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

THE ART of LOVE, THE SECOND BOOK (Book 2)

ARm'd at all Points, Men to the Feild are gone, Now, Venus, fight the Battle of thy Son. Assist me Beauty, for thy Fame I Write, Art shall teach Charming Nature to delight, And thou shalt gain the Trophies of the Fight.

To you the secrets of that Art i'll show, Nor leave you Naked to so fierce a Foe; I'll teach you all, you shall know all my skill, And Men shall Love, while you shall smile and kill▪

The Arms.

YE Female Warriours, hast, to Arms, to Arms, Put on▪ your Smiles, your Glances, and your Charms, Paint, Patches, Pins, and all the little rest, Which must be done e'er Beauty can be drest, Flames in your Eyes, and Coldness in your Breast.

Put on a modest mildness with your dress, Put on those somethings which I can't express. Let all with Artful negligence be done, Yet put each Charm, put the whole Woman on. Then softly sweet let Cupid's Trumpet sound, Let Flags of streaming Ribbonds wave around, And with a Heart be every standard Crown'd. Each bearded Arrow bears a Bleeding Heart; For Cupid's Standard is a Golden Dart. Let a soft Blush, the Ensign, be display'd, The Charming Ensign of the Charming Maid. Thus Arm'd, ye Amazons, insult the Field, Sighs be your Swords, and silence be your shield. Trust to my skill, in spite of Precepts past, And you shall Conquer, tho' to yield at last.

Believe me Maids, who never yet deceiv'd, Thro' me, none e'er repented she believ'd, Int'rest in Love draws on a Cloud of Woes; For Love and Int'rest are eternal Foes. No fatal Rules my Numbers shall unfold▪ For those mean things, who sell themselves for Gold In Spheres more bright my richer Precepts move, My Song's compos'd of Beauty and of Love.

Woman the Dissemblers.

SHall Waves be bid to Roll, when Tempests roar? Shall Calms succeed, when the loud Storm Blow ore? Shall Poets live Dejected, Proud and Poor? Shall Ice be Cold? Shall Fire be bid to Burn? Shall Darkness vanish at the Sun's return? Shall Silvius Love, and shall Amasia Scorn? Shall I teach Misers to embrace their store? Shall they teach me bright Beauty to adore? Shall I bid Gods, who are Immortal, Live? Shall I bid Women, all deceit, deceive?

Women and Kings alike their sway maintain, And by dissembling what the feel, they Reign. Blameless, your Sex does in this art excel; 'Tis no deceit, if you deceive us well. Dissemble on, Shoot your devices far, Be every Charm, yet be but what you are. Be all, that Man, unsinning would adore. Be Woman—Woman! can a Name be more? You are of those whom all the World admire, The Hearts of Mortals, and of Gods you Fire. Men, to be Blest, retires to Shades with you, And when you please we grow Immortal too. In Beauteous Spheres, more bright than ours, you move, You give us Paradise, you give us Love.

For you, bright Maids, I draw my conqu'ring Pen, To fix your Empire ore presuming Men.

The Prostrate.

LOe! there, before your Feet the Victim lyes, Whilst Vict'ry laughs within your smiling Eyes; See how the Prostrate Captive, Sighs, and Dies. Believe him not, he's Man, and will deceive; What have I said? Ye Maids, believe, believe. All are not false, tho' the sincere be few, At least, Amasia knows her Silvius true. But my Amasia has my suit deny'd, And none can e'er deceive, who is not try'd.

But Oh! that Charmer does such Charms improve, That 'tis impossible I should not Love. Could I but show you how Amasia Charms, There were no need of Amor'us Arts and Arms. She's all ore Charm, all Ravishing in Youth, She's Love it self, She's Beauty and She's Truth. But Oh! She must not all your Actions guide, She's all o're Woman too, all over Pride. I teach you how to make the Lover Burn, I teach you Love, but Nature teaches Scorn.

