , By every pitying Pow'r the wretched here ; By all those Charms that dis-ingage , My Soul from the extreams of Rage ; By all the Arts you have to save and kill , My faithful tender Heart adores you still . III. But oh you shou'd excuse my soft complaint , Even my wild Ravings too prefer , I sigh , I burn , I weep , I faint , And vent my Passions to the Air ; Whilst all my Torment , all my Care Serves but to make you put new Graces on , You Laugh , and Rally my despair , 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 ; 'T is here both Art and Nature strive to show , What Pride , Expence , and Luxury , can do , To make it Ravishing and Awful too : All Nations hourly thither do resort , To add a splendour to this glorious Court ; The Young , the Old , the Witty , and the Wise , The Fair , the Ugly , Lavish , and Precise ; Cowards and Braves , the Modest , and the Lowd , Promiscuously are blended in the Crowd . From distant Shoars young Kings their Courts remove , To pay their Homage to the God of Love. Where all their sacred awful Majesty , Their boasted and their fond Divinity ; Loose their vast force ; as lesser Lights are hid , When the fierce God of Day his Beauties spread , The wondering World for Gods did Kings adore , Till LOVE confirm'd 'em Mortal by his Pow'r , And in Loves Court , do with their Vassals live , Without or Homage , or Prerogative : Which the young God , not only Blind must show , But as Defective in his Judgment too . LOVE's Temple . ' MIdst this Gay Court a famous Temple stands , Old as the Universe which it commands ; For mighty Love a sacred being had , Whilst yet 't was Chaos , e're the World was made . And nothing was compos'd without his Aid . Agreeing A●toms by his pow'r were hurl'd , And Love and Harmony compos'd the World. 'T is rich , 't is solemn all ! Divine yet Gay ! From the Jemm'd Roof the dazling Lights display , And all below inform ' without the Aids of day . All Nations hither bring rich offerings , And 't is endow'd with Gifts of Love-sick Kings . Upon an Altar ( whose un-bounded store , Has made the Rifled Universe so poor . Adorn'd with all the Treasure of the Seas , More than the Sun in his vast course surveys ) Was plac'd the God! with every Beauty 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. 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 ; 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 ; 'T was then we both our Hearts an Offering made , Which at the Feet of the young God we laid , With equal Flames they Burnt ; with equal Joy , But with a Fire that neither did destroy ; Soft was its Force and Sympathy with them , Dispers'd it self through every trembling Limb ; We cou'd not hide our tender new surprize , We languisht and confest it with our Eyes ; Thus gaz'd we — when the Sacrifice perform'd , We found our Hearts entire — but still they burn , But by a Blessed change in taking back , The lovely Virgin did her Heart mistake : Her Bashful Eyes favour'd Love's great design , I took her Burning Victim : and she mine . Thus Lysidas without constraint or Art , I reign'd the Monarch of Aminta's Heart ; My great , my happy Title she allows , And makes me Lord of all her tender Vows , All my past Griefs in coming Joys were drown'd , And with eternal Pleasure I was Crown'd ; My Blessed hours in the extream of Joy , With my soft Languisher I still imploy ; When I am Gay , Love Revels in her Eyes , When sad — there the young God all panting lies . A thousand freedoms now she does impart , Shows all her tenderness dis-rob'd of Art , But oh this cou'd not satisfy my Heart . A thousand Anguishes that still contains , It sighs , and heaves , and pants with pleasing pains . We look , and Kiss , and Press with new desire , Whilst every touch Blows the unusual Fire . For Love's last Mystery was yet conceal'd , Which both still languisht for , both wisht reveal'd : Which I prest on — and faintly she deny'd , With all the weak efforts of dying Pride , Which struggled long for Empire in her Soul , Where it was wont to rule without controul . But Conquering Love had got possession now , And open●d every Sally to the Foe : And to secure my doubting happiness , Permits me to conduct her to the Bow'r of Bliss . That Bow'r that does eternal Pleasures yield , Where Psyche first the God of Love beheld : But oh , in entering this so blest abode , All Gay and Pleas'd as a Triumphing God , I new unlook'd for difficulties meet , Encountring Honour at the sacred Gate . HONOUR . I. HOnour 's a mighty Phantom ! which around The sacred Bower does still appear ; All Day it haunts the hollow'd ground , And hinders Lovers entering there . It rarely ever takes its flight , But in the secret shades of night . Silence and gloom the charm can soonest end , And are the luckyest hours to lay the Fiend , Then 't is the Vision only will remove , With Incantations of soft Vows of Love. II. But