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

A VOYAGE TO THE Isle of LOVE.

An Account from Lisander to Lysidas his Friend.

AT last dear Lysidas, I'l set thee Free, From the disorders of Uncertainty; Doubt's the worst Torment of a generous Mind, Who ever searching what it cannot find, Is roving still from wearied thought to thought, And to no settled Calmness can be brought:

The Cowards Ill, who dares not meet his Fate, And ever doubting to be Fortunate, Falls to that Wretchedness his fears Create. I should have dy'd silent, as Flowers decay, Had not thy Friendship stopt me on my way, That friendship which our Infant hearts inspir'd, E're them Ambition or false Love had fir'd: Friendship! which still enlarg'd with years and sense Till it arriv'd to perfect Excellence; Friendship! Mans noblest bus'ness! without whom The out-cast Life finds nothing it can own, But Dully dyes unknowing and unknown, Our searching thought serves only to impart It's new gain'd knowledge to anothers Heart; The truly wise, and great, by friendship grow, That, best instruct 'em how they should be so, That, only sees the Error of the Mind, Which by its soft reproach becomes Refin'd;

Friendship! which even Loves mighty power con∣trouls, When that but touches; this Exchange Souls, The remedy of Grief, the safe retreat Of the scorn'd Lover, and declining great. This sacred tye between thy self and me, Not to be alter'd by my Destiny; This tye, which equal to my new desires Preserv'd it self amidst Loves softer Fires, Obliges me, (without reserve) 't impart To Lycidas the story of my Heart; Tho' 't will increase its present languishment, To call to its remembrance past content So drowning Men near to their native shore (From whence they parted near to visit more) Look back and sigh, and from that last Adieu, Suffer more pain then in their Death they do, That grief, which I in silent Calms have born, It will renew, and rowse into a Storm.

The TRUCE.

With you unhappy Eyes that first let in To my fond Heart the raging Fire, With you a Truce I will begin, Let all your Clouds, let all your Show'rs retire, And for a while become serene, And you my consiant rising Sighs forbear, To mix your selves with flying Air, But utter Words, among that may express, The vast degrees of Ioy and Wretchedness. And you my Soul! forget the dismal hour, When dead and cold Aminta lay, And no kind God, no pittying Power The hasty fleeting Life would stay; Forget the Mad, the Raving pain That seiz'd Thee at a sight so new, When not the Wind let loose, nor raging Main Was so destructive and so wild as thou?

Forget thou saw'st the lovely yielding Maid, Dead in thy trembling Arms Iust ••n the Ravishing hour, when all her Charms A willing Victim to thy Love was laid, Forget that all is fled thou didst Adore, And never, never, shall return to bless Thee more.

Twelve times the Moon has borrow'd Rays; that Night Might favour Lovers stealths by Glimmering Light: Since I imbarqu'd on the inconstant Seas With people of all Ages and Degrees, All well dispos'd and absolutely bent, To visit a far Country call'd Content. The Sails were hoisted, and the Streamers spread, And chearfully we cut the yielding Floud; Calm was the Sea, and peaceful every Wind, As if the Gods had with our Wishes joyn'd To make us prosperous; All the whispering Air Like Lovers Joys, was soft, and falsly fair.

The ruffling Winds were hush'd in wanton sleep, And all the Waves were silenc'd in the deep: No threatning Cloud, no angry Curl was found, But bright, serene, and smooth, 'twas all around: But yet believe false Iris if she weep, Or Amorous Layis will her promise keep, Before the Sea, that Flatters with a Calm, Will cease to ruin with a rising Storm, For now the Winds are rows'd, the Hemisphere Grows black, and frights the hardy Mariner, The Billows all into Dis-order hurl'd, As if they meant to bury all the World; And least the Gods on us should pity take, They seem'd against them too, a War to make. Now each affrighted to his Cabin Flyes, And with Repentance Load the angry Skyes; Distracted Prayers they all to Heaven Address, While Heaven best knows, they think of nothing less;

To quit their Interest in the World's their fear, Not whether,—but to go,—is all their Care, And while to Heav'n, their differing crimes they mount, Their vast dis-orders doubles the account; All pray, and promise fair, protest and weep, And make those Vows, they want the pow'r to keep, But sure with some, the angry Gods were pleas'd; For by degrees their Rage and Thunder ceas'd: In the rude War no more the Winds engage, And the destructive Waves were tir'd with their own Rage; Like a young Ravisher, that has won the day, O're-toil'd and Panting, Calm and Breathless lay, While so much Vigour in the Incounter's lost, They want the pow'r a second Rape to Boast. The Sun in Glory daignes again t' appear; But we who had no Sense, but that of fear, Cou'd scarce believe, and lessen our dispair.

Yet each from his imagin'd Grave gets out, And with still doubting Eyes looks round about. Confirm'd they all from Prayer to Praises hast, And soon forgot the sense of dangers past; And now from the recruited Top-mast spy'd, An Island that discover'd Natures Pride: To which was added, all that Art could do To make it Tempting and Inviting too; All wondering Gaz'd upon the happy place, But none knew either where, or what it was: Some thought, th' Inaccessible Land 't had been, And others that Inchantment they had seen, At last came forth a Man, who long before Had made a Voyage to that fatal shoar, Who with his Eyes declin'd, as if dismaid, At sight of what he dreaded: Thus he said,

THis is the Coast of Africa, Where all things sweetly move; This is the Calm Atlantick Sea, And that the Isle of Love;

To which all Mortals Tribute pay, Old, Young, the Rich and Poor; Kings do their awful Laws obey, And Shepherds do Adore.

There's none its forces can resist, Or its Decrees Evince, It Conquers where, and whom it list, The Cottager and Prince.

In entering here, the King resigns, The Robe and Crown he wore; The Slave new Fetters gladly joyns To those he dragg'd before.

All thither come, early or late, Directed by desire, Not Glory can divert their fate, Nor quench the Amorous fire.

The Enterances on every side, Th•• Attracts and Beauties Guard, The Graces with a wanton Pride, By turn secure the Ward.

The God of Love has lent 'em Darts, With which they gently Greet, The heedless undefended Hearts That pass the fatal Gate.

None e're escapt the welcom'd blow, Which ner'e is sent in vain; They Kiss the Shaft, and Bless the Foe, That gives the pleasing Pain.

Thus whilst we did this grateful story learn, We came so near the Shoar, as to discern The Place and Objects, which did still appear More Ravishing, approaching 'em more near. There the vast Sea, with a smooth calmness flows▪ As are the Smiles on happy Lovers Brows: As peaceably as Rivulets it glides, Imbracing still the shaded Islands sides; And with soft Murmurs on the Margent flows, As if to Nature it design'd Repose; Whose Musick still is answer'd by the Breeze, That gently plays with the soft ruff'd Trees. Fragrant and Flowry all the Banks appear Whose mixt dis-orders more delightful were, Then if they had been plac'd with Artful care, The Cowslip, Lilly, Rose and Jesamine, The Daffodil, the Pink and Eglintine, Whose gawdy store continues all the year, Makes but the meanest of the Wonders here.

Here the young Charmers walk the Banks a-long, Here all the Graces and the Beauties throng. But what did most my Admiration draw, Was that the Old and Ugly there I saw, Who with their Apisn Postures, void of shame Still practice Youth, and talk of Darts and Flame I laught to see a Lady out of date, A worn out Beauty, once of the first rate; With youthful Dress, and more fantastick Prate, Setting her wither'd Face in thousand forms, And thinks the while she Dresses it in charms; Disturbing with her Court: the busier throng Ever Addressing to the Gay and Young; There an old Batter'd Fop, you might behold, Lavish his Love, Discretion, and his Gold On a fair she, that has a Trick in Art, To cheat him of his Politicks and Heart; Whilst he that Jilts the Nation ore and ore, Wants sense to find it in the subtiller W—re.

The Man that on this Isle before had been, Finding me so admire at what I'd seen; Thus said to me.—

LOVE's Power.

LOVE when he Shoots abroad his Darts, Regards not where they light: The Aged to the Youthful Hearts, At random they unite. The soft un-bearded Youth, who never found The Charms in any Blooming Face, From one of Fifty takes the Wound; And eagerly persues the cunning Chase: While she an Arted Youth puts on; Softens her Voice, and languishes her Eyes; Affects the Dress, the Mean, the Tone. Assumes the noysy Wit, and ceases to be Wise;

The tender Maid to the Rough Warrier yields; Vnfrighted at his Wounds and Scars, Pursues him through the Camps and Fields, And Courts the story of his dangerous Wars, With Pleasure hears his Scapes, and does not fail, To pay him with a Ioy for every Tale.

The fair young Bigot, full of Love and Prayer, Doats on the lewd and careless Libertine; The thinking States-man fumbles with the Player, And dearly buys the (barely wishing) Sin. The Peer with some mean Damsel of the trade, Expensive, common, ugly and decay'd: The gay young Squire, on the blouz'd Landry Maid. All things in Heaven, in Earth, and Sea, Love give his Laws unto; Tho' under different Objects, they Alike obey, and bow;

Sometimes to be reveng'd on those, Whose Beauty makes 'em proudly nice, He does a Flame on them impose, To some unworthy choice. Thus rarely equal Hearts in Love you'l find, Which makes 'em still present the God as Blind.

Whilst thus he spake, my wondering Eyes were staid With a profound attention on a Maid! Upon whose Smiles the Graces did a-wait, And all the Beauties round about her sate; Officious Cupid's do her Eyes obey, Sharpning their Darts from every Conquering Ray: Some from her Smiles they point with soft desires, Whilst others from her Motion take their Fires: Some the Imbroider'd Vail and Train do bear, And some around her fan the gentle Air, Whilst others flying, scatter fragrant Show'rs, And strow the paths she tread with painted flow'rs The rest are all imploy'd to dress her Bow'rs;

While she does all, the smiling Gods carress, And they new Attributes receive from each Address.

The CHARACTER.

SVch Charms of Youth, such Ravishment Through all her Form appear'd, As if in her Creation Nature meant, She shou'd a-lone be ador'd and fear'd: Her Eyes all sweet, and languishingly move, Yet so, as if with pity Beauty strove, This to decline, and that to charm with Love. A chearful Modesty adorn'd her Face, And bashful Blushes spread her smiling Cheeks; Witty her Air; soft every Grace, And 'tis eternal Musick when she speaks, From which young listening Gods the Accents take And when they wou'd a perfect Conquest make, Teach their young favourite Lover so to speak.

2.

Her Neck, on which all careless fell her Hair, Her half discover'd rising Bosome bare, Were beyond Nature form'd; all Heavenly fair. Tempting her dress, loose with the Wind it flew, Discovering Charms that wou'd alone subdue, Her soft white slender Hands whose touches wou'd Beget desire even in an awful God; Long Winter'd Age to tenderness wou'd move, And in his Frozen Blood, bloom a new spring of Love.

All these at once my Ravisht Senses charm'd, And with unusual Fires my Bosome warm'd. Thus my sixt Eyes pursu'd the lovely Maid, Till they had lost her in the envied Glade; Yet still I gaz'd, as if I still had view'd The Object, which my new desires pursu'd.