Trust to my skill, in spite of precepts past, I'll teach you conquest, so you yield at last.

Turn there, the Swain do's on his Knees implore, He only beggs permission to adore, Begs you would but believe, and hopes no more.

O treach'rous Man! Who can so falsly press, He hope no more! O no, he doubts no less. Believe him not, command him to forbear, He must not speak, protest you will not hear. Check each attempt he makes to prove his Flame, Yet still new hints for new addresses frame. Seem all suprize, all Coyness, all a Frown, Then let your Eyes shed soft compassion down. He hopes and fears, he Freezes and he Burns, And still protests, when e're the Fit returns. Let him not Kneel, but as his Fires rage on, Say he must Rise, or you must else be gone. Divert the talk, forbid him to adore, But so forbid as to engage him more. Farewell, at length the parting Lover cryes; Bid him farewell, but with relenting Eyes.

He goes but to return; why let him go; He's yours—or if you please he may be so,

Attire.

COnsult your Glass what Garments to put on, The Man's retir'd, but not the Lover gone. Take counsel what attire becomes you best, And with a Charming negligence be drest. If negligence becomes not your Attire, Then in the Pride of Pompous Garments Fire. Shew your fair Neck, your tempting Bosom bare, And let Gemms deck your Ornamental Hair.

Retir'd, unseen, the lovely Warriours Arm, When drest, at once with new surprize you Charm. As Light'ning, Flashing fast from Pole to Pole, Strikes quick the Eye, so Beauty strikes the Soul. With glancing Light, the subtil Flashes fly, Yet are they temper'd in the gloomy Sky. We know not whence they Issue, but we know, We must admire whatever strikes us so. You may in splendid Theaters behold, The guilded Columns show like massy Gold. The Men, who act for Bread, talk loud, grow vain, And three big Hours of empty greatness reign. Yet till this Pomp of folly be prepar'd, The longing Guests are of all view debarr'd.

Love's Warfare.

NOw ye are Arm'd, ye Charming Maids, repair To Beauty's Camps, and Fight, and Conquer there▪ In martial Fields the bold successful prove; You must seem tim'rous, if you gain in Love. Beauty, as cowardize, sometimes prevails; False flights oft conquer, when true courage fails. Let Looks and Smiles in subtil ambush ly, Seem always Flying, yet scarce ever Fly.

Sing, Dance, be Airey, put on all your Aires, Your easy Mirth shall cause the Lovers cares. Thus shall you give those Wounds your Eyes ne're meant; The Bow of Cupid never stands unbent. The random Arrow, strikes with more surprize, More force, when Wing'd with negligence it flyes. When on the Rock Andromeda was bound, She waited Death, yet there her Lover found, Wounding him first, who did the Monster wound.

Modest Pride.

SEem Proud, yet humble too; let never Pride, Shown in the silent Face, the softness hide. To Minds too haughty Love has seldom bow'd, Be near at distance, modestly be Proud.

Trust to my skill, in spite of precepts past, And you shall conquer, tho' to yield at last.

Sometimes, soft things in Tragedies rehearse, And make the Poet happy in his Verse. Smiling sometimes, in whispering accents bear Some Trifling saying, to some Neighb'ring fair,

The Lover then, unknowing what you said, Smiles too, and fancies some fine Jest was made. You, from your own impertinences know, He makes the Jest, when e're he fancies so. Read Poetry, the mighty Dryden Read, Let Congreve next, and Wicherly succeed. Read Cowley Living still, Read Otway, Lee, Read Elder Hopkins with those lofty three, And if you please, at leisure Hours,—Read me. The Muses works may shorten tedious Days, And when the Evening calls, repair to Plays. Retir'd at home, be oft, and oft deny'd, And let indiff'rence act the part of Pride. The easy grant the price of bliss destroys, Man ever least esteems what he enjoys.