as a God he 's Worshipt here , By all the lovely , young , and fair , Who all their kind desires controul , And plays the Tyrant o're the Soul : His chiefest Attributes , are Pride and Spight , His pow'r , is robbing Lovers of delight , An Enemy to Humane kind , But most to Youth severe ; As Age ill-natur'd , and as ignorance Blind , Boasting , and Baffled too , as Cowards are ; Fond in opinion , obstinately Wise , Fills the whole World with bus'ness and with noise . III. Where wert thou born ? from what didst thou begin ? And what strange Witchcraft brought thy Maxims in ? What hardy Fool first taught thee to the Crowd ? Or who the Duller Slaves that first believ'd ? Some Woman sure , ill-natur'd , old , and proud , Too ugly ever to have been deceiv'd ; Vnskill'd in Love ; in Virtue , or in Truth , Preach'd thy false Notions first , and so debaucht our Youth . IV. And as in other Sectuaries you find , His Votaries most consist of Womankind , Who Throng t' adore the necessary Evil , But most for fear , as Indians do the Devil . Peevish , un-easy all ; for in Revenge , Love shoots 'em with a thousand Darts . They 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 , 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 : LOVE saw my Griefs , and to my rescue came , Where on his Bosom , thus I did complain . The LOSS . WEep , weep Lysander , for the lovely Maid , To whom thy sacred Vows were paid ; Regardless of thy Love , thy Youth , thy Vows , The Dull Advice of Honour now pursues ; Oh say my lovely Charmer , where Is all that softness gone ? Your tender Voice and Eyes did were , 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 ? 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 . 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 , Starve not those Charms that were for pleasure made , Nor unpossest let the rich Treasure fade . When time comes on ; Honour that empty word , Will leave thee then fore-slighted Age to guard , Honour as other faithless Lovers are . Is only dealing with the young and fair ; Approaching Age makes the false Hero fly , He 's Honour with the Young , but with the old necessity . Thus said the God! and all the while he spoke , Her Heart new Fire , her Eyes new softness took . Now crys , I yield , I yield the Victory ! Lead on young Charming Boy , I follow thee ; Lead to Lysander , quickly let 's be gone , I am resolv'd to Love , and be undone ; I must not , cannot , Love at cheaper rate , Love is the word , Lysander and my fate . Thus to my Arms Love brought the trembling Maid ; Who on my Bosom sighing , softly , said : Take charming Victor — what you must — subdue - 'T is Love — and not Aminta gives it you , Love that o're all , and every part does reign , And I shou'd plead — and struggle — but in vain ; Take what a yielding Virgin — can bestow , I am — dis-arm●d — of all resistance now . — Then down her Cheeks a tender shower did glide , The Trophies of my Victory , Joy , and Pride : She yields ye Gods ( I cry'd ) and in my Arms , Gives up the wonderous Treasure of her Charms . — Transported to the Bower of Bliss we high , But once more met Respect upon the way , But not as heretofore with Meen and Grace , All formal , but a gay and smiling Face ; A different sort of Air his looks now wears , Galljard and Joyful every part appears . And thus he said — Go happy Lovers , perfect the desires , That fill two Hearts that burn with equal Fires ; Receive the mighty Recompence at last , Of all the Anxious hours you 've past , Enter the Bower where endless Pleasures flow , Young 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 't was Occasion , and if I , The swift pac'd Maid shou'd pass neglected by . My Love , my Hopes , and Industry were vain , For she but rarely e're return'd again . I stopt her speed , and did implore her Aid , Which granted , she Aminta did perswade . Into the Palace of true Ioys , to hast , And thither 't was , we both arriv'd at last . Oh Lysidas , no Mortal Sense affords , No Wit , no Eloquence can furnish Words ; Fit for the soft Discription of the Bower , Some Love-blest God in the Triumphing hour , Can only guess , can only say what 't is ; Yet even that God but faintly wou'd express , Th' unbounded pleasures of the Bower of Bliss . A slight , a poor Idea may be given , Like that we fancy when we paint a Heav'n , As solid Christal , Diamonds , shining Gold , May fancy Light , that is not to be told . To vulgar Senses , Love like Heaven shou'd be ( To make it more Ador'd ) a Mystery : Eternal Powers ! when ere I sing of Love , And the unworthy Song immortal prove ; To please my wandering Ghost when I am Dead , Let none but Lovers the soft stories read ; Praise from the Wits and Braves I 'le not implore ; Listen ye Lovers all , I ask no more ; That where Words fail , you may with thought supply , If ever any lov'd like me , or were so blest as I. The