Lost while I stood; against my Will, my sight Conducted me unto a new delight. Twelve little Boats were from the Banks unty'd, And towards our Vessel sail'd with wondrous Pride, With wreathes of Flowers and Garlands they were drest, Their Cordage all of Silk and Gold consist, Their Sails of silver'd Lawn, and Tinsel were, Which wantonly were ruf••led in the Air. As many little Cupids gayly clad, Did Row each Boat, nor other guides they had. A thousand Zephires Fann'd the moving Fleet, Which mixing with the Flow'rs became more sweet, And by repeated Kiss did assume From them a scent that did the Air perfume. So near us this delightful Fleet was come, We cou'd distinguish what the Cupid's sung, Which oft with charming Notes they did repeat, With Voices such as I shall ne're forget.

You that do seek with Amorous desires, To tast the Pleasures of the Life below, Land on this Island, and renew your Fires, For without Love, there is no joy, you know.

Then all the Cupids waiting no Commands, With soft inviting Smiles present their Hands, And in that silent Motion seem'd to say, You ought to follow, when Love leads the way. Made with delight, and all transported too, I quitted Reason, and resolv'd to go; For that bright charming Beauty I had seen, And burnt with strange desire to see agen, Fill'd with new hope, I laught at Reasons force, And towards the Island, bent my eager Course; The Zephires at that instant lent their Aid, And I into Loves Fleet was soon convey'd, And by a thousand Friendships did receive, Welcomes which none but God's of Love coud give▪

Many possest with my Curiosity, Tho' not inspir'd like me, yet follow'd me, And many staid behind, and laught at us: And in a scoffing tone reproacht us thus,

Farewel Adventurers, go search the Ioy, Which mighty Love inspires, and you shall find, The treatment of the wond'rous Monarch Boy, In's Airy Castle always soft and kind.

We on the fragrant Beds of Roses laid, And lull'd with Musick which the Zephires made, When with the Amorous silken Sails they plaid. Rather did them as wanting Wit account, Then we in this affair did Judgment want, With Smiles of pity only answer'd them, Whilst they return'd us pitying ones again. Now to the wisht for Shoar, with speed we high; Vain with our Fate, and eager of our Joy,

And as upon the Beech we landed were, An awful Woman did to us repair. Goddess of Prudence! who with grave advice, Counsels the heedless Stranger to be Wise; She guards this Shoar, and Passage does forbid, But now blind Sense her Face from us had hid; We pass'd and dis-obey'd the heavenly Voice, Which few e'er do, but in this fatal place. Now with impatient hast, (but long in vain) I seek the Charming Author of my Pain, And haunt the Woods, the Groves, and ev'ry Plain. I ask each Chrystal Spring, each murmuring Brook, Who saw my fair, or knows which way she took? I ask the Eccho's when they heard her Name? But they cou'd nothing but my Moans proclaim; My Sighs, the fleeting Winds far off do bear, My Charmer, coud no soft complaining hear: At last, where all was shade, where all was Gay; On a Brooks Brink, which purling past away, A sleep the lovely Maid extended lay;

Of different Flowers, the Cupids made her Bed, And Ros••y Pillows, did support her Head; With what transported Joy my Soul wa•• fill'd, When I, the Object of my wish beheld, My greedy View each lovely part survey'd; On her white Hand, her Blushing Cheek was laid Half hid in Roses; yet did so appear As if with those, the Lillys mingled were; Her thin loose Robe did all her shape betray, (Her wondrous shape that negligently lay) And every Tempting Beauty did reveal, But what young bashful Maids wou'd still conceal; Impatient I, more apt to hope than fear, Approacht the Heav'nly sleeping Maid more near; The place, my flame, and all her Charms invite To t••st the sacred Joys of stoln delight. The Grove was silent, and no Creature by, But the young smiling God of Love and I; But as before the awful shrine, I kneel'd, Where Loves great Mystery was to be reveal'd,

A Man from out the Groves recess appears, Who all my boasted Vigor turn'd to fears, He slackt my Courage by a kind surprize, And aw'd me with th' Majesty of his Eyes; I bow'd, and blusht, and trembling did retire, And wonder'd at the Pow'r that checkt my fire; So excellent a Mean, so good a Grace, So grave a Look, such a commanding Face; In modest Speech, as might well subdue, Youth's native wildness; yet 'twas gracious too. A little Cupid waiting by my side, (Who was presented to me for a guide,) Beholding me decline, the Sleeping Maid, To gaze on this Intruder,—Thus he said.

RESPECT.

I.

HIM whom you see so awful and severe, Is call'd Respect, the Eldest Son of Love; Esteem his Mother is; who every where Is the best Advocate to all the fair, And knows the most obliging Arts to move: Him you must still carress, and by his Grace, You I conquer all the Beauties of the Place; To gain him 'tis not Words will do, His Rhetorick is the Blush and Bow.

II.

He even requires that you shou'd silent be, And understand no Language but from Eyes, Or Sighs, the soft Complaints on Cruelty; Which soonest move the Heart they wou'd surprize:

They like the Fire in Limbecks gently move, What words (too hot and fierce) destroy; These hy degrees infuse a lasting Love; Whilst those do soon burn out the short blaz'd Ioy. These the all gaining Youth requires, And bears to Ladies Hearts the Lambent Fires; And He that wou'd against despair be proof, Can never keep him Company enough.

Instructed thus, I did my steps direct, Towards the necessary Grave Respect, Whom I soon won to favour my design, To which young LOVE his promis'd aid did joyn. This wak't Aminta, who with trembling fear, Wonder'd to see a stranger enter'd there; With timrous Eyes the Grove she does survey, Where are my LOVES she crys! all fled away? And left me in this gloomy shade alone? And with a Man! Alas, I am undone.

Then strove to fly; but I all prostrate lay, And grasping fast her Robe, oblig'd her stay; Cease lovely Charming Maid, Oh cease to fear, I faintly cry'd,—There is no Satyr, near; I am of humane Race, whom Beauty Aws, And born an humble Slave to all her Laws; Besides we're not alone within the Grove, Behold Respect, and the young God of LOVE: How can you fear the Man who with these two, In any Shade or hour approaches you? Thus by degrees her Courage took its place; And usual Blushes drest again her Face, Then with a Charming Air, her Hand she gave, She bade me rise, and said she did believe. And now my Conversation does permit; But oh the entertainment of her Wit, Beyond her Beauty did my Soul surprize, Her Tongue had Charms more pow'rful than her Eyes!

Ah Lysidas, hadst thou a list'ner been To what she said; tho' her thou ne're had'st seen, Without that Sense, thou hadst a Captive been. Guess at my Fate,—but after having spoke, Many indifferent things: Her leave she took. The Night approach't, and now with Thoughts opprest, I minded neither where, nor when to Rest, When my Conducter LOVE! whom I pursu'd, Led to a Palace call'd Inquietude,

INQUIETUDE.

A Neighbouring Villa which derives its name, From the rude sullen Mistress of the same; A Woman of a strange deform'd Aspect; Peevishly pensive, fond of her neglect; She never in one posture does remain, Now leans, lyes down, then on her Feet again;

Sometimes with Snails she keeps a Lazy pace, And sometimes runs like Furies in a Chase; She seldom shuts her Watchful Eyes to sleep, Which pale and languid does her Visage keep; Her loose neglected Hair disorder'd grows; Which undesign'd her Fingers discompose; Still out of Humour, and deprav'd in Sense, And Contradictive as Impertinence; Distrustful as false States-men, and as nice In Plots, Intrigues, Intelligence and Spies.

To her we did our Duty pay, but she Made no returns to our Civility. Thence to my Bed; where rest in vain I sought, For pratling LOVE still entertain'd my thought, And to my Mind, a thousand Fancies brought: Aminta's Charms and Pow'rful Attractions, From whence I grew to make these soft Reflections.

The REFLECTION.

I.

WHat differing Passions from what once I felt, My yielding Heart do melt, And all my Blood as in a Feaver burns, Yet shivering Cold by turns. What new variety of hopes and fears? What suddain fits of Smiles and Tears? Hope! Why dost thou sometimes my Soul imploy With Prospects of approaching Ioy? Why dost thou make me pleas'd and vain, And quite forget last minutes pain: What Sleep wou'd calm, Aminta keeps awake; And I all Night soft Vows and Wishes make.

VVhen to the Gods I would my Prayers address, And sue to be forgiven, Aminta's name, I still express, And Love is all that I confess, Love and Aminta! Ever out Rival Heaven!

II.

Books give me no content at all; Vnless soft Cowly entertain my Mind, Then every pair in Love I find; Lysander him, Aminta her, I call: Till the bewitching Fewel raise the fire; VVhich was design'd but to divert, Then to cool Shades I ragingly retire, To ease my hopeless panting Heart, Yet thereto every thing begets desire. Each flowry Bed, and every loanly Grove, Inspires new VVishes, new impatient Love.

Thus all the Night in vain I sought repose, And early with the Sun next day, I rose; Still more impatient grew my new desires, To see again the Author of my Fires, Love leads me forth, to little * 1.1 CARES we pass, Where Love instructed me Aminta was; Far from Inquietude this Village stands, And for its Beauty all the rest commands; In all the Isle of Love, not one appears, So ravishingly Gay as Little Cares.

Little CARES, or Little Arts to please.

I.

THither all the Amorous Youth repair, To see the Objects of their Vows; No Iealousies approach 'em there; They Banish Dulness and Despair; And only Gayety and Mirth allow.

The Houses cover'd o're with flow'rs appear, Like fragrant Arbours all the year, VVhere all the dear, the live-long day, In Musick, Songs, and Balls is past away: All things are form'd for pleasure and delight, VVhich finish not but with the Light; But when the Sun returns again, They hold with that bright God an equal Reign.

II.

There no Reproaches dwell; that Vice Is banisht with the Coy and Nice. The Froward there learn Complysance; There the Dull VVise, his Gravity forsakes, The Old dispose themselves to Dance, And Melancholy wakens from his Trance, And against Nature sprightly Humour takes. The formal States-man does his Int'rest quit, And learns to talk of Love and VVit;

There the Philosopher speaks Sense, Such as his Mistress Eyes inspire; Forgets his learned Eloquence, Nor now compares his Flame to his own Chimick fire.

III.

The Miser there opens his Golden heaps, And at Love's Altar, offers the rich Prize; His needless fears of want does now despise, And as a lavish Heir, he Treats and Reaps The Blessings that attend his grateful Sacrifice. Even the Fluttering Coxcomb there Does less ridiculous appear: For in the Crowd some one unlucky Face, With some particular Grimmas, Has the ill fate his Heart to gain, Which giues him just the Sense to know his pain; Whence he becomes less talkative and vain.

There 'tis the Muses dwell! that sacred Nine, Who teach the inlarged Soul to prove, No Arts or Sciences Divine, But those inspir'd by Them and Love! Gay Conversation, Feast, and Masquerades, Agreeable Cabals, and Serinades; Eternal Musick, Gladness, Smiles and Sport, Make all the bus'ness of this Little Court.

