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

Praise.

LEt her each step your Admiration move, And as She Dances, in your Eyes dance Love. Let her each Motion ravish'd wonder raise, And Praise her now, for now She Courts your Praise. The stronger Gale of Praises you bestow, More beauteous Charms shall her each Movement show. Thus flies the Vessel with auspicious Gales, And as the Winds encrease, more swift She Sails. Thus Iuno's Bird spreads wide his starry Train, But hides, unprais'd, his gawdy Wealth again. The Poet thus in Praises feels delight, And, paid with Fame alone, grows fond to Write, Fear not to Praise, whatever Form they bear, There lives not one but fancies that She's Fair.

High in Conceit, Women, like Authors sit, These proud of fancy'd Beauty, those, of Wit. Tho' some pretend their want of Charms to know' Whilst from themselves their real failings flow, If you but softly Vow they are deceiv'd, How sure, how soon is the Deceit believ'd? Thus every Maid to her own wants grows kind, And Woman's Pride, like Woman's Love is blind. Whilst now you see the glowing virgin move, At every aiery step She measures Love. The Ball broke up, before her bowing stand, And offer humbly your conducting Hand. If coy She turns, with slights your service paid, Lead off before her Eyes some other Maid.

Observe my Rules, drawn from experienc'd Skill Engaging there, here shall you Conquer still.