The triumph of wit, or, Ingenuity display'd in its perfection. Being the newest and most useful academy, in three parts. Part I. Containing variety of excellent poems, pastorals, satyrs, dialogues, epigrams, anagrams, acrosticks, choice letters with their answers, ... and exactest collection of choice songs. Part II. Containing the whole art and mystery of love in all its nicest intreagues and curious particulars, ... with the description & anatomy of perfect beauty. Part III. Containing the mystery and art of wheedling and canting, with the original and present management thereof, and the ends to which it serves and is employed. Illustrated with poems, songs and various intreagues in the canting language, with the explanation, &c. To which is added, Instructions for dancing with musical notes.

The Fortunate LOVERS: or, The Happy Meeting: A Dialogue between Amarillis and Phaon.

Phaon.

FAir Amarillis, welcome to this Grove, The cool Retirement, and Recess of Love Which now more pleasing is, since grac'd by you; A fairer Guest its shades yet never knew.

Amar.

The place is pleasant, and your kindness great In bringing me to such a calm retreat; Where kissing Sun-beams on the Leaves abide, That shelter us yet: Phaon I must chide, For trying with your Flattery to raise my Pride.

Ph.

Dear Amarillis, be that far from me, I know not where those flatt'ring Regions be, That by Mankind so much are visited; But this I know, that you are fair indeed. The Queen of Beauty triumphs in your Face; To you the Shepherdesses all give place: The Shepherds sigh for you with pleasing pain, Each seeks with care your favour first to gain.

Am.

Shou'd I think so, I must my self deceive; How can she conquer, that do's Captive live?

Ph.

Captive! to whom! what Mortal is so blest With Charms, or Parts that can give you unrest! What Virtue is to sush perfection grown! All that Mankind dare claim, were it in one, Can ne'er the peace that gaurds your Brest dethrone.

Am.

I thought so once, but now I find too plain, And, blushing must confess, my thoughts were vain.

Ph.

Less than a Monarch can't your Heart subdu••

Am.

No, my meek Soul ambition's Air ne'er dre•• Pardon me, Phaon, when I say 'tis you.

Ph.

Oh! Heav'ns, what Rapture, what a maze I'm in; O! Speak dear Saint, breath those blest words agin. Let Angels take 'em at the first rebound And to the World with golden Trumpets sound, That unexpected, I a Heaven on Earth have found.

Am.

O! Spare the Blushes of a yielding Maid, Who to your Arms, the God of Love betray'd: Take, take the willing Prize—and ben't unkind To say, when discontent disturbs your mind, How easie Amarillis to be won you find.

Ph.

Never, my Angel,—dearest, greatest bliss; But count this day, my day of happiness.