At my approach new Fires my Bosom warm; New vigor I receive from every Charm: I found invention with my Love increase; And both instruct me with new Arts to please; New Gallantrys I sought to entertain, And had the Joy to find 'em not in vain; All the Extravagance of Youth I show, And pay'd to Age the Dotage I shall owe; All a beginning Passion can conceive, What beauty Merits, or fond Love can give.

With diligence I wait Aminta's look, And her decrees from Frowns or Smiles I took, To my new sixt resolves, no stop I found, My Flame was uncontroul'd and knew no bound; Unlimited Expences every day On what I thought she lik'd, I threw away: My Coaches, and my Liverys, rich and new, In all this Court, none made a better show. Aminta here was unconfin'd and free, And all a well-born Maid cou'd render me She gave: My early Visits does allow, And more ingagingly receives me now, Her still increasing Charms, Her soft Address, A Partial Lover cannot well Express, Her Beautys with my slame each hour increase. 'Twas here my Soul more true content receiv'd, Then all the Duller hours of Life I'd liv'd. —But with the envying Night I still repair To Inquietude; none lodge at little Care.

The hasty Minutes summon me away, While parting pains surmount past hours of Joy, And Nights large Reckoning over-pays the day. The GOD of Sleep his wonted Aid denys; Lends no repose, or to my Heart or Eyes: Only one hour of Rest, the breaking Morning brought, In which this happy Dream Assail'd my Thought,

The DREAM.

ALL Trembling in my Arms Aminta lay, Defending of the Bliss, I strove to take▪ Raising my Rapture by her kind delay, Her force so charming was and weak. The soft resistance did betray the Grant, While I prest on the Heaven of my desires; Her rising Breasts with nimbler Motions Pant; Her dying Eyes assume new Fires.

Now to the height of languishment she grows, And still her looks new Charms put on; —Now the last Mystery of Love she knows, We Sigh, and Kiss: I wak'd, and all was done.

'Twas but a Dream, yet by my Heart I knew, Which still was Panting, part of it was true: Oh how I strove the rest to have believ'd; Asham'd and Angry to be undeceiv'd! But now LOVE calls me forth; and scarce allows A Moment to the Gods to pay my Vows: He all Devotion has in dis-esteem, But that which we too fondly render him: LOVE drest me for the day; and both repair, With an impatient hast to Little Care; Where many days m' advantage I pursu'd, But Night returns me to Inquietude; There suffer'd all that absent Lovers griev'd, And only knew by what I felt I liv'd;

A t••••••sand little Fears afflict my Heart, A〈…〉〈…〉ormer order quite subvert; T〈…〉〈…〉 which all day my hope imploy'd, S〈…〉〈…〉w too excellent to be enjoy'd. I number all my RIVALS over now, Th••n Raving Mad with Jealousie I grow, Which does my Flame to that vast height increase; That here I found, I lov'd to an Excess: These wild Distractions every Night increase, But day still reconciles me into Peace; And I forget amidst their soft Delights, The un-imagin'd torment of the Nights. 'Twas thus a while I liv'd at little Care, Without advance of Favour or of fear, When fair Amin••a from that Court departs, And all her Lovers leave with broken Hearts, On me alone she does the Grace confer, In a Permission I shou'd wait on her. Oh with what eager Joy I did obey! Joy, which for fear it shou'd my Flame betray,

I Veil'd with Complisance; which Lovers Eyes Might find transported through the feign'd disguise; But hers were unconcern'd; or wou'd not see, The Trophies of their new gain'd Victory: Aminta now to Good Reception goes; A place which more of Entertainment shows Then State or Greatness; where th'Inhabitants, Are Civil to the height of Complisance; They Treat all Persons with a chearful Grace, And show 'em all the pleasures of the Place; By whose Example bright Aminta too, Confirm'd her self, and more obliging grew. Her Smiles and Air more Gracious now appear; And her Victorious Eyes more sweetness wear: The wonderous Majesty that drest her Brow, Becomes less Awful, but more Charming now: Her Pride abating does my Courage warm, And promises success from every Charm. She now permits my Eyes, with timorous Fears, To tell her of the Wounds she'as made by hers,

Against her Will my Sighs she does approve, And seems well pleas'd to think they come from Love. Nothing oppos'd it self to my delight, But absence from Aminta every Night. But LOVE, who recompences when he please, And has for every Cruelty an ease; Who like to bounteous Heaven, assigns a share Of future Bliss to those that suffer here: Led me to HOPE! A City fair and large, Built with much Beauty, and Adorn'd with Charge.

HOPE.

'TIS wonderous Populous from the excess, Of Persons from all parts that thither press: One side of this magnifick City stands, On a foundation of unfaithful Sands; Which oftentimes the glorious Load destroys, Which long designing was with Pomp and Noise;

The other Parts well founded neat and strong, Less Beautiful, less Business, and less Throng. 'Tis built upon a Rivers Bank, who's clear And Murmuring Glide, delights the Eye and Ear.

The River of PRETENSION.

THis River's call'd Pretension; and its source T' a bordering Mountain owes, from whence with force, It spreads into the Arms of that calm space, Where the proud City dayly sees her face; 'Tis treacherously smooth and falsly fair, Inviting, but undoing to come near; 'Gainst which the Houses there find no defence, But suffer undermining Violence; Who while they stand, no Palaces do seem, In all their Glorious Pomp to equal them.

This River's Famous for the fatal Wrecks, Of Persons most Illustrious of both Sex, Who to her Bosom with soft Whispers drew, Then basely smil▪d to see their Ruin too. 'Tis there so many Monarch perisht have, And seeking Fame alone have sound a Grave.

'Twas thither I was tempted too, and LOVE Maliciously wou'd needs my Conduct prove; Which Passion now to such a pass had brought, It gave admittance to the weakest thought, And with a full carreer to this false Bay I ran. But met Precaution in my way. With whom Respect was, who thus gravely said, Pretension is a River you must Dread: Fond Youth decline thy fatal Resolution, Here unavoidably thou meets Confusion; Thou flyst with too much hast to certain Fate, Follow my Counsel, and be Fortunate.

Asham'd, all Blushing I decline my Eyes, Yet Bow'd and Thank'd Respect for his advice. From the bewitching River straight I hy'd, And hurried to the Cities farthest side. Where lives the Mighty Princess Hope? to whom The whole Isle as their ORACLE do come; Tho'little Truth remains in what she says, Yet all adore her Voice, and her Wise Conduct praise.

The Princess HOPE.

I.

SHe blows the Youthful Lovers flame, And promises a sure repose; Whilst with a Treason void of shame, His fancy'd Happiness o're-throws.

Her Language is all soft and fair, But her hid Sense is naught but Air, And can no solid reason bear; As often as she speaks, Her faithless Word she breaks; Great in Pretension, in Performance small, And when she Swears 'tis Perjury all. Her Promises like those of Princes are, Made in Necessity and War, Cancell'd without remorse, at ease, In the voluptuous time of Peace.

II.

These are her qualities; but yet She has a Person full of Charms, Her Smiles are able to beget Forgiveness for her other harms;

She's most divinely shap'd, her Eyes are sweet, And every Glance to please she does employ, With such address, she does all persons treat, As none are weary of her flattery, She still consoles the most afflicted Hearts, And makes the Proud vain of his fancy'd Arts.

Amongst the rest of those who dayly came, T' admire this Princess, and oblige their flame, (Conducted thither by a false report, That Happiness resided in her Court) Two young successless Lovers did resort: One, so above his Aim had made pretence, That even to Hope, for him, was Impudence; Yet he 'gainst Reasons Arguments makes War, And vainly Swore, his Love did merit her. Boldly Attempted, daringly Addrest, And with unblushing Confidence his flame confest. The other was a Bashful Youth, who made His Passion his Devotion, not his Trade;

No fond opiniater, who a price, Sets on his Titles, Equipage, or Eyes, But one that had a thousand Charms in store, Yet did not understand his Conquering Pow'r: This Princess with a kind Address receives These Strangers; and to both new Courage gives. She animates the haughty to go on! Say—A Town long besieg'd must needs be won. Time and Respect remove all obstacles, And obstinate Love, arrives at Miracles. Were she the▪ Heir to an illustrious Crown, Those Charms, that haughty meen, that fam'd renown, That wond'rous skill you do in Verse profess, That great disdain of common Mistresses; Can when you please with aid of Billet Deux, The Royal Virgin to your Arms subdue, One skill▪d in all the Arts to please the fair, Shou'd be above the Sense of dull despair: Go on young noble Warrier then go on, Though all the fair are by that Love undone.

Then turning to the other: Sir, said she, Were the bright Beauty you Adore like me, Your silent awful Passion more wou'd move, Than all the bold and forward Arts of Love. A Heart the softest composition forms, And sooner yielde by treaty, then by storms; A Look, a Sigh, a Tear, is understood, And makes more warm dis-orders in the Blood, Has more ingaging tender Eloquence, Then all the industry of Artful Sense, So falling drops with their soft force alone, Insinuate kind impressions in obdurate stone. But that which most my pity did imploy, Was a young Hero, full of Smiles and Joy. A noble Youth to whom indulgent Heaven, Had more of Glory then of Virtue given; Conducted thither by a Politick throng, The Rabble Shouting as he past along, Whilst he, vain with the beastly Din they make, (Which were the same, if Bears were going to stake)

Addresses to this faithless Flatterer; Who in return, calls him, young God of War! The Cities Champion! and his Countries Hope, The Peoples Darling, and Religious Prop. Scepters and Crowns does to his view expose; And all the Fancied pow'r of Empire shows. In vain the Vision he wou'd dis-believe, In spight of Sense she does his Soul deceive: He Credits all! nor ask's which way or how, The dazling Circle shall surround his Brow; Implicitly attends the slattering Song, Gives her his easy Faith, and is undone. For with one turn of State the Frenzy's heal'd, The Blind recover and the Cheats reveal'd. Whilst all his Charms of Youth and Beauty lies, The kind reproach of pitying Enemies. To me she said, and smiling as she spoke, Lisander, you with Love, have Reason took, Continue so, and from Aminta's Heart, Expect what Love and Beauty can impart.

I knew she flatter'd, yet I cou'd not choose But please my Self, and credit the Abuse; Her charming Words that Night repos'd me more, Then all the grateful Dreams I'd had before. Next day I rose, and early with the Sun; Love guided me to Declaration, A pleasant City built with Artful Care, To which the Lovers of the Isle repair. In our pursuit Respect dissatisfy'd, Did the unreasonable Adventure chide; Return unheedy Youth cry'd he, return! Let my advice th' approaching danger warn: Renounce thy Purpose and thy haste decline, Or thou wilt ruine all Loves great design; Amaz'd I stood, and unresolv'd t' obey, Cou'd not return, durst not pursue my way; Whilst LOVE who thought himself concern'd as Guide, I'th' Criminal Adventure. Thus reply'd:

LOVE's Resentment.

MVst we eternal Martyrdom pursue? Must we still Love, and always suffer too? Must we continue still to dye, And ne'r declare the cruel Cause; Whilst the fair Murdress asks not why, But triumphs in her rigorous Laws; And grows more mighty in disdain, More Peevish, Humorous, Proud and Vain; The more we languish by our Pain? And when we Vow, Implore, and Pray, Shall the Inhumane cruel fair, Only with nice disdain the sufferer pay? Consult her Pride alone in the affair, And coldly cry—In time perhaps I may— Consider and redress the Youth's despair; And when she wou'd a Period put to's Fate, Alas, her cruel Mercy comes too late!