Prospect and Bower of Bliss . I. T IS all eternal Spring around , And all the Trees with fragrant flowers are Crown'd ; No Clouds , no misty Showers obscure the Light , But all is calm , serene and gay , The Heavens are drest with a perpetual bright , And all the Earth with everlasting May. Each minute blows the Rose and Iesamine , And twines with new-born Eglantine , Each minute new Discoveries bring ; Of something sweet , of something ravishing . II. Fountains , wandering Brooks soft rills , That o're the wanton Pebbles play ; And all the Woods with tender murmuring fills , Inspiring my Love inciting 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 . III. The verdant Banks no other Prints retain , But where young Lovers , and young Loves have lain . For Love has nothing here to do , But to be wanton , soft and gay , And give a lavish loose to joy . His emptyed Quiver , and his Bow , In 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 . IV. 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 ; 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 . V. The Virgin here shows no disdain , Nor does the Shepherd Sigh in vain , This knows no Cruelty , nor that no Pain : No Youth complains upon his rigorous fair ; No injur'd Maid upon her perjur'd dear , 'T is only Love , fond Love finds entrance here ; The Notes of Birds , the Murmuring Boughs , 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 . VI. 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 , 't is here the Lover reaps , Transporting softnesses beyond his hopes ; 'T is here fair Eyes , all languishing impart The secrets of the fond inclining Heart ; Fine Hands and Arms for tender Pressings made , In Love's dear business always are imploy'd : The soft Inchantments of the Tongue , That does all other Eloquence controul , Is breath'd with broken Sighs among , Into the Ravish'd Shepherds Soul , 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 : 'T was Heaven ! 't was Extasie ! each minute brought New Raptures to my Senses , Soul and Thought ; Each Look , each Touch , my Ravisht fancy charm'd , Each Accent of her Voice my Blood Alarm'd ; I pant with every Glance , faint with a Kiss , Oh Judge my Transports then in higher Bliss . A while all Dead , between her Arms I lay , Unable to possess the conquer'd Joys ; But by degrees my Soul its sense retriev'd ; Shame and Confusion let me know I liv'd . I saw the trembling dis-appointed Maid , With charming angry Eyes my fault up-braid , While Love and Spight no kind Excuse affords , My Rage and Softness was above dull Words , And my Misfortune only was exprest , By Sighing out my Soul into her Brest : A thousand times I breath'd Aminta's name , Aminta ! call'd ! but that increas'd my flame . And as the Tide of Love flow'd in , so fast My Low , my Ebbing Vigor out did hast . But 't was not long , thus idly , and undone I lay , before vast Seas came rowling on , Spring-tides of Joy , that the rich neighboring shoar And down the fragrant Banks it proudly bore , O're-flow'd and ravisht all great Natures store . Swoln to Luxurious heights , no bounds it knows , But wantonly it Triumphs where it flows . Some God inform Thee of my blest Estate , But all their Powers divert thee from my Fate . 'T was thus we liv'd the wonder of the Groves , Fam'd for our Love , our mutual constant Loves . Young Amorous Hero's at her Feet did fall , Despair'd and dy'd , whilst I was Lord of All ; Her Empire o're my Soul each moment grew , New Charms each minute did appear in view , And each appointment Ravishing and New. Fonder each hour my tender Heart became , And that which us'd t' allay , increas'd my Flame . But on a day , oh may no chearful Ray , Of the Sun's Light , bless that succeeding day ! May the black hours from the account be torn , May no fair thing upon thy day be born ! May fate and Hell appoint thee for their own , May no good deed be in thy Circle done ! May Rapes , Conspiricies and Murders stay , Till thou com'st on , and hatch em in thy day ! — 'T was on this day all Joyful Gay and Fair , Fond as desire , and wanton as the Air ; Aminta did with me to the blest Bower repair . Beneath a Beechy Shade , a flowry Bed , Officious Cupid's for our Pleasure spred , Where never did the Charmer ere impart , More Joy , more Rapture to my ravisht Heart : 'T was all the first ; 't was all beginning Fire ! 