Ostella, or, The faction of love and beauty reconcil'd by I.T., Gent.

A Dialogue.

1

TEll me fair Nymph, canst thou love me?

2

No, 'tis a breach to Liberty: I yet enjoy a free Estate, Neither a slave to Love nor Hate.

1

Thou art mis-inform'd in this, For without Love, no Ioy there is.

2

Alas we know, you Men have skill, To guild the poyson of the Pill; But 'tis beyond your utmost Art, To make the practise on my Heart.

1

True, not in mine; but his that can Aw ev'n the heart of Mighty Pan, Soften the rigid Satyres Brest, And to each troubled Soul give rest: To Discord he can Concord give, And teach Society to live; For wheresoever he doth come, The Place is made Elizium.

2

What place is that?

1

The place of Rest, Where Love's in every Sense exprest; There dying Hearts he doth revive, And makes them All their Cares survive. There are no Sighs, nor sign of Tears, No jealous thoughts, nor panting fears. But such a lasting Spring of Ioy, That Age nor Death cannot destroy. Oh that I might those joys possess! Love me, and here thou It find no less.

2

I would, but know not how.

1

That's fine; Come warm thy softer Palm in mine, Now meet a kiss.

2

I'm all one slame.

1

'Tis in Loves pow'r to quench the same.

2

Say Shepherd, say, Canst thou love me?

1

No, 'tis a breach to liberty.

2

Oh do not mock me,

1

Oh do not mock me.

2

Indeed I love.

1

And so do I.

Chorus

There's nothing like Loves liberty. To which wee'l win the heart of many a Swain, who knowing not his sweets, their good refrain: And flinty brested Nymphs soften, till they by our Example, learn who to obey. Since Love hath the instinctive Pow'r alone to tie and fasten thus two Hearts in one.