But wise Respect obligingly reply'd, Amintas Cruelty you need not dread, Your Passion by your Eyes will soon be known, Without this hast to Declaration; 'Tis I will guide you where you still shall find, Aminta in b••st Humour and most kind. Strong were his Arguments; his Reasonings prove Too pow'rful for the angry God of Love. Who by degrees t' his native softness came, Yields to Respect and owns his haste a blame. Both vow obedience to his judging Wit, And to his graver Conduct both submit, Who now invites us to a Reverend place, An ancient Town, whose Governor he was. Impregnable, with Bastions fortify'd, Guarded with fair built Walls on every side, The top of which the Eye cou'd scarce discern, So strong as well secur'd the Rich concern; Silence with Modesty and Secresy, Have all committed to their Custody.

Silence to every questions ask'd, reply With apt Grimasses of the Face and Eyes; Her Finger on her Mouth; and as you've seen, Her Picture, Handsom, with fantastick mean, Her every Motion her Commands express, But seldom any the hid Soul confess. The Virgin Modesty is wond'rous fair, A bashful Motion, and a blushing Air; With un-assur'd regard her Eyes do move, Untaught by affectation or Self-love; Her Robes not gaudy were, nor loosely ty'd, But even concealing more then need be hid. For Secresie, one rarely sees her Face, Whose lone Apartment is some Dark recess; From whence unless some great affairs oblige, She finds it difficult to dis-ingage; Her voice is low, but subtilly quick her Ears, And answers still by signs to what she hears; Led by Respect we did an entrance get, Not saying any thing, who ere we met.

The City of DISCRETION.

THE Houses there, retir'd in Gardens are, And all is done with little noise, One seldom sees Assemblies there, Or publick shows for Grief or Ioys. One rarely walks but in the Night, And most endeavour to avoid the Light. There the whole World their bus'ness carry, Without or confident, or Secretary: One still is under great constraint, Must always suffer, but ne'r make complaint, 'Tis there the dumb and silent languishes, Are predic'd, which so well explain the Heart: Which without speaking can so much express, And secrets to the Soul the nearest way impart; Language which prettily perswades belief; Who's silent Eloquence obliges Ioy or Grief.

This City's called Discretion, being the name Of her that is Lieutenant of the same, And Sister to Respect; a Lady who Seldom obtains a Conquest at first view; But in repeated Visits one shall find, Sufficient Charms of Beauty and of Mind: Her vigorous piercing Eyes can when they please, Make themselves lov'd, and understood with Ease. Not too severe, but yet reserv'd and wise, And her Address is full of subtilties; Which upon all occasions serves her turn; T' express her Kindness, and to hide her scorn; Dissimulations Arts, she useful holds, And in good manners sets 'em down for rules. Twas here Aminta liv'd, and here I paid My constant visits to the lovely Maid. With mighty force upon my Soul I strove, To hide the Sent'ments of my raging Love. All tha•• I spoke did but indifferent seem, Or went no higher than a great esteem.

But 'twas not long my Passion I conceal'd, My flame in spight of me, it self reveal'd.

The silent Confession.

AND tho' I do not speak, alas, My Eyes, and Sighs too much do say! And pale and languishing my Face, The torments of my Soul betray; They the sad story do unfold, Love cannot his own secrets hold; And though Fear ty's my Tongue; Respect my Eyes, Yet something will disclose the pain; Which breaking out throw's all disguise; Reproaches her with Cruelties; Which she augments by new disdain; —Where e're she be, I still am there; What-ere she do, I that prefer; In spight of all my strength, at her approach, I tremble with a sight or touch;

Paleness or Blushes does my Face surprize, If mine by chance meet her encountering Eyes; Twas thus she learn'd my VVeakness, and her Pow'r; And knew too well she was my Conqueror.

And now— Her Eyes no more their wonted Smiles afford, But grew more sierce, the more they were ador'd; The marks of her esteem which heretofore Rais'd my aspiring flame, oblige no more; She calls up all her Pride to her defence; And as a Crime condemns my just pretence; Me from her presence does in Fury chase; No supplications can my doom reverse; And vainly certain of her Victory, Retir'd into the Den of Cruelty.

The Den of Cruelty.

A Den where Tygers make the passage good, And all attempting Lovers make their Food; I'th' hollow of a mighty Rock 'tis plac'd, VVhich by the angry Sea is still imbrac'd: VVhose frightful surface constant Tempest wears, VVhich strikes the bold Adventurers with Fears. The Elements their rudest VVinds send out, VVhich blow continual coldness round about. Vpon the Rock eternal VVinters dwells, VVhich weeps away in dropping Isicles; The barren hardness meets no fruitful Ray, Nor bears it Issue to the God of day; All bleek and cale, th' unshady prospect lie•• And nothing grateful meets the melanc••ol•• Eyes.

To this dire place Aminta goes, whilst••••, Begg'd her with Prayers and Tears to pass it by;

All dying on the Ground my self I cast, And with my Arms her flying Feet imbrac'd; But she from the kind force with Fury flung, And on an old deformed Woman hung. A Woman frightful, with a horrid Frown, And o're her angry Eyes, her Brows hung down: One single Look of hers, fails not t' impart, A terror and despair to every Heart: She fills the Universe with discontents, And Torments for poor Lovers still invents. This is the mighty Tyrant Cruelty, Who with the God of Love is still at enmity; She keeps a glorious Train, and glorious Court, And thither Youth and Beauty still resort: But oh my Soul form'd for Loves softer Sport, Cou'd not endure the Rigor of her Court! Which her first rude Address did so affright, That I all Trembling hasted from her Sight, Leaving the unconcern'd and cruel Maid, And on a Rivers Bank my self all fainting laid;

Which River from the obdurate Rock proceeds, And cast's it self i'th' Melancholy Meads.

The River of Despair.

ITs Torrent has no other source, But Tears from dying Lovers Eyes; Which mixt with Sighs precipitates its course; Softning the sensless Rocks in gliding by; Whose doleful Murmurs have such Eloquence; That even the neighbouring Trees and flow'rs have pi∣tying sense; And Cruelty alone knows in what sort, Against the moving sound to make defence, Who laughs at all despair and Death as sport.

A dismal Wood the Rivers Banks do bear, Securing even the day from entering there;

The Suns bright Rays a passage cannot find, Whose Boughs make constant War against the Wind; Yet though their Leaves glimmers a sullen Light; Which renders all below more terrible than Night, And snows upon the Bark of every Tree, Sad stories carv'd of Love and Cruelty; The Grove is fill'd with Sighs, with Crys, and Groans▪ Reproaches and Complaints in dying Moans; The Neighbouring Eccho's nothing do repeat, But what the Soul sends forth with sad regret; And all things there no other Murmurs make, But what from Language full of death they take, 'Twas in this place dispairing ere to free Aminta from the Arms of Cruelty, That I design'd to render up my Breath, And charge the cruel Charmer with my Death.

The RESOLVE.

NOw my fair Tyrant I despise your Pow'r; 'Tis Death, not you becomes my Conqueror; This easy Trophy which your scorn, Led bleeding by your Chariot-side; Your haughty Victory to adorn, Has broke the Fetters of your Pride, Death takes his quarrel now in hand, And laughs at all your Eyes can do; His pow'r thy Beauty can withstand, Not all your Smiles can the grim victor bow. He'll hold no Parley with your Wit, Nor understands your wanton play, Not all your Arts can force him to submit, Not all your Charms can teach him to obey, Your youth nor Beauty can inspire, His frozen Heart with Love's perswasive fire; Alas, you cannot warm him to one soft desire;

Oh mighty Death that art above, The pow'r of Beauty or of Love!

Thus sullen with my Fate sometimes I grew, And then a fit of softness wou'd ensue, Then weep, and on my Knees implore my Fair, And speak as if Aminta present were.

The QUESTION.

SAY my fair Charmer, must I fall, A Victim to your Cruelty? And must I suffer as a Criminal? Is it to Love offence enough to dye? Is this the recompence at last, Of all the restless hours I've past? How oft my Awe, and my Respect, Have fed your Pride and Scorn? How h〈…〉〈…〉 your neglect, Too mighty to be born?

How have I strove to hide that flame You seem'd to dis-approve? How careful to avoid the name Of Tenderness or Love? Least at that Word some guilty Blush shou'd own, What your bright Eyes forbad me to make known.

Thus fill'd the neighbouring Eccho's with my Cry, Did nothing but reproach, complain and dye: One day— All hopeless on the Rivers Brink I stood, Resolv'd to plunge into the Rapid Floud, That Floud that eases Lovers in despair, And puts an end to all their raging care: 'Tis hither those betray'd by Beauty come, And from this kinder stream receive their doom; Here Birds of Ominous presages Nest, Securing the forlorn Inhabitants from rest:

Here Mid-night-Owls, night-Crows, and Ravens dwell, Filling the Air with Melancholy Yell: Here swims a thousand Swans, whose doleful moan Sing dying Lovers Requiems with their own: I gaz'd around, and many Lovers view'd, Gastly and pale, who my design pursu'd; But most inspir'd by some new hope, or won To finish something they had left undone; Some grand Important bus'ness of their Love, Did from the fatal precipice remove: For me, no Reason my designs disswade, Till Love all Breathless hasted to my Aid; With force m' unfixing Feet he kindly graspt, And tenderly reproacht my desperate hast, Reproach'd my Courage, and condemn'd my Wit, That meanly cou'd t' a Womans scorn submit, That cou'd to feed her Pride, and make her vain, Destroy an Age of Life, for a short date of pain:

He wou'd have left me here, but that I made, So many friendships as did soon perswade, The yielding Boy, who Smil'd, resolv'd and staid, He rais'd my Head, and did again renew, His Flatteries, and all the Arts he knew: To call my Courage to its wonted place. What cry'd he—(sweetly Angry) shall a Face Arm'd with the weak resistance of a Frown, Force us to lay our Claims and Titles down? Shall Cruelty a peevish Woman prove, Too strong to be overcome by Youth and Love? No! rally all thy Vigor, all thy Charms, And force her from the cruel Tyrants Arms; Come, once more try th' incens'd Maid to appease, Death's in our pow'r to grasp when ere we please; He said—And I the heavenly voice attend, Whilst towards the Rock our hasty steps we bend, Before the Gates with all our forces lye, Resolv'd to Conquer, or resolv'd to dye;

In vain Love all his feeble Engines rears, His soft Artillery of Sighs and Tears, Were all in vain—against the Winds were sent, For she was proof 'gainst them and languishment: Repeated Vows and Prayers mov'd no Remorse, And 'twas to Death alone I had Recourse: Love in my Anguish bore a mighty part, He pityed, but he cou'd not ease my Heart: A thousand several ways he had assay'd, To touch the Heart of this obdurate Maid; Rebated all his Arrow's still return, For she was fortify'd with Pride and Scorn. The useless Weapons now away he flung, Neglected lay his Ivory Bow unstrung, His gentle Azure Wings were all unprun'd, And the gay Plumes a fading Tinct assum'd; Which down his snowy sides extended lay, And now no more in wanton Motions play. He blusht to think he had not left one dart, Of force enough to wound Aminta's Heart;

He blusht to think she shou'd her freedom boast, Whilst mine from the first Dart he sent was lost: Thus tir'd with our Complaints; (whilst no relief, Rescu'd the fleeting Soul, from killing Grief) We saw a Maid approach, who's lovely Face, Disdain'd the Beauties of the common race: Soft were her Eyes, where unfeign'd Sorrow dwelt, And on her Cheeks in pitying Show'rs they melt; Soft was her Voice, and tenderly it strook, The eager listening Soul, when e're she spoke; And what did yet my Courage more augment, She wore this sadness for my languishment.

