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

Elective Love.

FIRST, You, fond Youth, who Beauty's Charms adore, Choose one alone to Love, and wish no more. That am'rous Swain can feel no real Fires, Who, at first sight, each Face he sees, admires. You may perhaps my skilful Rules abuse, And think I err, because I bid you choose. 'Tis our Free-Will does our desires Improve, And raises liking to the height of Love. An Infant Passion by one glance may rise, But if not nourisht by Consent, it dyes.

You must some time, to find a Mistress rove, She won't Descend from the bright Skies above, And like a gaudy Metor, Court thy Love. If, when you meet her, she be truly fair, She will reward your utmost Pains and Care. Blest were that Youth, who with my Eyes could see, Whose Mistress might like my Amasia be, But kinder far than her, all Charms as she. Well, 'tis enough, if she be fair believ'd, Tho' you your self, are by your self deceiv'd, Sweet is the cheat, and thence true Joys may flow, For he that thinks he's blest is surely so. London abounds with Virgins brightly Fair, Such Crouds of Beauty in its Streets appear, As if the Charms of the whole World were there.