'T was all new Love ! new Pleasure ! new Desire ! — Here stop my Soul — Stop thy carreer of Vanity and Pride , And only say , — 'T was here Aminta dy'd : The fleeting Soul as quickly dis-appears , As leaves blown off with Winds , or falling Stars ; And Life its flight assum'd with such a pace ; It took no farewel of her lovely Face . The Fugitive not one Beauty did surprize , It scarce took time to languish in her Eyes , But on my Bosom bow'd her charming Head ; And sighing , these surprizing words she said : " Joy of my Soul , my faithful tender Youth , Lord of my Vows , and Miracle of Truth : Thou soft obliger - : of thy Sex the best , Thou blessing too Extream to be possest ; The Angry God , designing we must part , Do render back the Treasure of thy Heart ; When in some new fair Breast , it finds a room , And I shall ly-neglected-in my Tomb — Remember-oh remember-the fair she , Can never love thee , darling Youth , like me . Then with a Sigh she sunk into my Brest , While her fair Eyes , her last farewel exprest ; To aiding God's I cry'd ; but they were Deaf , And no kind pow'r afforded me relief : I call her name , I weep , I rave and faint , And none but Eccho's answer my Complaint ; I Kiss and Bathe her stiffening Face with Tears , Press it to mine , as cold and pale as her's ; The fading Roses of her Lips I press , But no kind Word the silenc'd Pratlers will confess ; Her lovely Eyes I kiss , and call upon , But all their wonted answering Rhetorick's gone . Her charming little Hands in vain I ask , Those little Hands no more my Neck shall grasp ; No more about my Face her Fingers play , Nor brede my Hair , or the vain Curls display , No more her Tongue beguiling Stories tell , Whose wonderous Wit cou'd grace a Tale so well ; All , all is fled , to Death's cold Mansion gone , And I am left benighted and undone , And every day my Fate is hasting on . From the inchanting Bower I madly fly , That Bower that now no more affords me Joy. Love had not left for me one Bliss in store , Since my Aminta cou'd dispence no more . — Thence to a silent Desert I advance , And call'd the Desert of Remembrance ; A solitude upon a Mountain plac'd , All gloomy round , and wonderous high and vast , From whence Love's Island all appears in view , And distant Prospects renders near and true ; Each Bank , each Bower , each dear inviting Shade , That to our Sacred Loves was conscious made . Each flowry Bed , each Thicket and each Grove , Where I have lain Charm'd with Aminta's Love. ( Where e're she chear'd the day , and blest the Night ) Eternally are present to my Sight . Where e're I turn , the Lands kip does confess , Something that calls to mind past happiness . This Lysidas , this is my wretched state , 'T is here I languish , and attend my Fate . But e're I go , 't wou'd wonderous Pleasure be , ( If such a thing can e're arrive to me ) To find some Pity ( Lysidas ) from thee . Then I shou'd take the Wing , and upward fly , And loose the Sight of this dull World with Joy. Your Lysander . A TABLE . THE Golden Age , a Paraphrase on a Translation out of French page 1. A Farewell to Celladon on his going into Ireland 13. On a Iuniper-Tree cut down to make Busks 19. On the Death of Mr. Grinhill the famous Painter 24. A Ballad on Mr. J. H. to Amoret , asking why I was so sad 29. Our Caball 33. The willing Mistress , a Song 44. Love Arm'd , a Song 45. The Complaint , a Song 46. The Invitation , a Song 47. A Song 48. To Mr Creech ( under the name of Daphnis ) on his Excellent Translation of Lucretius . 50. To Mrs. W. on her excellent Verses ( writ in praise of some I had made on the late Earl of Rochester ) written in a fit of sickness 57. The sense of a Letter sent me , made into Verse , to a New Tune 61. The Return 62. On a Copy of Verses made in a Dream and sent to me in a Morning before I was awake 63. To my Lady Morland at Tunbridge 65. Song to Ceres , in the wavering Nymph or mad Amyntas 68. A Song in the same Play by the wavering Nymph 69. The Disappointment 70. On a Locket of Hair wove in a True-lovers Knot given me by Sir R. O. 77. The Dream , a Song 78. A Letter to a Brother of the Pen in Tribulation 80. The Reflexion , a Song 83. A Song to Pesibles Tune 86. A Song on her loving two Equally set by Capt. Pack 88. The Counsel , a Song set by the same hand 89. The Surprise , a Song set by Mr. Farmer 91. A Song 92. The Invitation , a Song to a New Scotch Tune 93. Sylvia's Complaint , a Song to a fine Scotch Tune 95. In Imitation of Horace 98. To Lysander who made some Virses on a Discourse of Loves Fire 101. A Dialogue for an entertainment at Court between Damon and Sylvia 102. On Mr. J. H. In a fit of sickness 106. To Lysander on some Verses he writ , and asking more for his Heart than 't was worth 109. To the Honourable Lord Howard , on his Comedy called the New Utopia 113. To Lysander at the Musick meeting 118. An Ode to Love 120. Love Reveng'd , a Song 122. A Song to a New Scotch Tune 123. The Caball at Nickey Nackeys 125. A Paraphrase on the eleventh Ode out of the first Book of Horace 126. A Translation 127. A Paraphrase on Oenone to Paris 129. A Voyage to the Isle of Love 144. FINIS . Notes, typically marginal, from the original text Notes for div A27315-e9060 * So he called a Sweating-Tub . (a) Lent. (b) I wanted a Prologue to a Play. (c) He pretended to Retir 〈…〉 o Write . Notes for div A27315-e44510 * Little Arts to please . * Duty .