And sighing said, ah Gods! have you Beheld this dying Youth, and never found, A pity for a Heart so true? Which dyes adoring her that gave the Wound, His Youth, his Passion, and his Constancy, Merits ye God's a kinder Destiny.

With pleasure I attended what she said, And wonder'd at the friendship of the Maid. Of LOVE I ask'd her name? who answer'd me, 'Twas Pity: Enemy to Cruelty: Who often came endeavouring to abate, The Languishments of the unfortunate; And said, if she wou'd take my injur'd part, She soon wou'd soften fair Aminta's Heart; For she knows all the subtillest Arts to move, And teach the timorous Virgin how to love. With Joy I heard, and my Address apply'd, To gain the Beauteous Pity to my Side: Nothing I left untold that might perswade, The listening Virgin to afford her aid. Told her my Passions, Sorrows, Pains and Fears, And whilst I spoke, confirm'd 'em with my Tears; All which with down-cast Eyes she did attend, And blushing said, my Tale had made a Friend; I bow'd and thankt her with a chearful look, Which being return'd by hers, her leave she took:

Now to Aminta all inhaste she hyes, Whom she assail'd with sorrow in her Eyes, And a sad story of my Miseries. Which she with so much tenderness exprest, As forc'd some Sighs from the fair Charmers Breast; The subtil Pity found she should prevail, And oft repeats th' insinuating Tale, And does insensibly the Maid betray, Where Love and I, Panting and Trembling lay; Where she beheld th' effects of her disdain, And in my languid Face she read my Pain. Down her fair Cheeks some pitying drops did glide; Which cou'd not be restrain'd by feebler Pride; Against my anguish she had no defence, Such Charms had grief, my Tears such Eloquence; My Sighs and Murmurs she began t' approve, And listen'd to the story of my LOVE. With tenderness, she did my Sufferings hear, And even my Reproaches now cou'd bear:

At last my trembling Hand in hers she took, And with a charming Blush, these Words she spoke:

I.

FAithful Lisander, I your Vows approve, And can no longer hide, My Sense of all your suffering Love, With the thin Veil of Pride.

II.

'Twas long in Vain that Pity did assail, My cold and stubborn Heart; Ere on th' insensible she cou'd prevail, To render any Part.

III.

To her for all the tenderness, Which in my Eyes you find, You must your gratitude express, 'Tis Pity only makes me kind.

IV.

Live then Lisander, since I must confess, In spight of all my native modesty, I cannot wish that you shou'd Love me less, Live then and hope the Circling Sun may see, In his swift course a grateful change in me, And that in time your Passion may receive, All you dare take, and all a Maid may give.

Oh Lysidas, I cannot here relate, The Sense of Joy she did in me create;

The sudden Blessing overcame me so, It almost finisht, what Grief fail'd to do; I wanted Courage for the soft surprize, And waited re-enforcements from her Eyes: At last with Transports which I cou'd not hide, Raising my self from off the ground, I cry'd.

The TRANSPORT.

REjoyce! my new made happy Soul, Rejoyce! Bless the dear minute, bless the Heav'nly voice, That has revok't thy fatal doom; Rejoyce! Aminta leads thee from the Tomb. Banish the anxious thoughts of dying hours, Forget the shades and melancholy Bow'rs, Thy Eyes so oft bedew'd with falling show'rs; Banish all Thoughts that do remain, Of Sighing Days and Nights of Pain, When on neglected Beds of Moss thou'st lain:

Oh happy Youth! Aminta bids thee live; Thank not the sullen God's or defer Stars, Since from her Hand thou dost the Prize receive; Hers be the Service, as the bounty hers; For all that Life must dedicated be, To the fair God-like Maid that gave it Thee.

Now Lysidas, behold my happy State; Behold me Blest, behold me Fortunate, And from the height of languishing despair, Rais'd to the Glory of Aminta's care: And this one moment of my Heaven of Joy, Did the remembrance of past Griefs destroy: And Pity ceas'd not here; but with new Eloquence, Obliges the shy Maid to visit Confidence.

CONFIDENCE.

A Lady lovely, with a charming Meen, Gay, frank, and open, and an Air serene; In every Look she does her Soul impart, With ease one reads the Sent'ments of her Heart; Her Humour generous, and her Language free, And all her Conversation graceful Liberty: Her Villa is Youth's general Rendezvous, Where in delightful Gardens, winding Groves, The happy Lovers dwell with secresie, Vn-interrupted by fond Iealousie: 'Tis there with Innocence, they do and say A thousand things, to pass the short-liv'd day: There free from censuring Spies, they entertain, And pleasures tast, un-intermixt with pain.

'Tis there we see, what most we do adore, And yet we languish to discover more.

Hard fate of Lovers, who are ne'er content, In an Estate so Blest and Innocent. But still press forward, urg'd by soft desires, To Joys that oft extinguishes their Fires; In this degree I found a happiness, Which nought but wishing more cou'd render less▪ I saw Aminta here without controul, And told her all the Secrets of my Soul; Whilst she t' express her height of Amity, Communicated all her Thoughts to me.

The REFLECTION.

OH with what Pleasure did I pass away, The too swift course of the delightful day! What Ioys I found in being a Slave, To every Conquering Smile she gave,

Whose every sweetness wou'd inspire, The Cinick and the Fool with Love; Alas, I needed no more Fire, Who did its height already prove: Ah my Aminta! had I been content, With this degree of Ravishment, With the nee'r satisfy'd delight I took, Only to prattle Love, to sigh and look, With the dull Bartering Kiss for Kiss, And never aim'd at higher Bliss, With all the stealths forgetful Lovers make, VVhen they their Little Covenants break: To these sad shades of Death I'd not been hurl'd, And thou mightst still have blest the drooping VVorld; But though my Pleasure were thus vast and high, Yet Loves insatiate Luxury, Still wish••d, reveal'd the unknown Mystery.

But still Love importun'd, nor cou'd I rest, So often, and impatiently he prest,

That I the lovely Virgin wou'd invite, To the so worshipp'd Temple of Delight. By all the Lovers Arts I strove to move, And watch the softest Minutes of her Love, Which against all my Vows and Prayers were proof. Alas she lov'd, but did not love enough: And I cou'd no returns but Anger get, Her Heart was not intirely conquer'd yet; For liking, I mistook her Complysance, And that for Love; when 'twas her Confidence. But 'twas not long my Sighs I did imploy, Before she rais'd me to the height of Joy. And all my Fears and Torments to remove, Yields I shall lead her to the Court of LOVE. Here Lysidas thou thinks me sure and blest, With Recompence for all my past unrest; But fortun'd smil'd the easier to betray, She's less inconstant than a Lover's Joy: For whilst our Chariot Wheels out-stript the Wind, Leaving all thought of Mortal Cares behind.

Whilst we sate gazing full of new surprize, Exchanging Souls from eithers darting Eyes, We encounter'd One who seem'd of great Com∣mand, Who seiz'd the Reins with an all-pow'rful hand: Awful his looks, but rude in his Address, And his Authority roughly did express; His violent Hands he on Aminta laid, And out of mine snatch'd the dear trembling Maid; So suddenly as hinder'd my defence, And she cou'd only say in parting thence.

Forgive Lisander what by force I do, Since nothing else can ravish me from you; Make no resistance, I obey * 1.2 Devoir. Who values not thy Tears, thy Force or Prayer, Retain thy Faith and Love Aminta still, Since she abandons thee against her Will.

Immoveable I remain'd with this surprize, Nor durst reply so much as with my Eyes. I saw her go, but was of Sense bereav'd, And only knew from what I heard, I liv'd; Yes, yes, I heard her last Commands, and thence By violent degrees retriev'd my Sense. Ye Gods in this your Mercy was severe, You might have spar'd the useless favour here. But the first Thoughts my Reason did conceive, Were to pursue the injurious Fugitive. Raving, that way I did my haste direct, But once more met the Reverend Respect, From whom I strove my self to dis-ingage, And faign'd a calmness to disguise my Rage. In vain was all the Cheat, he soon perceiv'd, Spight of my Smiles, how much, and why I griev'd; Saw my despairs, and what I meant to do, And begg'd I wou'd the rash Design forego; A thousand dangers he did represent, T' win me from the desperate attempt.

I ever found his Counsel just and good, And now resolv'd it shou'd not be withstood; Thus he ore-came my Rage, but did not free, My Soul from Griefs more painful Tyranny; Grief tho' more soft, did not less cruel prove, Madness is easier far then hopeless Love. I parted thus, but knew not what to do; Nor where I went; nor did I care to know; With folded Arms, with weeping Eyes declin'd, I search the unknown shade, I cou'd not find, And mixt my constant Sighs with flying Wind. By slow unsteady steps the Paths I trace, Which undesign'd conduct me to a place Fit for a Soul distrest; obscur'd with shade, Lonely and sit for Love and Sorrow made; The Murmuring Boughs themselves together twist, And 'twou'd allow to Grief her self some rest, Inviron'd 'tis with lofty Mountains round, From whence the Eccho's, Sighs, and Crys rebound;

Here in the midst and thickest of the Wood, Cover'd with bending Shades a Castle stood, Where Absence that dejected Maid remains, Who nothing but her Sorrow entertains.

ABSENCE.

HER mourning languid Eyes are rarely shown, Vnless to those afflicted like her own; Her lone Apartment all obscure as Night, Discover'd only by a glimmering Light: Weeping she sate her Face with Grief dismaid, Which all its natural sweetness has decaid; Yet in despight of Grief there does appear, The ruin'd Monuments of what was fair, E'r cruel Love and Grief had took possession there These made her old without the aid of Years; Worn out, and faint with lingring hopes and fears; She seldom answers ought but with her Tears.

No Train attends, she only is obey'd By Melancholy, that soft, silent Maid: A Maid that fits her Humour every way, With whom she passes all the tedious day: No other object can her Mind content, She Feeds and Flatters all her languishment; The noisy Streams that from high Mountains fall; And water all the Neighbouring flowry Vale: The Murmurs of the Rivulets that glide, Against the bending Seges on the side; Of mournful Birds the sad and tuneful Noats, The Bleats of straggling Lambs, and new yean'd Goats: The distant Pipe of some lone Mountain Swain, Who to his injur'd Passion fits his strain; Is all the Harmony, her Soul can entertain.