Repulse sometimes makes Love more fierce rebound, As Balls rise highest struck on Stony Ground. Let the fond Lover, curse the cruel Door, Do humbly much, but in his threats much more; The taste of bitter things can Sweets renew; Winds sink that Ship sometimes, by which it flew.

The Visit.

REceive the Visit, which the Youth shall make, Be seen, as if by chance, or by mistake. Play with your Fan, call for your Coach, your Chair, Be just a going out to take the Air. Pretend some Visits, which must needs be made, And his you can't receive, till those be paid. Business pretend, or Sickness, seem in hast, Have many things to do; some Minutes past, 'Tis late you know, you may do none at last.

You think the Weather dull, 'tis Cold, if not, But you would change it spite of Heaven,—'tis hot. Say any thing impertinence can move, Enquire the news; he answers you, 'tis Love. Hear all he says, sit in some distant place, While his Eyes fasten on your Charming Face.

Silence.

ALtho' you hear, seem not at all to heed, So while you wound him, he shall inward Bleed. Thus while you muse, the Youth shall softly press, Nearer, and nearer to a close address. Whilst in your Thoughts you seem your self to lose, You find your Lover there, who tells his News; On weightier things, your solid Mind was bent, You hear'd not what he said, you know not what he meant.

Let him talk on, and ask, and answer too, He need not hope to have a word from you. Yet you may smile, when next you hear him speak▪ And let some tune in thoughtless accents break. Now, you may Sigh, as he approaches near, Now shall he press, now shall you cry, forbear, You Frown, he Loves, you Laugh, and he shall Swear. O Love! O Folly! O dissembling Maid! O Man! whose Strength by Weakness is betray'd, Caught in those Nets for subtil Women laid.

Trust to my skill, in spite of precepts past, And you shall Conquer, but to yield at last.

He asks you now, what 'tis employs your thought, And wonders what has such deep silence wrought.

Inward he struggles, not resolv'd by you. Longing to know, yet he grows silent too; With Burning Pains, now makes his Passion known, Rack'd with your silence long, and with his own. He Loves, he Loves, again, again he cryes, Consults you oft, but you make no replies.

The Answer.

WHen grown by long, long repetition dull, Thus at the last, you answer him in full. What is this strange request which you have made? What is it Sir, I know not what you said? O Blest dissimulation of the Sex! Who can Mankind by carelessness perplex, O Glorious Sense, of Ignorance in shew! Which makes us Fools, while you act Folly so.

O happy Art of Nature! Which can wind, And turn ten Thousand ways the changing Mind. Your folly thus, Man's Wisdom can confound, And cast his baffled Eyes and Senses on the Ground. Happy that Wit, which is in silence shown, More than in all the works of Poets known. Amasia thus receiv'd her Lover's suit, Thus did her silence my weak words confute, And when she spoke, all Sense, but Love was mute. Even Love it self by silence was exprest, I only Vow'd I Lov'd, and look'd the rest. Against himself his Foes the Poet Arms, Like Beauty seen, silence in Beauty Charms.

Beauty's describ'd only by being seen, And silence speaks, lodg'd in the Beauteous Mien. When importunity at last prevails, The charming turn of answers never fails; When forc'd to answer thousand Queries past, You can rely with questions at the last.

The Penalty.

WEll, 'tis suppos'd you have confest you hear'd, Let now the Lover be of speech debarr'd. Lock up his Lips, lock up thy injur'd Ear, He has said things a Virgin should not hear. He must be silent, you must else remove; For he grew Impudent and talk'd of Love. The Youth stands Speechless, nor dares think of Bliss, His Lips are Seal'd, but Seal'd without a Kiss.

Trust to my skill, in spite of Precepts past, And you shall Conquer, so to yield at last.

The Lover now believes his Passion curst, And he will speak, for he has felt the worst. His fears now urge him most, when most they awe; As Cowards from despair can Courage draw. Use him like Cowards, all his rage controul, And wound him, wound the Rebel to the Soul. Tell him, himself alone he must deceive, For 'tis impossible you should believe. 'Tis time to Visit now, you must not stay Send him once more with kinder looks away.

