Poems upon several occasions with, A voyage to the island of love / by Mrs. A. Behn.

On a Copy of Verses made in a Dream, and sent to me in a Morning before I was Awake.

AMyntas, if your Wit in Dreams Can furnish you with Theams, What must it do when your Soul looks abroad, Quick'nd with Agitations of the Sence, And dispossest of Sleeps dull heavy Load, When ev'ry Syllable has Eloquence? And if by Chance such Wounds you make, And in your Sleep such welcome Mischiefs do;

What are your Pow'rs when you're awake, Directed by Design and Reason too?

I slept, as duller Mortals use, Without the Musick of a Thought, VVhen by a gentle Breath, soft as thy Muse, Thy Name to my glad Ear was brought: Amyntas! cry'd the Page—And at the Sound, My list'ning Soul unusual Pleasure sound. So the Harmonius Spheres surprize, VVhilst the All-Ravish'd Shepherd gazes round, And wonders whence the Charms should rise, That can at once both please and wound. VVhilst trembling I unript the Seal Of what you'd sent, My Heart with an Impatient Zeal, VVithout my Eyes, would needs reveal Its Bus'ness and Intent.

But so beyond the Sence they were Of ev'ry scribling Lovers common Art, That now I find an equal share Of Love and Admiration in my Heart. And while I read, in vain I strove To hide the Pleasure which I took;

Bellario saw in ev'ry Look My smiling Joy and blushing Love. Soft ev'ry word, easie each Line, and true; Brisk, witty, manly, strong and gay; The Thoughts are tender all, and new, And Fancy ev'ry where does gently play. Amyntas if you thus go on, Like an unwearied Conqueror day and night, The World at last must be undone. You do not only kill at sight, But like a Parthian in your flight. Whether you Rally or Retreat, You still have Arrows for Defeat.