On a strict league of Friendship we agree, For I was sad, and as forlorn as she; To all her Humours, I conform my own, Together Sigh, together Weep, and Moan;

Like her to Woods and Fountains I retreat, And urge the pitying Eccho's to repeat My tale of Love, and at each Period sound Aminta's name, and bear it all around, Whilst listening Voices do the charm reply, And lost in mixing Air, together dye. There minutes like dull days creep slowly on, And every day I drag an Age along; The coming hours cou'd no more pleasures hast, Than those so insupportably I'd past. I rav'd, I wept, I wisht, but all in vain, The distant Maid, nor saw, nor eas'd my pain; With my sad tale, each tender Bark I fill, This—soft complaints, and that—my Ravings tell; This bears vain Curses on my cruel fate, And Blessings on the Charming Virgin, that The Willow by the lonely Spring that grows, And o're the Stream bends his forsaken Boughs. I call Lisander, they like him I find, Murmur and ruffl'd are with every Wind▪

On the young springing Beech that's straight and tall, I Carve her name, and that Aminta call; But where I see an Oak that Climbs above, The rest, and grows the Monster of the Grove; Whose pow'rful Arms when aiding Winds do blow, Dash all the tender twining Shades below, And even in Calms maliciously do spread, That naught beneath can thrive, imbrace or breed; Whose mischiefs far exceed his fancy'd good, Honour I call him: Tyrant of the Wood. Thus rove from Thought to Thought without re∣lief: A change 'tis true; but 'tis from Grief to Grief; Which when above my silence they prevail, With Love I'm froward, on my Fortune rail, And to the Winds breathe my neglected Tale.

To LOVE.

I.

FOnd Love thy pretty Flatteries cease, That feeble Hope you give; Vnless 'twoud make my happiness, In vain dear Boy; in vain you strive, It cannot keep my tortur'd Heart alive.

II.

Tho' thou shou'dst give me all the Ioys, Luxurious Monarch's do possess, Without Aminta 'tis but empty noise, Dull and insipid happiness; And you in vain invite me to a Feast, Where my Aminta cannot be a Guest.

III.

Ye glorious Trifles, I renounce ye all, Since she no part of all your splendour makes Let the Dull unconcern'd obey your call, Let the gay Fop, who his Pert Courtship takes; For Love, whilst he Profanes your Deity, Be Charm'd and Pleas'd with all your necessary vanity.

IV.

But give me leave, whose Soul's inspir'd, With sacred, but despairing Love. To dye from all your noise retir'd, And Buried lie within this silent Grove. For whilst I Live, my Soul's a prey, To insignificant desires, Whilst thou fond God of Love and Play, With all thy Darts, with all thy useless Fires,

VVith all thy wanton flatteries cannot charm, Nor yet the frozen-hearted Virgin warm.

V.

Others by absence Cure their fire, Me it inrages more with pain; Each thought of my Aminta blows it higher, And distance strengthens my desire; I Faint with wishing, since I wish in vain; Either be gone fond Love, or let me dye, Hopeless desire admits no other remedy.

Here 'twas the height of Cruelty I prov'd, By absence from the sacred Maid I lov'd: And here had dy'd, but that Love found a way, Some Letters from Aminta to convey, Which all the tender marks of pity gave, And hope enough to make me wish to Live.

From Duty, now the lovely Maid is freed, And calls me from my lonely solitude: Whose cruel Memory in a Moments space, The thoughts of coming Pleasures quite deface; With an impatient Lovers hast I flew, To the vast Blessing Love had set in view, But oh I found Aminta in a place, Where never any Lover happy was!

RIVALS.

RIvals 'tis call'd, a Village where The Inhabitants in Fury still appear; Malicious paleness, or a generous red, O'r every angry face is spread, Their Eyes are either smiling with disdain, Or fiercely glow with raging Fire. Gloomy and sullen with dissembl'd pain, Love in the Heart, Revenge in the desire: Combates, Duels, Challenges, Is the discourse, and all the busness there.

Respect of Blood, nor sacred friendship tyes; Can reconcile the Civil War, Rage, Horror, Death, and wild despair, Are still Rencounter'd, and still practis'd there. 'Twas here the lovely cruel Maid I found, Incompass'd with a thousand Lovers round; At my approach I saw their Blushes rise, And they regarded me with angry Eyes. Aminta too, or else my Fancy 'twas, Receiv'd me with a shy and cold Address, I cou'd not speak—but Sigh'd, retir'd and Bow'd; With pain I heard her Talk and Laugh aloud, And deal her Freedoms to the greedy Crowd. I Curst her Smiles, and envy'd every look, And Swore it was too kind, what e're she spoke; Condemn'd her Air, rail'd on her soft Address, And vow'd her Eyes did her false Heart confess, And vainly wisht their Charming Beauties less. A Secret hatred in my Soul I bear, Against these objects of my new despair;

I waited all the day, and all in vain; Not one lone minute snatcht, to ease my pain; Her Lovers went and came in such a sort, It rather seem'd Loves-Office than his Court, Made for eternal Bus'ness, not his Sport. Love saw my pain, and found my rage grew high, And led me off, to lodge at Iealousie.

JEALOUSIE.

I.

A Palace that is more un-easy far, Then those of cruelty and absence are, There constant show'rs of Hail and Rains do flow, Continual Murmuring VVinds a-round do blow, Eternal Thunder rowling in the Air, And thick dark hanging Clouds the day obscure; Whose sullen dawn all Objects multiplies, And render things that are not, to the Eyes. Fantoms appear by the dull gloomy light, That with such subtil Art delude the sight, That one can see no Object true or right.

I here transported and impatient grow And all things out of order do; Hasty and peevish every thing I say, Suspicion and distrust's my Passions sway, And bend all Nature that un-easy way.

II.

A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart; A thousand Visions fill the Eyes, Aud Deaf to all that can relief impart, We hate the Counsel of the Wise, And Sense like Tales of Lunaticks despise: Faithless, as Couzen'd Maids, by Men undone, And obstinate as new Religion, As full of Error, and false Notion too, As Dangerous, and as Politick; As Humerous as a Beauty without Wit; As Vain and Fancyful in all we do: —Thus Wreck the Soul, as if it did conceal, Love Secrets which by torturing 'two'd reveal.

Restless and wild, ranging each Field and Grove; I meet the Author of my painful Love; But still surrounded with a numerous Train Of Lovers, whom Love taught to Sigh and Fawn, At my approach, my Soul all Trembling flies, And tells its soft Resentment at my Eyes: My Face all pale, my steps unsteady fall, And faint Confusion spreads it self o're all. I listen to each low breath'd Word she says, And the returns the happy Answerer pays: When catching half the Sense, the rest Invent, And turn it still to what will most Torment; If any thing by Whispers she impart, 'Tis Mortal, 'tis a Dagger at my Heart; And every Smile, each Motion, Gesture, Sign, In favour of some Lover I explain: When I am absent, in some Rivals Arms, I Fancy she distributes all her Charms, And if alone I find her; sighing cry, Some happier Lover she expects than I.

So that I did not only Jealous grow, Of all I saw; but all I fancy'd too.

The COMPLAINT.

I.

OFT in my Iealous Transports I wou'd cry, Ye happy shades, ye happy Bow'rs, Why speaks she tenderer things to you than me? Why does she Smile, carress and praise your Flowers? Why Sighs she (opening Buds) her Secrets all Into your fragrant Leaves? Why does she to her Aid your sweetness call, Yet take less from you than she gives? Why on your Beds must you be happy made, And be together with Aminta laid? You from her Hands and Lips my KISSES take, And never meet Reproaches from her Pride; A thousand Ravishing stealths may make, And even into her softer Bosome glide. And there expire! Oh happy Rival flowers, How vainly do I wish my Fate like that of Yours?

II.

Tell me ye silent Groves, whose Gloom invites, The lovely Charmer to your Solitudes? Tell me for whom she languishes and sighs? For whom she feels her soft Inquietudes? Name me the Youth for whom she makes her Vows, For she has breath'd it oft amongst your listening Boughs? Oh happy confidents of her Amours, How vainly do I wish my Fortune blest as Yours.

III.

Oh happy Brooks, oh happy Rivulets, And Springs that in a thousand Windings move; Vpon your Banks how oft Aminta sits, And prattles to you all her Tale of Love: Whilst your smooth surface little Circles bears, From the Impressions of her falling Tears, And as you wantonly reflecting pass, Glide o're the lovely Image of her Face;

And sanctifies your stream, which as you run, You Boast in Murmurs to the Banks along. Dear streams! to whom she gives her softest hours, How vainly do I wish my happiness like yours.

Sometimes I rail'd again, and wou'd upbraid, Reproachfully, the charming fickle Maid: Sometimes I vow'd to do 't no more, But one, vain, short-liv'd hour, Wou'd Perjure all I'd Sworn before, And Damn my fancy'd Pow'r. Sometimes the sullen fit wou'd last, A teadious live-long day: But when the wrecking hours were past, With what Impatience wou'd I hast, And let her Feet weep my neglect away. Quarrels are the Reserves Love keeps in store, To aid his Flames and make 'em burn the more.

The PENITENT.

I.

WIth Rigor Arm your self, (I cry'd) It is but just and fit; I merit all this Treatment from your Pride, All the reproaches of your VVit; Put on the cruel Tyrant as you will, But know, my tender Heart adores you still.

II.

And yet that Heart has Murmur'd too, And been so insolent to let you know, It did complain, and rave, and rail'd at you; Yet all the while by every God I swear, By every pitying Pow'r the wretched here; By all those Charms that dis-ingage, My Soul from the extreams of Rage; By all the Arts you have to save and kill, My faithful tender Heart adores you still.

III.

But oh you shou'd excuse my soft complaint, Even my wild Ravings too prefer, I sigh, I burn, I weep, I faint, And vent my Passions to the Air; Whilst all my Torment, all my Care Serves but to make you put new Graces on, You Laugh, and Rally my despair, VVhich to my Rivals renders you more fair; And but the more confirms my being undone: Sport with my Pain as gayly as you will, My fond, my tender Heart adores you still.

My differing Passions thus, did never cease, Till they had touch'd her Soul with tenderness; My Rivals now are banish'd by degrees, And with 'em all my Fears and Jealousies; And all advanc'd, as if design'd to please.

The City of LOVE.

IN this vast Isle of famous City stands, Who for its Beauty all the rest Commands, Built to delight the wondering Gazers Eyes, Of all the World the great Metropolis. Call'd by LOVE's name: and here the Charming God, When he retires to Pleasure, makes abode; 'Tis here both Art and Nature strive to show, What Pride, Expence, and Luxury, can do, To make it Ravishing and Awful too: All Nations hourly thither do resort, To add a splendour to this glorious Court; The Young, the Old, the Witty, and the Wise, The Fair, the Ugly, Lavish, and Precise; Cowards and Braves, the Modest, and the Lowd, Promiscuously are blended in the Crowd. From distant Shoars young Kings their Courts re∣move, To pay their Homage to the God of Love. Where all their sacred awful Majesty, Their boasted and their fond Divinity;

Loose their vast force; as lesser Lights are hid, When the fierce God of Day his Beauties spread, The wondering World for Gods did Kings adore, Till LOVE confirm'd 'em Mortal by his Pow'r, And in Loves Court, do with their Vassals live, Without or Homage, or Prerogative: Which the young God, not only Blind must show, But as Defective in his Judgment too.