He goes but to return; why, let him go; He's yours,—or if you please, he may be so.

Deportment.

THe Day grows fair, your Coach, or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 may wait, And you may walk, if graceful in your Gate. See how R—h displays her stately Mind, How, in the Pride of Steps, the haughty Wind Swells her loose Robes before her, and behind. I—n there, trips nimbly ore the Park. As if she fear'd to dissappoint some spark. C—l demurely on the Ground does look, As if she measur'd every Step she took.

That hasty H—there Walks, as if she ran, And whisks her Eyes, and brandishes her Fan. The Tall Walk slowly, others Walk apace, Each movement, every gesture has its grace, Men are not always Charm'd with but a Face. Consult that Gate, which suits your Stature best, Walk 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to please your self, nor doubt the rest.

Humour.

YOu who have change of Garments changes wear, And Daily deck in various forms your Hair. Change too your Humours as your Dress you change, The Lyon always does not furious Range. Let your mild Air sometimes compassion move, Sometimes disdain, yet ever mingling Love. Now Pleas'd, now Vex'd, now Aiery, and then Sad, Now very thoughtful, and now very Mad. A thousand Humours move a thousand ways, For most of all, Variety must please.

The Charmer.

AMasia thus could every Passion wear, She wore all Charms in her expressive Air, But Love—fond Love, alas! was never there, Her every Passion did my sense controul, But Love alone possest her Lover's Soul. Love and Dispair in me one Passion grew, I ne're knew Love but when Despair I knew. She Smil'd,—yet while that Sunshine was display'd, Despairing Love gloom'd in a thicker Shade. She Smil'd—and strait my hopes like Phantoms flee. For Oh! she never, never Smil'd on me.

Smiles.

SMile Charming Beauty, change from Smiles to Smiles, A thousand Glories Gild the tempting Wiles. Smile on, Aerial Beauties we shall Trace, While Paradise sits Blooming in your Face. Whilst Charms thus Lovely all your Features Crown, Thus whilst you Smile, Ah! Who can bid you Frown?

Frowns.

THe Sun's o're cast, the sullen gloom's display'd, Awfull she Frowns, behold the Frowning Maid. Iove dwells not ever in the Skies serene, But Storms sometimes in a Tempestuous scene. The Light'nings first Flash from the shining Cloud, But as the Light'nings fly, Heaven Thunders loud. Tempests at Sea serve to endear the Shore; If Gods ne'er Thunder'd, Men would scarce adore.

But now, 'tis time your fury were appeas'd, The Youth shall offer incense, You be pleas'd. In Tears he comes to pacify your Rage, And falling Show'rs ev'n Thunder can asswage.

Belief.

SEe how he Weeps, I know the Youth sincere He Loves, he Vows, and offers up his Prayer, He's True; believe him True, as you are Fair. He begs you would his Racking Pains relieve, Believe—how can it hurt you to believe? 'Tis no uncommon, no new Suit he moves, He only begs you would believe he Loves.

Grant the request he does so oft implore, But let hin know he must expect no more. Inwards he's Ravish'd that you think him true, The Coast of Love he does more swift pursue; For still one Grant prepares the way for New. Now fresh desires spread full his Passion's Sails, He Sighs, and Steers his Passage thro' the Gales.

Trust to my skill, in spite of Precepts past, And you shall Conquer, tho' to yield at last.

If you are full convinc'd he does not feign, If the Youth Loves, he should be Lov'd again. A thousand, thousand ways there are to try, One word implies them all—Deny, Deny. Grant, or Deniall, in succession, Burns, Like the twin Stars, that mount the Skies by turns

Grants and Denialls the amour improve, Whatever Star shall Shine, the Youth shall Love, Tho' your last Breath own'd you believ'd his Vow. Yet, now he Vows again, deny it now, Till he such protestations shall renew, The Youth must Damn himself twho is not true.

