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

Theatre.

IF in the Theatre the Maid be found, Thence may your Passion with success be Crown'd. Whilst now She Mourns the fancy'd Hero's Fate, Whilst in her Eyes her ready Sorrows wait, Attend their fall; claim all her Tears your due, The fancy'd Lover never lov'd like you, Claim not her Tears alone,— But claim the charming Eyes which shed them too. Strange Contradiction reigns in Woman's mind, Only to shew, and false appearance, kind. Mind not the Action, nor the Authors strain, Slight gawdy Shows, and make her Face thy Scene. Raise no ill-natur'd Hiss to Damn the Play, But Criticize on what dull Criticks say. Let those who bite the Poet, so be bit, Thus whilst you show good Nature, show your Wit.

Alike with you the Author's Sense they bear, Alike with you, who did not see, nor hear. The modest Fop daubs his nice Nose with Snuff, Damn me, then crys, 'tis wretched, wretched stuff. Glance on such Fops with a disdainful Eye, And let a sleering Smile give such proud Fools the Lye. The Curtain fall'n, press to the Charmer's side, And claim her Hand, nor be at last deny'd. Entreat her oft, nor give entreaties o're, And Vow you will conduct her to her Door. Force is but weak, Intreaty has the Odds, Tho' we can't force, we may intreat the Gods. Thro' tedious importunity She moves, She can't deny the pressing Youth She loves. Enter her House, your fond Address renew, And Vow you was, and ever will be true. The Charmer now at distant coldness stands, And you must quit her from your clasping Hands.

The kinder warmth your Courtship shall impart, She seems more Cold, more Frozen in her Heart. Feign all the Lover, all the Hero feign, And in your Looks transported Passion reign. In different Strains Both with dissembling move, She feigning Anger, and you feigning Love. With your drawn Sword, rush with a hasty Vow, And now just striking, She prevents you now. Fast to your Arms the frighted Maid shall flee, And cry, so striking you had wounded me. Now to the unmost pitch your Flames must rise, Now She's your own, clasp fast the lovely prize. Great is your fondness, nor shall her's be less. She gives you Kiss for Kiss, and Press for Press. Whilst mutual Love flows strong with mutual Pow'rs, Her Hand, her Heart, her Life, her Soul are yours.

Observe my Rules, drawn from experienc'd skill, Still tho' you Conquer, Conquer yielding still. Go on triumphant so, and Triumph,—at your Will.

Crown me, each Love-sick Youth, each Love-sick Maid, Your mutual Flame, as my Reward, be paid. Whisper each other, in your Bridals blest, Thus far Art taught—Let Nature teach the rest.

FINIS.