LOVE's Temple.

'MIdst this Gay Court a famous Temple stands, Old as the Universe which it commands; For mighty Love a sacred being had, Whilst yet 'twas Chaos, e're the World was made. And nothing was compos'd without his Aid. Agreeing A••toms by his pow'r were hurl'd, And Love and Harmony compos'd the World. 'Tis rich, 'tis solemn all! Divine yet Gay! From the Jemm'd Roof the dazling Lights display, And all below inform' without the Aids of day.

All Nations hither bring rich offerings, And 'tis endow'd with Gifts of Love-sick Kings. Upon an Altar (whose un-bounded store, Has made the Rifled Universe so poor. Adorn'd with all the Treasure of the Seas, More than the Sun in his vast course surveys) Was plac'd the God! with every Beauty form••d, Of Smiling Youth, but Naked, un-adorn'd. His painted Wings displaid: His Bow laid by, (For here Love needs not his Artillery.) One of his little Hands a loft he bore, And grasp'd a wounded Heart that burnt all o're, Towards which he lookt with lovely Laughing Eyes: As pleas'd and vain, with the fond Sacrifice, The other pointing downward seem'd to say, Here at my Feet your grateful Victims lay, Whilst in a Golden Tablet o're his Head, In Diamond Characters this Motto stood, Behold the Pow'r that Conquers every GOD.

The Temple Gates are open Night and Day, Love's Votaries at all hours Devotions pay, A Priest of Hymen gives attendance near, But very rarely shows his Function here, For Priest cou'd ne'r the Marriage-cheat improve, Were there no other Laws, but those of Love! A Slavery generous Heav'n did ne'r design, Nor did its first lov'd Race of men confine; A Trick, that Priest, whom Avarice cunning made, Did first contrive, then sacred did perswade, That on their numerous and unlucky Race, They might their base got Wealth securely place. Curse—cou'd they not their own loose Race inthral' But they must spread the infection over all: That Race, whose Brutal heat was grown so wild, That even the Sacred Porches they defil'd; And Ravisht all that for Devotion came, Their Function, nor the Place restrains their slame. But Love's soft Votaries no such injuries fear, No pamper'd Levits are in Pension here;

Here are no fatted Lambs to Sacrifice, No Oyl, fine Flower, or Wines of mighty price, The subtle Holy Cheats to Gormandize. Love's soft Religion knows to Tricks nor Arts, All the Attoning Offerings here are Hearts. The Mystery's silent, without noyse or show, In which the Holy Man has nought to do, The Lover is both Priest and Victim too. Hither with little force I did perswade, My lovely timorously yielding Maid, Implor'd we might together Sacrifice, And she agrees with Blushing down-cast Eyes; 'Twas then we both our Hearts an Offering made, Which at the Feet of the young God we laid, With equal Flames they Burnt; with equal Joy, But with a Fire that neither did destroy; Soft was its Force and Sympathy with them, Dispers'd it self through every trembling Limb; We cou'd not hide our tender new surprize, We languisht and confest it with our Eyes;

Thus gaz'd we—when the Sacrifice perform'd, We found our Hearts entire—but still they burn, But by a Blessed change in taking back, The lovely Virgin did her Heart mistake: Her Bashful Eyes favour'd Love's great design, I took her Burning Victim: and she mine.

Thus Lysidas without constraint or Art, I reign'd the Monarch of Aminta's Heart; My great, my happy Title she allows, And makes me Lord of all her tender Vows, All my past Griefs in coming Joys were drown'd, And with eternal Pleasure I was Crown'd; My Blessed hours in the extream of Joy, With my soft Languisher I still imploy; When I am Gay, Love Revels in her Eyes, When sad—there the young God all panting lies. A thousand freedoms now she does impart, Shows all her tenderness dis-rob'd of Art, But oh this cou'd not satisfy my Heart.

A thousand Anguishes that still contains, It sighs, and heaves, and pants with pleasing pains. We look, and Kiss, and Press with new desire, Whilst every touch Blows the unusual Fire. For Love's last Mystery was yet conceal'd, Which both still languisht for, both wisht reveal'd: Which I prest on—and faintly she deny'd, With all the weak efforts of dying Pride, Which struggled long for Empire in her Soul, Where it was wont to rule without controul. But Conquering Love had got possession now, And open••d every Sally to the Foe: And to secure my doubting happiness, Permits me to conduct her to the Bow'r of Bliss. That Bow'r that does eternal Pleasures yield, Where Psyche first the God of Love beheld: But oh, in entering this so blest abode, All Gay and Pleas'd as a Triumphing God, I new unlook'd for difficulties meet, Encountring Honour at the sacred Gate.

HONOUR.

I.

HOnour's a mighty Phantom! which around The sacred Bower does still appear; All Day it haunts the hollow'd ground, And hinders Lovers entering there. It rarely ever takes its flight, But in the secret shades of night. Silence and gloom the charm can soonest end, And are the luckyest hours to lay the Fiend, Then 'tis the Vision only will remove, With Incantations of soft Vows of Love.

II.

But as a God he's Worshipt here, By all the lovely, young, and fair,

Who all their kind desires controul, And plays the Tyrant o're the Soul: His chiefest Attributes, are Pride and Spight, His pow'r, is robbing Lovers of delight, An Enemy to Humane kind, But most to Youth severe; As Age ill-natur'd, and as ignorance Blind, Boasting, and Baffled too, as Cowards are; Fond in opinion, obstinately Wise, Fills the whole World with bus'ness and with noise.

III.

Where wert thou born? from what didst thou begin? And what strange Witchcraft brought thy Maxims in? What hardy Fool first taught thee to the Crowd? Or who the Duller Slaves that first believ'd? Some Woman sure, ill-natur'd, old, and proud, Too ugly ever to have been deceiv'd;

Vnskill'd in Love; in Virtue, or in Truth, Preach'd thy false Notions first, and so debaucht our Youth.

IV.

And as in other Sectuaries you find, His Votaries most consist of Womankind, Who Throng t' adore the necessary Evil, But most for fear, as Indians do the Devil. Peevish, un-easy all; for in Revenge, Love shoots 'em with a thousand Darts. They seel, but not confess the change; Their false Devotion cannot save their Hearts. Thus while the Idol Honour they obey, Swift time comes on, and blooming Charms decay, And Ruin'd Beauty does too late the Cheat betray.

This Goblin here—the lovely Maid Alarms, And snatch'd her, even from my Trembling Arms,

With all the Pow'r of Non-sence he commands, Which she for mighty Reason understands. Aminta sly, he crys! sly heedless Maid, For if thou enter'st this Bewitching shade, Thy Flame, Content, and Lover, all are lost, And thou no more of Him, or Fame shall boast, The charming Pleasure soon the Youth will cloy, And what thou wouldst preserve, that will destroy. Oh hardy Maid by too much Love undone, Where are thy Modesty, and Blushes gone? Where's all that Virtue made thee so Ador'd? For Beauty stript of Virtue, grows abhorr'd: Dyes like a flower whose scent quick Poyson gives, Though every gawdy Glory paints its leaves: Oh sly, sond Maid, fly that false happiness, That will attend Thee in the Bower of Bliss. Thus spoke the Phantom, while the listening Maid, Took in the fatal Councel; and obey'd: ••d she flys, even from the Temple door, And left me fainting on the sacred floor:

LOVE saw my Griefs, and to my rescue came, Where on his Bosom, thus I did complain.

The LOSS.

WEep, weep Lysander, for the lovely Maid, To whom thy sacred Vows were paid; Regardless of thy Love, thy Youth, thy Vows, The Dull Advice of Honour now pursues; Oh say my lovely Charmer, where Is all that softness gone? Your tender Voice and Eyes did were, VVhen first I was undone. Oh whether are your Sighs and Kisses fled? VVhere are those clasping Arms, That left me oft with Pleasures dead, VVith their Excess of Charms?

VVhere is the Killing Language of thy Tongue, That did the Ravisht Soul surprize? VVhere is that tender Rhetorick gone, That flow'd so softly in thy Eyes? That did thy heavenly face so sweetly dress, That did thy wonderous Soul so well express? All fled with Honour on a Phantom lost; Where Youth's vast store must perish unpossest. Ah my dear Boy thy loss with me bemoan, The lovely Fugitive is with Honour gone!

Love laughing spread his Wings and mounting flies, As swift as Lightning through the yielding Skies, Where Honour bore away the Trembling Prize. There at her Feet the Little Charmer falls, And to his Aid his powerful softness calls: Assails her with his Tears, his Sighs and Crys, Th' unfailing Language of his Tongue and Eyes.

Return, said he, return oh fickle Maid, Who solid Ioys abandon'st for a shade; Turn and behold the Slaughter of thy Eyes; See—the Heart-broken Youth all dying lyes. Why dost thou follow this Phantastick spright? This faithless Ignis Fatuus of the Light? This Foe to Youth, and Beauties worst Disease, Tyrant of Wit, of Pleasure, and of Ease; Of all substantial Harms he Author is, But never pays us back one solid Bliss. —You'l urge, your Fame is worth a thousand Ioys; Deluded Maid, trust not to empty noise, A sound, that for a poor Esteem to gain, Damns thy whole Life t' uneasyness and pain. Mistaken Virgin, that which pleases me I cannot by another tast and see; And what's the complementing of the World to thee? No, no, return with me, and there receive, What poor, what scanted Honour cannot give,

Starve not those Charms that were for pleasure made, Nor unpossest let the rich Treasure fade. When time comes on; Honour that empty word, Will leave thee then fore-slighted Age to guard, Honour as other faithless Lovers are. Is only dealing with the young and fair; Approaching Age makes the false Hero fly, He's Honour with the Young, but with the old necessity. Thus said the God! and all the while he spoke, Her Heart new Fire, her Eyes new softness took. Now crys, I yield, I yield the Victory! Lead on young Charming Boy, I follow thee; Lead to Lysander, quickly let's be gone, I am resolv'd to Love, and be undone; I must not, cannot, Love at cheaper rate, Love is the word, Lysander and my fate. Thus to my Arms Love brought the trembling Maid; Who on my Bosom sighing, softly, said:

Take charming Victor—what you must— subdue- 'Tis Love—and not Aminta gives it you, Love that o're all, and every part does reign, And I shou'd plead—and struggle—but in vain; Take what a yielding Virgin—can bestow, I am—dis-arm••d—of all resistance now.— Then down her Cheeks a tender shower did glide, The Trophies of my Victory, Joy, and Pride: She yields ye Gods (I cry'd) and in my Arms, Gives up the wonderous Treasure of her Charms. —Transported to the Bower of Bliss we high, But once more met Respect upon the way, But not as heretofore with Meen and Grace, All formal, but a gay and smiling Face; A different sort of Air his looks now wears, Galljard and Joyful every part appears. And thus he said—

Go happy Lovers, perfect the desires, That fill two Hearts that burn with equal Fires;

Receive the mighty Recompence at last, Of all the Anxious hours you've past, Enter the Bower where endless Pleasures flow, Young Ioys, new Raptures all the year, Respect has nothing now to do, He always leaves the Lover here. Young Loves attend and here supply all want, In secret Pleasures I'm no confident. Respect here left me: and He scarce was gone, But I perceiv'd a Woman hasting on, Naked she came; all lovely, and her Hair, Was loosely flying in the wanton Air: Love told me 'twas Occasion, and if I, The swift pac'd Maid shou'd pass neglected by. My Love, my Hopes, and Industry were vain, For she but rarely e're return'd again. I stopt her speed, and did implore her Aid, Which granted, she Aminta did perswade. Into the Palace of true Ioys, to hast, And thither 'twas, we both arriv'd at last.

