The art of love in two books. Written both to men and ladies. A new poem.

THE PREFACE.

THE Bookseller has prevail'd on me to Write something by way of Preface, with which I should not otherwise have troubled the Reader, or my self.

When the Title of this Poem is read, 'twill, doubtless, be concluded that 'tis a Translation of Ovid De arte Amandi, but in my Opinion. Ovid's Book De arte Amandi cannot justly be English'd into The Art of Love; 'tis rather the Art of something else. His Poem, I am positive, cannot be Modestly, and, Litte∣rally

Translated. He has taken such li∣berty with the Roman Ladies, as I am sure, the most Airy of our English Ladies would blush to allow.

Cupid may be drawn, he's but a Child; be has been drawn, but always Blind; the Poets thought not fit to give him Eyes, least he should see the Nakedness of his Mother's Beauty. Venus is al∣ways painted Naked, and therefore Venus should not be painted.

That there are greater Masters in Poetry than I, must be confest, I ac∣knowledge it here, and all I write con∣fesses it; but that there are greater Ma∣sters in Love I will not easily allow. He who has serv'd his Time to a Trade, in all probability, has had the best Opportu∣nities of understanding the Crafts which may be practicable in it; and he who has the greatest Stock, when he sets up,

is capable of making the greatest Advan∣tage.

Now half my 'Life I have been bound to Love, and I have serv'd a rigid Mistress faithfully, too faithfully ever to have made Advantage in her Service. O what a load of Love have I upon my Hands, upon my Heart! My Liberty seems now to me the greatest Bondage; for I can never perfectly grow free from my first Slavery, unless it could be pos∣sible that I could serve again. Thus, from the Art of Love, I wander insensibly in∣to the Nature of it; and I may hence infer that should I ever endeavour again to Love (for sure I must endeavour it, if e're I do) Amasia's Memory would still be dearer to my Soul than any other living Charmer.

To make some Application of this na∣tural digression, to my present purpose, I shall confess, without a Blush, I have

lov'd indeed, lov'd with all the Fondness and with all the Passion that any Poet can Express. Why should I be asham'd of what was unavoidable? The Folly seiz'd me Young, and Love and Poetry grew up together. But I'll neither praefix the time, nor oblige my self to the continu∣ance of either, by making Vows to the contrary: Lovers and Poets keep equally their Resolutions; or good or ill Success sets them on edge again. To Love I owe Poetry, to Poetry all the Misfortunes of my Life.

I Lov'd—that brings me again to what I have left already twice unmention'd where I had design'd it; I lov'd—I felt all I writ, and thence conclude I have writ natu∣rally on the Subject, if naturally where I talk of my own Passion, then may I hope too I have write Artificially on others, for to others I have Copied out my own Original. I have felt Love, and I think, he who has

felt it, can best teach others how to feign it. I am positive, he who never felt it, can never Feign it well, can ne∣ver grow Naturally Artificial in it. He who never knew what Gold was, can ne∣ver gild a Counterfeit. Pigmalion, doubt∣less, had been in Love, or he had never fraim'd his Maid of Iv'ry; my fancy has not been unlike Pigmalion's, for my A∣masia is my lv'ry Maid. O happy Artist! But I shall ne're be the Pigmalion here. His Art was the Reverse of mine; his Statue grew a perfect Woman; his Art was the Cause of very Nature, but mine is the Effect.

But to return to Ovid; Ovid is my Friend, my Favourite, I admire him in his way of Writing, as much as I can any Author; I admire him, and I love him, but still my Passion for him is like the blushing, vertuous Virgin's for her Lover, and I must quarrel with him when

he grows too free in his familiarity: He is here and there loose in all his Writings, but the very Design of his Poem call'd De arte Amandi is not only loose but lew'd. Some Precepts there are Modest in't, 'tis true; for what Man can at all times play the Libertine? Where they are so, I have sometimes imitated him, and as far as Modesty allows, I may say, with Modesty, my Poem is Ovidian. 'Twill not be kind in me to Attribute the Misfor∣tune of his Banishment to the looseness of his Writings, tho' in one of the Elegies of his De Tristibus inscrib'd to Caesar, he seems to imagine That the Cause; (I say, imagine, for, to me he seems not to have been fully satisfy'd in the Cause of it himself.) Nor would it look friendly in me to recite some of the loosest of his Lines; I shall content my self at present, (since 'tis my business to prove him immodest in his Poem of Amandi) only with a Verse or two where he speaks of his own Work. Before he enters on his Pre∣cepts, he says—

Este procul vittae tenues, insigne pu∣doris, Quaeque tegis medios, instita longa, pedes.

herein he plainly says that Modesty has no∣thing to do in his Art, and that those who are Chast must shun it. by this Advice, and the Confession in the following Line,—

Nos venerem tutam, concessaque Furta canemus.

he seems to own himself a Criminal; but when he Writes de Remedio Amoris, he does not only confess, but he seems to boast his Crime.—

Thais in arte mea est: Lascivia libera nostra est: Nil mihi cam vitta est: Thais in arte mea est.

all I have said amounts to only this; if any modest Man attempts to translate Ovid de

arte Amandi, he must both alter and omit, if he would still be thought a modest Man; and when he has done so, the Poem will be his, not Ovid's. if literally he translates him, and makes him Chast, let his next Vndertaking be to wash an Aethiopian.

This Poem, I have ventur'd to call The Art of Love, if it Succeeds, 'twill be ne∣cessary the Remedy should follow.

Achilles Lance can Cure as well as Wound.