Favours.

PErmit him now, sometimes your Hands to press, And Sigh, but seldom, and in warm address. Yet while his presses rise too fierce, too fast, Withdraw your Hands, those favours must not last

seem serious now, while now you hear him Court, That he may know you make not Love your Sport. Attend, and Answer every thing he says, Such soft attention must the Lover please. Whilst now more fierce, more Passionate he Wooes, He Love's, Believe, seem Sorry that he does. Seem much concern'd to see the Lover Burn, Seem much concern'd you can't his Love Return. Let your Eyes kindly with compassion move, Yet say you hate the Sex, and cannot Love. 'Tis your aversion; Monst'rous! Love a Man! Say, vow you cannot, when you know you can. He leaves you now, half desp'rate as before, Bids you farewell; but Vows he must adore.

He goes but to return; why let him go, He's yours,—Or if you please he may be so.

Letters.

HE Writes, perhaps, peruse what he has Writ, And if the bearer waits, extoll his Wit. Say, 'tis above your reach, and you implore, That he would Write, you know not what, no more Give your cold Service, and the Note return, Or if some Fire be near, the Letter Burn. Say, it requires no Answer, so remove; For Maids should never Answer Notes of Love: Trust me, 'tis dang'rous; for if Virgins Write, They lose the noblest Trophies of the Fight.

Some Men boast Favours which they never knew, Yet some are secret still, tho' very few, For Men feel vanity—as much as you. Those maids, whose Sparks, their Loving Notes ex∣pose, The ills they find in Writing can disclose Write not, tho' most in Letters you excell, Write not to show your Lover you Write well, No, be not tempted, tho' you know to Spell. Write not, no never, never Write to Men, We cannot take denyals from your Pen, 'Tis ours to Write, and Write, and Write again. Silence in you, shall all our thoughts deceive, You make reply sufficient, to receive.

Distance.

THe Youth returns, your Silence makes him come. From your dear Lips he must receive his doom. Receive him coyly, ask him what he meant, By the unwelcome compliment he sent, Seem more and more reserv'd, and for a while, Till he protests and vows, you must not Smile. Keep him at distance while he talks of Love, Nor let his Hands around your Bosom Rove▪

Thus shall you raise more Passion in his Mind, As Flames rage highest, when a while confin'd. He calls you cruel, most unhumane now, Who will no favours for such Love allow.

Kindness

WHen to the last excess of Fondness grown, He longs for all, will you afford him none? Yes, grant a little, now a little more And yet a little greater than before, Heaven must be giving still, if Men adore.

Life of Love.

YEt here be cautious favour not too fast, Give not too much, yet give your self at last. Love should have mod'rate fuel, 'tis like Fires, Which too much, damps; yet slighted, it expires. All have not Souls deserving Virgin Flame, Some vainly think all Women are the same.

Keep still your favours now, let none be lost, And give so little that no Youth may boast. Men are but Men, Maids are but mortal too, Give and Refuse, thus you grow ever new. Else will the Youth, continu'd fondness flee▪ For every Lover does not Love like me. What Flames had I for my Amasia Born, Had she been kind, when I so Lov'd her Scorn. Beauty like her's, whole Ages might deny, When Men persue like me, Maids, ever fly. But Oh! no Man like Sylvius can adore, No Woman like Amasia Charm— No Woman—(Maids forgive me) she was more

Consent.

COnsent at last, and send the Youth away, Let him go now that he may ever stay.

The Advice.

HE goes but to return; why let him go, He's yours,—but be advis'd, and make him so.

Trust to my Skill, observe my precepts past, And as you now have Conquer'd, Yield at last.

Both Men and Maids, Fighting in Cupid's Feild, Both Men and Maids, if you would Conquer, Yield.

The Conclusion.

BOth Men and Maids, whilst in your Bridals Blest, This, my reward, be for a truth confest, Art has done all can be by Art exprest.

FINIS.