Oh Lysidas, no Mortal Sense affords, No Wit, no Eloquence can furnish Words; Fit for the soft Discription of the Bower, Some Love-blest God in the Triumphing hour, Can only guess, can only say what 'tis; Yet even that God but faintly wou'd express, Th' unbounded pleasures of the Bower of Bliss. A slight, a poor Idea may be given, Like that we fancy when we paint a Heav'n, As solid Christal, Diamonds, shining Gold, May fancy Light, that is not to be told. To vulgar Senses, Love like Heaven shou'd be (To make it more Ador'd) a Mystery: Eternal Powers! when ere I sing of Love, And the unworthy Song immortal prove; To please my wandering Ghost when I am Dead, Let none but Lovers the soft stories read; Praise from the Wits and Braves I'le not implore; Listen ye Lovers all, I ask no more;

That where Words fail, you may with thought sup∣ply, If ever any lov'd like me, or were so blest as I.

The Prospect and Bower of Bliss.

I.

TIS all eternal Spring around, And all the Trees with fragrant flowers are Crown'd; No Clouds, no misty Showers obscure the Light, But all is calm, serene and gay, The Heavens are drest with a perpetual bright, And all the Earth with everlasting May. Each minute blows the Rose and Iesamine, And twines with new-born Eglantine, Each minute new Discoveries bring; Of something sweet, of something ravishing.

II.

Fountains, wandering Brooks soft rills, That o're the wanton Pebbles play; And all the Woods with tender murmuring fills, Inspiring my Love inciting Ioy; (The sole, the solemn business of the day) Through all the Groves, the Glades and thickets run, And nothing see but Love on all their Banks along; A thousand Flowers of different kinds, The neighbouring Meads adorn; Whose sweetness snatcht by flying Winds, O're all the Bow'r of Bliss is born; Whether all things in nature strive to bring, All that is soft, all that is ravishing.

III.

The verdant Banks no other Prints retain, But where young Lovers, and young Loves have lain. For Love has nothing here to do, But to be wanton, soft and gay,

And give a lavish loose to joy. His emptyed Quiver, and his Bow, In slowry Wreaths with rosy Garlands Crown'd, In Myrtle shades are hung, As Conquerors when the Victories won, Dispose their glorious Trophies all around. Soft Winds and Eccho's that do haunt each Grove, Still whisper, and repeat no other Songs than Love. Which round about the sacred Bower they sing, Where every thing arrives that's sweet and ravishing.

IV.

A thousand gloomy VValks the Bower contains, Sacred all to mighty Love; A thousand winding turns where Pleasure reigns; Obscur'd from day by twining Boughs above, Where Love invents a thousand Plays, Where Lovers act ten thousand Ioys: Nature has taught each little Bird, A soft Example to afford;

They Bill and Look, and Sing and Love, And Charm the Air, and Charm the Grove; Whilst underneath the Ravisht Swain is lying, Gazing, Sighing, Pressing, Dying; Still with new desire warm'd, Still with new Ioy, new Rapture charm'd; Amongst the green soft Rivulets do pass, In winding Streams half hid in Flowers and Grass, Who Purl and Murmur as they glide along, And mix their Musick with the Shepherds Pipe and Song, Which Eccho's through the sacred Bower repeat, Where every thing arrives that's ravishing and sweet.

V.

The Virgin here shows no disdain, Nor does the Shepherd Sigh in vain, This knows no Cruelty, nor that no Pain: No Youth complains upon his rigorous fair; No injur'd Maid upon her perjur'd dear, 'Tis only Love, fond Love finds entrance here;

The Notes of Birds, the Murmuring Boughs, VVhen gentle VVinds glide through the Glades, Soft Sighs of Love, and oft breath'd Vows, The tender VVhisperings of the yielding Maids, Dashing Fountains, Purling Springs, The short breath'd crys from faint resistance sent. (Crys which no aid desires or brings) The soft effects of Fear and Languishment; The little struggling of the fair, The trembling force of the young Conqueror, The tender Arguments he brings, The pretty Non-sence with which she assails, VVhich as she speaks, she hopes it nought prevails. But yielding owns her Love above her Reasonings, Is all is heard: Silence and shade the rest. VVhich best with Love, which best with Ioys consist, All which young Eccho's through the Bower does sing, VVhere every thing is heard, that's sweet and ravishing.

VI.

Recesses Dark, and Grotto's all conspire, To favour Love and soft desire; Shades, Springs and Fountains flowry Beds, To Ioys invites, to Pleasure leads, To Pleasure which all Humane thought exceeds. Heav'n, Earth, and Sea, here all combine, To propagate Love's great design, And render the Appointments all Divine. After long toyl, 'tis here the Lover reaps, Transporting softnesses beyond his hopes; 'Tis here fair Eyes, all languishing impart The secrets of the fond inclining Heart; Fine Hands and Arms for tender Pressings made, In Love's dear business always are imploy'd: The soft Inchantments of the Tongue, That does all other Eloquence controul,

Is breath'd with broken Sighs among, Into the Ravish'd Shepherds Soul, VVhilst all is taken, all is given, That can compleat a Lovers Heav'n: And Io Peans through the VVoods do ring, From new fletch'd God, in Songs all Ravishing.

Oh my dear Lysidas! my faithful Friend, Woud I cou'd here with all my Pleasures end: 'Twas Heaven! 'twas Extasie! each minute brought New Raptures to my Senses, Soul and Thought; Each Look, each Touch, my Ravisht fancy charm'd, Each Accent of her Voice my Blood Alarm'd; I pant with every Glance, faint with a Kiss, Oh Judge my Transports then in higher Bliss. A while all Dead, between her Arms I lay, Unable to possess the conquer'd Joys; But by degrees my Soul its sense retriev'd; Shame and Confusion let me know I liv'd.

I saw the trembling dis-appointed Maid, With charming angry Eyes my fault up-braid, While Love and Spight no kind Excuse affords, My Rage and Softness was above dull Words, And my Misfortune only was exprest, By Sighing out my Soul into her Brest: A thousand times I breath'd Aminta's name, Aminta! call'd! but that increas'd my flame. And as the Tide of Love flow'd in, so fast My Low, my Ebbing Vigor out did hast. But 'twas not long, thus idly, and undone I lay, before vast Seas came rowling on, Spring-tides of Joy, that the rich neighboring shoar And down the fragrant Banks it proudly bore, O're-flow'd and ravisht all great Natures store. Swoln to Luxurious heights, no bounds it knows, But wantonly it Triumphs where it flows. Some God inform Thee of my blest Estate, But all their Powers divert thee from my Fate.

'Twas thus we liv'd the wonder of the Groves, Fam'd for our Love, our mutual constant Loves. Young Amorous Hero's at her Feet did fall, Despair'd and dy'd, whilst I was Lord of All; Her Empire o're my Soul each moment grew, New Charms each minute did appear in view, And each appointment Ravishing and New. Fonder each hour my tender Heart became, And that which us'd t' allay, increas'd my Flame. But on a day, oh may no chearful Ray, Of the Sun's Light, bless that succeeding day! May the black hours from the account be torn, May no fair thing upon thy day be born! May fate and Hell appoint thee for their own, May no good deed be in thy Circle done! May Rapes, Conspiricies and Murders stay, Till thou com'st on, and hatch em in thy day! —'Twas on this day all Joyful Gay and Fair, Fond as desire, and wanton as the Air; Aminta did with me to the blest Bower repair.

Beneath a Beechy Shade, a flowry Bed, Officious Cupid's for our Pleasure spred, Where never did the Charmer ere impart, More Joy, more Rapture to my ravisht Heart: 'Twas all the first; 'twas all beginning Fire! 'Twas all new Love! new Pleasure! new Desire! —Here stop my Soul— Stop thy carreer of Vanity and Pride, And only say,—'Twas here Aminta dy'd: The fleeting Soul as quickly dis-appears, As leaves blown off with Winds, or falling Stars; And Life its flight assum'd with such a pace; It took no farewel of her lovely Face. The Fugitive not one Beauty did surprize, It scarce took time to languish in her Eyes, But on my Bosom bow'd her charming Head; And sighing, these surprizing words she said: "Joy of my Soul, my faithful tender Youth, Lord of my Vows, and Miracle of Truth:

Thou soft obliger-: of thy Sex the best, Thou blessing too Extream to be possest; The Angry God, designing we must part, Do render back the Treasure of thy Heart; When in some new fair Breast, it finds a room, And I shall ly-neglected-in my Tomb— Remember-oh remember-the fair she, Can never love thee, darling Youth, like me. Then with a Sigh she sunk into my Brest, While her fair Eyes, her last farewel exprest; To aiding God's I cry'd; but they were Deaf, And no kind pow'r afforded me relief: I call her name, I weep, I rave and faint, And none but Eccho's answer my Complaint; I Kiss and Bathe her stiffening Face with Tears, Press it to mine, as cold and pale as her's; The fading Roses of her Lips I press, But no kind Word the silenc'd Pratlers will confess; Her lovely Eyes I kiss, and call upon, But all their wonted answering Rhetorick's gone.

Her charming little Hands in vain I ask, Those little Hands no more my Neck shall grasp; No more about my Face her Fingers play, Nor brede my Hair, or the vain Curls display, No more her Tongue beguiling Stories tell, Whose wonderous Wit cou'd grace a Tale so well; All, all is fled, to Death's cold Mansion gone, And I am left benighted and undone, And every day my Fate is hasting on. From the inchanting Bower I madly fly, That Bower that now no more affords me Joy. Love had not left for me one Bliss in store, Since my Aminta cou'd dispence no more. —Thence to a silent Desert I advance, And call'd the Desert of Remembrance; A solitude upon a Mountain plac'd, All gloomy round, and wonderous high and vast, From whence Love's Island all appears in view, And distant Prospects renders near and true;

Each Bank, each Bower, each dear inviting Shade, That to our Sacred Loves was conscious made. Each flowry Bed, each Thicket and each Grove, Where I have lain Charm'd with Aminta's Love. (Where e're she chear'd the day, and blest the Night) Eternally are present to my Sight. Where e're I turn, the Lands kip does confess, Something that calls to mind past happiness. This Lysidas, this is my wretched state, 'Tis here I languish, and attend my Fate. But e're I go, 'twou'd wonderous Pleasure be, (If such a thing can e're arrive to me) To find some Pity (Lysidas) from thee. Then I shou'd take the Wing, and upward fly, And loose the Sight of this dull World with Joy.

Your Lysander.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Little Arts to please.
• * 1.2

  Duty.